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regionalpancake · 26 days ago

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The Replimat Affair Star Trek DS9 Garashir

4160 w. mystery, fluff, food, first kiss. Set just after 2.07 Civil Defense English is not my language, there are probably some language mistakes to spice things up, Tell me, and I’ll adjust the seasoning

@startrekpotluck thank you for the delicious event !!

Julian stretched his shoulders and retrieved, without looking, a chocolate bar from the stash he kept in one of the sickbay drawers.

His attention was divided between his two patients still under mandatory observation, his neglected research paper about the comparative impact of the worm hole crossing on Bajoran, Human, and Trill’s hamato-cell production, due in less than 25 days, and a third screen on the side where the computer was slowly munching data and numbers.

These notes and entries that would soon compose a bona fide corpus had not even been acquired due to a scientific interest at first, but more like a mix of Julian‘s innate curiosity and a way to handle his frustration about a minor inconvenience.

The Replimat had been out of order several times in a row since the power surge, and Julian and Garak had found the place empty and useless when they had met for their usual lunch, facing a disappointing sign saying that repairs would come soon. Garak had simply tilted his head and proposed to postpone their weekly meeting.

Julian had checked regularly since, on his way to the bridge, and the machine had kept breaking down randomly, either useless and deserted or full of people waiting in line in front of the replicators to get their food, before the whole thing would shut off for hours. The week had passed without a real Lunchtime® opportunity, and Julian had started to feel a certain restlessness and to have questions.

He had been subtle in his inquiries, trying not to appear insistent or entitled. Leaning on the guardrail while Miles was working on his console below, he had prompt friendly discussion on how many men were affected by the repairs, how they were organized, and if they encountered any unusual difficulties. He had been careful to use broad and open questions, asking how long the repairs would take, in general, not about the Replimat in particular, of course, or if the engineers were solving problems zone by zone, or by categories, or even by technical issues.

The Replimat had officially reopened 36 hours later, but Julian had had to work overtime to treat a food poisoning epidemic from the 3rd quarter. The fifteen patients, all of them in a sickly desaturated version of themselves, had confirmed having gotten their lunch from their own quarters' replicators.

The tests run by Julian had shown that they all had been contaminated by a Cardassian bacteria, which by all means should not have been replicated within the food. Julian had treated them before they could fill all the basins available with the content of their stomachs, especially since the Lurian had three of them each, and he had eventually missed his lunch break.

And then the Replimat had been down again, and Garak had rain-checked again, with a light stiffness in the shoulders and the tail, and Julian had tried again to get some answers.

Miles's face had been drawn while he re-explained that the station had suffered an auto-destructive power surge, that there was broken stuff everywhere, and that his people were looking at it. Julian knew that. He had been there. And he was not criticizing someone else's job. He understood that the replicators were not a priority. He just would have liked to be able to reorganize his personal agenda and have his lunch as scheduled.

The Replimat reopened the day after, but the menu was down to one choice, the Bolian sh'od Bruks'l, no one's favorite ever. There was a moment of hesitation, Julian almost ready to go through a whole plate of it just for Garak's presence, but the Cardassian had declined, looking at the replicator as if the offending dish could jump at him and bite his face.

Around this time, Julian had begun to pay attention and notice other people's grievances.

Quark, who was protesting to anyone who would listen that he could not sell snacks anymore with his drinks, snacks that had suddenly become the main part of his income, and he would go to ruin soon.

The fancy restaurant at the end of the Promenade, which had shut down in shame, as it had been revealed that they were serving replicated food instead of fresh, on the day when all the replicators on the station had tainted the dishes as blue as a raktajino mug.

All the people, here and there, who were complaining that their favorite treats had gotten bland, their vegetables too sugary, or their coffee too spicy.

Julian had tried to breach the subject with Miles again, but the chief's head had appeared above the edge of the engineer hole like the grumpiest pallas cat.

- It has been fixed.

It had not been.

