Title: The Warlord of Orion's Belt
Author: Paula Stiles (thesnowleopard@hotmail.com)
Series: DS9
Part: NEW 1/1
Rating [PG]

Codes: O, G, B


Summary: Odo creates an intriguing new villain, based on a Station coworker, for his
mystery holoprogram. Garak wants in on the action. They both may get more than they
bargained for, however, once the original finds out.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters and the Trek universe and I'm not making
any money off of this bit of fluff. But it's still my story.

Archive: Yes for ASC. Others should ask first.

Note: This is a sequel to my story "Split Personality," and is set a few weeks after
"Inquisition" and "In The Pale Moonlight" but before "His Way." BTW, "Split Personality"
is a sequel to the episode, "The Passenger."

Thanks to Victoria Meredith, Valerie Shearer, and Matt Edwards for beta-reading this
story for me--even if they did strong-arm me into writing a sequel.




			THE WARLORD OF ORION'S BELT


     Odo had a secret. Garak wanted to find out what it was.

     Almost every night, at precisely 20:00 hours, Odo would enter Quark's Bar. He
would go up to the counter. He and Quark would engage in the usual constable/
criminal two-step. These pleasantries completed, Quark would then pull out his box of
holosuite isolinear rods and hand one over to Odo. Odo would take it and go up to the
Holosuites, where he would remain for exactly an hour and a half. When he came out,
he always looked remarkably smug.

     There was only one time when this odd ritual had varied. One night, while Odo was
returning the isolinear rod to Quark, Dr. Bashir wandered into the bar. Upon sighting
the good doctor, the constable started. The most charming sheen of silver rippled from
the top of his "hair" all the way down his uniformed body to his pseudoboots. Garak
was certain that the reaction was involuntary.

     He was equally certain that Bashir hadn't noticed. The good doctor had not been
noticing much recently. He seemed very preoccupied--downright snippy, really. He
seemed obsessed with remaining around people at all hours of the day (hence his
presence in Quark's at that hour). Yet, he had canceled his daily lunch with Garak five
times in the past three weeks. Whenever Garak questioned him about this he merely
shrugged, said he was very busy, and walked away. Really, ever since the secret of
his genetic heritage had come out, he had been completely insufferable.

     Garak could mention Odo's strange behavior to Bashir, just to see the Changeling
goo fly, but he had a better idea. It involved gossip, a little blackmail, and the
inconsequential betrayal of a friend. The mere thought made Garak smile in
anticipation. Life in exile, especially considering that he was in the wrong war on the
wrong side at the moment, had become far too tedious recently.

     In a way, Garak was glad that Ziyal had not lived to get to know him better; she
would have hated him in the end. But he still missed her. And he was still angry at
Bashir for not filling the void she had left behind.

     This night, Garak waited until the Constable made his transaction with Quark and
disappeared upstairs. Bashir made things much easier by not showing up. Garak
carefully noted which holosuite Odo had entered, then waited five minutes. Then, he
went upstairs, too.

      The simulation was fully engaged when Garak arrived at the holosuite doors. The
Constable had put the privacy lock on but that didn't matter much to Garak. He had the
doors open within a few seconds. Hopefully, Odo wouldn't notice his illicit entrance.

     Inside, Garak found himself within a garishly lit chamber. Its cavernous size
provided a welcome contrast to the confines of DS9, which had been aggravating
Garak's claustrophobia recently. The decor was in variations of gold and purple. *How
utterly hideous,* Garak thought, his tailor's instinct momentarily taking over. *Surely,
the Constable has better taste than this.* Then, Garak remembered Odo's sartorial
style and reconsidered. Perhaps this was the secret Constable, after all.

     The conversation coming from the other end of the chamber (which was enormous)
caught Garak's attention. He walked in that direction over barbaric rugs of animal
skins. The chamber was elliptical, the narrower end coming to a blunted point at what
looked like a raised dais. Was that a throne? Why, yes indeed, it was; all made up in
gold and ivory lacquered latinum. Two Plygorian mammoth tusks rose up in the dim,
red light on either side of its base, meeting in an arch nearly five meters above it.

