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He kept his iron grip on Garak’s arm-and ignored the clothier’s protests about it-all the way down the Promenade to the shop. Some garresh or other-Damar had yet to learn the names of all those under his command-stood at the door, which had been security-sealed for the duration of Garak’s interrogation.

“Remove the seal,” Damar told the garresh.

As the young soldier did so, Garak said, “I must once again protest the need for such a seal, Dalin. It creates the impression that my shop is a den of iniquity. That’s all well and good for Rom’s Bar-the Ferengi thrives on that sort of thing-but I run a legitimate business, one that suffers if it becomes a focus of attention from security personnel.”

“That isn’t my concern,” Damar said. “Besides, it’s standard procedure.” He didn’t bother to add that it only became standard procedure when Damar took over security.

“If you say so,” Garak said with a shrug. “As I said before, my knowledge of security is limited.”

Damar didn’t believe that for a second. Once the seal was broken and the doors to the shop parted, Damar all but threw Garak over the threshold, then held up the padd. “You will produce every piece of equipment on this list and place it on your counter.”

Straightening his outfit and making a small bow, Garak said, “Of course.”

Someone on the engineering staff had shown Damar what the containment unit would probably look like. What Garak produced looked nothing like that. It didn’t look like much of anything, in fact. But Damar did his duty and looked it over, and saw that all the parts were accounted for, and that it looked nothing like a containment unit. Damar could, if he squinted, see how it might be used as a sex aid. Frankly, Damar preferred Rom’s holosuites-they offered a more complete package, and he didn’t feel like he was cheating on his wife-but to each his own.

“Is there anything else, Dalin, or may I put this…rather distasteful object out of the way?”

“If it’s so distasteful,” Damar asked, “then why create it in the first place?”

“Friendship sometimes demands that one put aside one’s own aesthetic sense.”

Damar rolled his eyes. “Rationalize your perversions however you want.” With that, he turned and left the clothier’s, signaling for the garresh to follow. Once they were out of the shop, he said, “Keep an eye on him. I want someone on the Promenade patrol to be watching his store at all times.”

As he spoke, he saw that Gul Dukat was walking into Rom’s. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Rom’s,” he said.

“Yes, sir!” the garresh said.

Quickly, Damar strode across the Promande, heading for the bar. Damar was grateful for the destination, as he’d found the Ferengi establishment to be the only place he felt comfortable on the entire station.

In truth, Damar hadn’t wanted the position on Terok Nor. It was too far from home and family, and it was, he had thought at the time, a backwater assignment.

Legate Parn had assured him otherwise. Damar had been hearing rumors that Cardassia would pull out of Bajor, that what resources the world had left were not worth putting up with their tiresome resistance. Certainly the time Damar hadn’t spent in his ever more fruitless search for his predecessor had been spent cleaning up messes made by the damned resistance.

But Parn had said repeatedly that Terok Nor was a critical station to Cardassia’s future, and that there was no danger of Cardassia leaving Bajor any time soon.

Damar had, of course, heard other rumors, but he dismissed those. His stock in trade was evidence-following rumors just led you to a dead end.

Glancing back at Garak’s shop, he added dolefully to himself, And sometimes even the evidence takes you there.

The Promenade was filled with people, but was not very noisy. The Bajorans knew to keep quiet, and everyone else was usually on their way somewhere else. Once he walked through the doors to Rom’s, though, the ambient noise level went up considerably-especially since this was the “somewhere else” that many were on