On the other hand, Julian had realized he probably had not been subtle enough in his questioning about the reopening of the Replimat. Jadzia had decided on a whim to invite him to Kaga's, fresh food guaranteed. Sisko had cornered him in the turbolift and had put into his hands a tub with leftover gumbo. Miles had begrudgingly asked him to come for dinner; Keiko would be happy to have him, and Miles swore that he had checked the proper functioning of the replicator himself. Just as Julian was thanking him, Garak had bumped into them.

- Oh, I was about to ask you for a walk through the Promenade, but since you're busy...

Garak's voice was soft and friendly, but there was definitely a tension underlying it.

Julian had wondered if he should invite Garak to his own quarters, at least to keep their little book club going. He had read Dusk and Ashes twice already, to keep his arguments fresh, and it was as awful the second time. Maybe worse. The idea felt strange, though, to invite Garak to his place, on his couch, at his table, even though it had its appeal. It could change the whole atmosphere of their meetings.

Anyway, Julian had noticed that the replicator in his own quarters was acting strange too, and even if he usually only used it for fast and easy meals, he could eat without looking while doing something else.

Julian would order a new holosuite costume if he could afford it.

Julian stretched again and got up to send his patients back to their quarters with a nice smile and a long list of recommendations.

Once he returned to his console, all the data he had fed the computer were nicely organized on a chart, and the pleasant synthetic voice informed him that the calculation had resulted in a hypothesis model that needed confirmation. Julian focused his attention on it, the hemato-cell study losing its last chance of progression.

Julian burst into the tailor shop a little after 18:20.

- There is a pattern.

Garak looked up at him above the glasses he needed for meticulous work.

-Doctor?

Julian did not answer right away. Sticking his pad under his arm, he pushed a clothes rail away to make some room in front of Garak's counter and dragged in one of the comfy waiting armchairs before turning back to Garak.

- The failures are not random. There is a pattern in the replicators breaking down. I know there is. But I can't find why, so I need your help.

Julian put a small holodevice on the floor, and a mess of a 3D mind map unfolded into a web of nodes and links, color-coded and dutifully tagged.

- See?

Julian looked up at Garak from his squatting position on the floor.

Garak turned off the "open" sign on his front door and bent daintily above the counter. Julian pointed out a few links and nods as if they were explanatory enough, and then at the gaping holes in the structure.

- I need you to check a few things for me, like the engineering repair logs regarding the replicators, for the last few days? Please?

Garak tilted his head.

- I don't think I can. That's privileged access.

Julian brushed the argument away with a movement of the hand.

- You said yourself that you could access any information.

- It was a dire situation, then. I fear that, for a replicator issue, Chief O'Brien would have my skin.

Julian bit his lips for a moment, making his 3D model spin under his hands. It was obviously a considerable amount of work, dense, detailed, and precise. And Julian was looking so chagrined. Garak gave in. He split his screen in two, the model of his in-progress embroidery on the left, and swiftly fished the information Julian was looking for. He just hoped that they would make a fine coat of his hide if he did not sweep the traces of his intrusion properly enough. He did not take long, and soon the data were sent to Julian's chart. Garak resumed his work, trying to regain his focus, while Julian analyzed the computer's conclusions.

Julian then asked him to access Quark's ledger books, the true ones, not the official ones, and his cash register's log. Again, Garak complied.

The complaints filed by the residents were easy to retrieve, as well as the data, source material, and power consumption used by each replicator within the last week. In Garak's opinion, Starfleet could use a little more security around that kind of information. Malevolent people, or worse, a retired spy, could learn so much about the Station's habits just by snooping around.

Julian was aggregating the data to his model, adding tags and comments on the fly to the already heavy net, drawing and suppressing colored links according to his own logic. There were still gaps on one side, where Garak had refused to look up Odo's files. O'Brien would wait until morning to confront him, but the Constable would barge into the shop as soon as he noticed and put an end to their little investigation.

Frustrated, Julian passed a hand through his already messy hair.