     A figure slouched on the throne, clad in a long, open, purple robe, polished black
jackboots, and some kind of black uniform. Gold braid flashed whenever the being (a
humanoid) shifted on its seat, but Garak was unable to make out its face. Perhaps it
didn't have one.

     At first, Garak thought it was Odo, but then he heard Odo's voice, and spotted him
standing before the throne. Two henchman straight out of an Orion pornographic
holoprogram flanked him. He was in chains. The bonds looked heavy, and would have
been impressive if Odo couldn't have oozed right out of them.

     Odo was speaking to the figure on the throne--haranguing it, really. "You'll never
get away with this, Vantika," he was saying. "My best men are right behind me. By now,
they'll have located your hidden lair. They could burst in here at any moment."

     "Your men will do you little good, Constable," the figure on the throne hissed back.
"They'll have little enough to mourn when my men are done with you. Nobody crosses
the Warlord of Orion's Belt--certainly not in the heart of Castle Orion."

     Vantika? That named sounded familiar. Hadn't a notorious criminal of that name
once been caught on the Station? And that voice sounded familiar, too. Yet, Garak
was quite sure that, whoever Vantika had been, he had never met the man.

     "That would be true, if I really needed them to take you in, Vantika," Odo declared.
"But I don't." 

     He chose this moment to do his oozing trick. His wrists turned silver and the chains
dropped right through them. The two guards gaped, perfect targets for Odo's fluid
martial arts moves. They dropped like two sacks of latinum. Outraged, the Warlord half
rose from his throne. Garak saw his face clearly for the first time.

     "My dear Doctor!" Garak burst out, in spite of himself. "This is a little ridiculous, even
for you!"

     Odo's face slumped in astonishment as he spun around to face Garak. "Garak! what
are you doing in here?"

     "I might ask you the same thing, Constable," Garak replied, stifling a snicker with
difficulty. He turned to the Warlord. "Perhaps *you* could enlighten me, Doctor."

     Showing no recognition of Garak, the Warlord turned his cold gaze on the
Cardassian. "Who is this intruder?" he demanded. "Surely he's not one of your men,
Constable?"

     "Give it up, Garak," Odo said wearily. "That's not Doctor Bashir." He waved his hand
and spoke to the air, "Computer. End program."

     Everything except Garak and Odo, including the Warlord, vanished. Garak gaped at
Odo. "Constable, have you done what I think you just did?"

     Odo squirmed. Not being solid, he really could.

     "Not exactly," he said. "That's not supposed to be Bashir."

     "Somehow I doubt he'll see the difference."

     "He doesn't have to know," Odo retorted. "And you have no reason to tell him, do
you?"

      Garak smiled. "Oh, now don't be like that, Constable. Really, I'm surprised that you
haven't let Major Kira in on your little secret, though. I'm quite certain that she'd be just
fascinated at this glimpse into your true imagination. Of course, as I recall, you never
liked holosuites. In fact, I believe you once claimed not to have any imagination at all."

     Odo glared at Garak. "I could make the same threat about Captain Sisko's attitude
toward your invading my privacy." 

     This was a good point. Sisko was not very happy with Garak right now. Garak had
recently helped him persuade the Romulans to enter the War. Sisko, however, had
been very disappointed at Garak's method for accomplishing this task: blowing up the
Romulan ambassador's ship. Really, the man had no sense of statesmanship. Now,
Garak was laying low until the Captain's anger abated. He certainly wouldn't want to
attract Sisko's attention *now.*

     On the other hand, Garak didn't think that Odo would want Sisko to know that he
had been misusing his authority to mock a fellow Senior Staff member in the
holosuites, any more than he would want Major Kira to know that his favorite color (as
far as Garak could tell) was purple. So, he folded his arms, and waited for Odo to get
tired of playing the hypocrite.

      Odo's glare spoiled a bit when his eyes began to run together. Finally, he gave up
the effort and sighed in resignation. "What do you want, Garak?"

     Garak beamed at him. "Why, I thought you'd never ask, Constable. I want in on the
game, of course."




     Quark gloomily dried another glass. He couldn't believe that Odo was getting away
with it. Oh, the Constable had safeguarded his program well, but he hadn't dared use
the Station security programs to protect it. His commercial program lock had been
child's play to break. In fact, Quark had once had such a program to play with when he
had been a kid. The garish throne room had been a jaw-dropper, but the Warlord,
himself...oh, my. 

     Quark had never expected to see Bashir like that ever again. He'd gotten quite a
turn until he'd realized that the Warlord was just a hologram. Thank the Heavenly
Treasury that Bashir had never remembered that it had been Quark who'd gotten him
those henchmen when Bashir had been Vantika. And when Vantika's old pal Malinka
had showed up for a class reunion, trying to convince Bashir that  he was still Vantika...
The whole affair had made Quark's ears ache.

     Well, Quark, for his part, sincerely hoped that the rumor that Bashir had blown
Malinka to atoms on Filar 6 was the unvarnished truth. The more Bashir switched back
and forth, the more likely he was to remember Vantika's little deal with Quark. If that
happened, Quark had no doubt whatsoever that Bashir would turn him in.

     Odo was getting himself way out on a broken pylon using Bashir's criminal alter ego
in his holosuite fantasies. Sisko wouldn't appreciate it at all. And Major Kira...she'd kill
him! The problem was, Quark couldn't figure out quite how to squeal on Odo without
getting himself throw into the Brig. And now *Garak* was up there having the time of
his life! It was enough to make a Ferengi sell his Tongo Wheel in despair.

     Just at that moment, Dr. Bashir wandered into the Bar. He'd been a restless soul,
the past few weeks, and a wonderful customer; drinking like a fish, overpaying for his
drinks, and forgetting to get his change back. It was almost enough to turn Quark
charitable towards him. Quark watched Bashir pull up to the bar like an Antares class
freighter with bad thrusters. It looked as if the good doctor had been dipping into his
own stash of the real thing, again.

     "What can I do for you tonight, Doc?" Quark asked as Bashir sat down.

     Bashir rubbed his face and sighed. "I shouldn't even be here," he said, mostly to
himself. Then, he looked at Quark, "Oh, Hell. Give me a double synthehol."

     Quark got a glass and turned on the tap. "Started your night a little early, did you?"

     "I'm still hungover from last night, actually, " Bashir said. He fairly grabbed the glass
from Quark and sucked it back, then bared his teeth at it. "Well, it's not a pint of Orkney,
but I suppose it'll do."

     "Orkney?" Quark queried.

     "It's a beer," Bashir explained. "Rather a strong one. From back home. No offense."

     "None taken," Quark said.

     "It's just that I'm feeling a little homesick, these days. Not that there's much to go
back home for."

     Oh,Voles. He was feeling expansive, tonight. And since the bar was nearly
deserted, Quark could get stuck listening to him for hours. Quark looked around.
Where was Morn when you needed him?

     "I'm a little surprised that Sisko hasn't gotten on his high horse about your bar-
crawling lately," Quark said, trying to change the subject to something Bashir wouldn't
want to discuss. "I thought you Starfleet officers weren't supposed to drink the real stuff
when you were likely to be on duty."

     The comment was even more effective than Quark had hoped for--alarmingly so.
Bashir's face went dangerously blank. But, all he said was, "The Captain's been very
busy, lately. I've hardly seen him around, since the Romulans joined the War.
Somehow, I don't think his priorities include keeping tabs on my bar attendance, right
now. I'd like another synthehol, please."

     Quark knew there was a story behind that comment, but he decided it was safest not
to pursue it, now. Maybe in a year or so--after he'd gotten Bashir really, really drunk on
Romulan Ale or Kanar--he'd get the rest of the tale. He got another glass.

     As he filled it, he got an idea. Eyeing Bashir speculatively, he finished up the glass
and handed it over. "Have you noticed how much time the Constable's been spending
in the holosuites, lately?"

     Bashir sipped his second synthehol. He looked up disinterestedly over the rim of
the glass at Quark. "I don't keep tabs on the Constable's leisure activities like you do,
Quark. Sorry."

     Quark leaned over the bar, as if to share a secret. "Well, I just thought you might be
interested in his new detective mystery program--considering that you're the star
villain."

     Bashir sat up so fast that Quark thought the doctor would fall right off his barstool.
For a moment, such a look crossed the doctor's face, that Quark was convinced he'd
just made that one, fatal mistake of his larcenous career. He scrambled to get off the
bar and cringed back against his drinks shelf.