- Rhaa, I don't get it!

Garak put down his needle, checked his work under the light, and leaned in again above the counter.

- Maybe there is nothing to get, Doctor.

The tone was soft and not accusatory. For a Julian sprawled on his carpeted floor, disheveled and shoeless, with his uniform sleeves rolled up on his forearms, Garak was happy to follow him in any of his wild goose chases.

Julian shook his head.

- No, it can't be a coincidence.

He took a deep breath, his head tilted back against the seat of the armchair.

- We should get pizza.

Garak changed the thread color on his needle and started to work on a new part of his embroidery.

- Are these weapons?

- Uh? No, they're food! I've seen that old flat movie; I just wanted to try.

Garak looked up from his work and glanced at his own replicator, nested in a little corner of the back shop, between not-yet-unboxed rolls of Devinia wool and a transportable heat lamp disguised as a cloth rack. His replicator was small, mostly used for beverages and snacks, and he was not sure how big a "pizza" was, nor if it would fit in it. It also had its ups and downs recently, too, generating something akin to mitz piss last time he had asked for a tea.

- Is that not a little bit hazardous, with what we know?

- No, it's not. We'll order them.

He opened his chart and sent a quick request, as to prove his words to Garak.

- As I said, there is a pattern. Quark's fine until 23:06.

Julian had already opened a direct line through Quark‘s, forwarding the long sequence code for the replicator from his notes, as "pizza" was not pre-encoded in the system.

Within fifteen minutes, a dabo girl announced herself before the store door. Julian jumped to his feet to open the door and greet her. The girl, still in high heels and a lamé dress, handed him a big green and red cardboard box, decorated with a retro Earthian-style building that neither Julian nor Garak was able to recognize. Julian told her to add it on his tab, and the girl almost rolled her eyes. Julian put the box on the free space on the counter and opened the box with a small ta-daa gesture.

- Oh, they forgot the cutlery.

Julian’s smile grew even wider.

-You're supposed to use your hands!

Julian caught a slice, pulling a little on the pre-cut line, and tried to bring it to his mouth without having the ingredients rolling down, with little success.

Garak stared at Julian, who bit with haste into his food, teeth sinking down the thick layer of cheese. He carefully took a slice for himself, frowning a little when the oil tainted his finger's skin, and took a tentative bite. He knew of the human's tendencies to pile up different types of food in the same dish. He had tried several of them already: sandwiches, because they were among Julian's favorites, and lasagna, because he once knew a Caitian who swore by it, and tried to characterize the different flavors. The cheese was not that interesting for his palate, too soft in texture and taste, the sweet and acidic red fruit that made the sauce was fine, and there was something else...

- What are the little grey things?

- That would be anchovies. Don't you like them?

Garak chewed a little longer.

- No. I do like them. I really do.

Pleased, Julian pushed his own anchovies on Garak's remaining slices.

Garak glanced out of habit at his screen when his computer pinged with the result of a previous query, and again, with more intensity, half a second later when his brain caught up. He put down his pizza slice on his counter, missing by a few centimeters his precious work, and put his glasses back on. Without looking up, he pointed his finger out at Julian.

- What did you say about yesterday's data anomalies in the third pylon?

Julian opened his file but only took a peek at it before reciting the numbers noted by Ensign Peterson.

Garak kept typing for several minutes, asking more and more precise questions, opening directories and checking the specs of subroutines, and following the tracks of data transfers. Julian watched him dig into the station’s files, his eyes scanning quickly the screen for the information, his mouth mobile and expressive, a hint of a snarl to subdue an obstinate firewall, a bottom lip bitten a little too hard, the tip of a tongue pointing out for concentration, and that long scaly tail thumping rhythmically on the carpeted floor…

Eventually, Garak leaned back and shook his head, his tail now resting around the feet of his work stool.

- I can't access an area in sublevel 3, P4.45.Z28.

- It's that well protected?

Garak scoffed.

- No. It's just...not available. I can trace the air and the power lines going through and the data flow, but there is no access or control whatsoever. It's a black box, but all that we know leads to it.

Garak glanced at Julian and put his glasses down.

- My best estimation is that it somehow runs on an auxiliary system.

Frowning, Julian made a 3D model of the station appear and followed Garak's indications. The area in question was situated low in the distal part of the third pylone, not far from a technical docking access. It was composed of several ore processing rooms and some bunk quarters that looked, Julian knew without having seen them, like hell in space. The Federation had not put any effort into the rehabilitation of these places. Deep Space 9 was big enough for its people as it was, and it would have called for tremendous work.

Julian made the close-up turn under his finger.

-There is nothing there. Teams checked all the rooms and corridors when we first got here.

Garak shrugged and retrieved his pizza slice for the last few bits, once more savoring the fishy flavor.

- Well, your replimat anomalies come from that nothing, Doctor."

Julian looked at the hologram, pensive, zooming and unzooming on the place.

- Then, we should go and check.

- We're in the middle of the night shift...

- That's for the better. We can go down discreetly and investigate.

Julian had already changed the 3D map for a more movable location plan on his pad while putting his shoes back on. Garak stared at his half-done embroidery, sighed, and turned off his screen.

Julian passed his head through the shop’s door, looking right and left, then waved his hand to indicate to Garak that the coast was clear before tiptoeing outside.

They crossed the almost empty Promenade, except for Quark and Raga’s corners, and reached the residential quarters. A few people were still hanging up in the resting areas or walking in the residential corridors at this time of the shift, and Julian almost jumped every time they met someone.

There were several infiltration techniques in Garak's book, from sneaking in back alleys and picking locks to brazenly entering a party and smooth-talking your way through, and he had mastered them all. None of them had ever included dodging spotlights in empty corridors, hiding in plain view behind pillars, and looking like a buhgoon on shuttle lights when you cross paths with someone.

Julian had looked so suspicious when they had met a beta shift ensign that the young woman had greeted them with a good evening, sporting a pointed look and a sly grin. Garak had answered with a fake smile. There would be rumors running again.

They left the station's central ring and accessed the technical levels pretty quickly. There were a lot fewer people there and the machines were busy clicketing to themselves through dim lights and the fitting coolness of the air-con. Garak winced and pulled up his collar. Julian was frowning at his pad, trying to map their way through the corridors and the control rooms, all of them looking the same for outsiders, with their cryptic numbers in standard, hastily painted above the entrances, peeling here and there to reveal the previous Cardassian signage. They made a wrong turn once or twice and had to retrace their steps until the right junction, which looked, and biped, exactly like the wrong one.

At the end of the crossover bridge, they passed before the turbolift access that was leading to the technical docking bay at the very bottom of the pylon and started to descend to the lower levels.

They reached the old Bajoran quarters, pared-down and austere, laid out to accommodate a great number of people without very much comfort. Some personal effects, scarves, shoes, and tableware had been abandoned behind when Terok Nor had been decommissioned.

A wide corridor led to the factory floors. Huge pipes were crossing the rooms to bring nonrefined ore for treatments, and tubes and wires were running along the wall and on the floors to power the production line. Small control rooms, protected by thick glass, overlooked the work zone. There were traces of sabotage on the computers or the tools. The whole place was gloomy and dark, full of the ghosts of workers under the Cardassians' domination.

Julian kept walking, nose on his pad. Garak kept silent.

Behind a huge reinforced door, they entered a warehouse. It was impossible to estimate how big it actually was. The ceiling was high, crossed by numerous walkways on different levels that disappeared in the shadows. Before them, the ground floor had a wide open space to maneuver the carriers. They started climbing a narrow staircase. They could hear the sound of dripping water and chains swinging slowly all around them. Thin rays of dirty light coming through holed panels were creating shadow monsters behind every metal pallet box.

The wire-mesh footbridge grated under Julian’s step. The sound echoed loudly in the air. Small noises, shuffling and tapping fast, suddenly swarmed inside the walls and through the pipes, scattering all around them.

They heard a huge bang, followed by a crackling, and they lost their already poor light. The dark orange warning lights of the security system were like hundreds of eyes looking at them. Garak felt Julian feel around his hand to catch his wrist before turning on the flashlight of his tricorder.

They climbed a few more metallic stairs in silence and reached a platform on the end of the warehouse. High shelves were riveted to the wall, some of them still holding packing and shipping equipment from the Station’s previous life.

Julian, eyes down on his pad to follow the red dots, turned at a right angle at a corner and would have hit his head against the wall if Garak had not pulled on his hand.

Julian looked down at his pad, then back up at the solid wall before him.

- It should be there.

He took a few steps back, put his pad in Garak's hand, and tuned his tricorder for magnetic detections. Hidden behind an unassuming panel, a code lock with Cardassian symbols appeared in a green backlight. Julian's authorization code did not work, no more than Garak's. Julian's shoulders fell. They were in the middle of the night shift, in one of the furthest zones of the station, a few feet from all the answers, and they could not reach it.

Garak pulled the pad to reach the system behind it and deftly cut one of the wires at the back with the tip of his claw.

The code lock light turned off, and the slit between two bigger metal panels eased by half a centimeter. They pushed the unlocked door open just wide enough to be able to snake in and out.

The room before them was circular, a smaller version of the Station's main control bridge. The decoration still had that Cardassian quality, all dark, pointy, and sharp, but they could recognize the commanding central station and the navigation and communication consoles around them. Even the decoration patterns of the door leading, doubtlessly, to a commandant's office, were a copy of the main bridge's. Several buttons were glowing in the dim light, green and orange, screens in standby mode or awaiting a password, the computer purring low behind the sleek metal panels.

A few weapons were still hanging from their rack, ready to use. A huge screen, dark and shiny, occupied a full wall, right in front of the command chair. Even the temperature, set several degrees higher than for the rest of the station, and the lingering smell of the urall leather used for uniforms, gave the unpleasant feeling that the previous masters of the place had just left.

On the side, a replicator was stuck, materializing a few layers of some caradassian dishes before bugging and starting all over again, the few bits of half-done food being stolen right away by greedy spiky paws. The vole colony had begun to build a nest under the nearby console, and through the beeping and flashing, the animals had not yet detected the intruders. When Julian approached, the biggest vole screeched at him to give time to the younglings to disappear behind the wall and promptly followed them.

Julian crossed his arms.

-I guess that power surge had made the whole system restart, including this defective replicator.

Garak looked around, tail hanging high, careful not to touch anything.

-If that replicator can mess with the signal all over the station, we can expect that the command console would override the central one. I understand why Dukat was so eager to send a garrison back. From here, he would have taken control of the station in the next minute.

They carefully stepped out of the room, wary of any trap that could have been left behind. Once out, Julian reached for his combadge. Garak caught his elbow.

- I have to tell Commander Sisko.

- Is it that urgent?

Julian hesitated, then smiled and shook his head.

- You’re right. It won’t disappear. It can wait for tomorrow.

He was still feeling a little bit giddy from their adventure, the discovery of a secret, dangerous room, the unraveling of a mystery, and Garak, who was looking at him intensely, close enough for Julian to smell the spices from his pizza in his breath.

The warehouse was dark and desolate, and they could hear the screeches of the voles from the half-opened door and through the pipes of the whole place. It was honestly the most fun he had in weeks.

- You uncovered quite a situation, my dear, with that Replimat investigation of yours.

Julian laughed.

- I don't really care about the food. I just wanted to see you.

Garak's hand twitched involuntarily on his arm.

- Then, know that I'm never that far away, my dear Doctor.

Julian smiled and leaned in slowly. Garak's lips tasted like pizza, too.

- Oh, and the Replimat will be operational in 20 minutes. If you want some ice cream...

#startrekpotluck2025 #well now I want pizza!

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