     "Excuse me?" Bashir said, his voice rising loud enough to startle a drunken couple
fooling around in a nearby booth.

     "Are you seriously trying to tell me that Constable Odo is using my image in one of
his holosuite programs?" Bashir leaned forward across the bar. Quark cringed a little
more. "Is that what you just told me?"

     Quark decided that it was time to spread the blame around. "Not just Odo," he
whined. "Garak's in there, too."

     "They're in there? Right now?!" The couple in the booth sat up, blinking at Bashir.
Then, the man, a Tellarite, shrugged and turned on the privacy screen. So much for
help from that quarter. Bashir glared at Quark, but he looked confused, too, fortunately.
As long as he stayed confused, he wouldn't try to throttle Quark. Quark started to relax.

     "Just why the Hell are they using *me* as their villain, anyway?" Then, he cocked
his head and narrowed his eyes. Quark cringed again. "They're not doing some Khan
superman thing in there, are they? Oh, it had *better* not be a sexual program. I
warned Garak about that before."

     "Oh, please don't kill me," Quark squeaked. "It's not like that, at all. It's just a straight
detective novel. Odo's just using Rao Vantika as the template for the villain, that's all. I
swear. He's calling him the 'Warlord of Orion's Belt.' It's not even supposed to be you."

     Bashir slammed his palms down on the bar. "He's using *Vantika* as the VILLAIN?!
Why that poxy, evil, cold-blooded, bastard son of a bitch--wait a minute. Did you just
say the villain was called, the 'Warlord of Orion's Belt'?"

    Quark was so surprised by the turnabout in Bashir's mood, that he forgot to cringe.
"Uh. Well, yes."

     Bashir pushed himself off the bar, sat back down hard on his barstool and stared
blankly at a case of kanar on the shelf over Quark's head. He stayed like that for over a
minute. Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. Quark stood up cautiously, watching
him. Bashir continued to laugh, making no move to attack Quark or destroy his
property. It took awhile for him to calm down.

     When he finally did so, wiping his eyes, he said, "Oh, I needed that. Thanks, Quark.

     "Now," he continued briskly, clapping his hands together. "I'd like another
synthehol. And while you're getting it, why don't you start telling me *all* about this
]new program of Odo's?"

     Quark smiled and got the beer. He liked this new mood of Bashir's. If it lasted, it
could bode very ill for the Constable, very ill, indeed.




     Garak wished that Odo would be a little bit more flexible about the program. What
would it hurt to have a nice, quiet interrogation session with the Warlord once Odo had
arrested him and thrown him into his cell? Surely, Garak was entitled to his own
satisfaction in this scenario.

     Odo, unfortunately, was still insisting on being a hypocrite. He'd frostily informed
Garak that tormenting Dr. Bashir, no matter how vicariously, was *not* the purpose of
this holoprogram. Odo was simply trying out his detective skills in a somewhat more
stimulating environment than he normally found on DS9. He'd never admit that he was
getting the least bit of fun out of humiliating Bashir by proxy. It wasn't that Garak was
angry at Bashir, despite the good doctor's annoying self-preoccupation in the past few
weeks. Garak was just feeling a little on edge about his own situation on the Station; it
was too precarious, at the moment. And, really, the doctor knew just too much about
DS9's favorite tailor for comfort.

     They had arrived at Garak's least favorite part of the program--the confrontation with
the Warlord. The meeting had its potentialities, of course, but Odo was not interested in
the more intriguing ones. No. He wanted a straight confrontation, followed by a by-the-
book arrest. 

     Unfortunately, what that meant was that no matter how many permutations of plot
and circumstance they went through, Garak and Odo would still end up standing in
that hideous throne room in Castle Orion, twitting the Warlord. And, despite his
menacing attitude and wicked jackboots, the Warlord was not the brightest lightpen on
the PADD.

     Oh, yes, the chase through the Cresman Mud Pools could be deliciously sinister,
and dallying with Madame Rotva and her laser whip was always stimulating (even with
the holodeck safeties on). Still, these were mere diversions, side-trips rather than the
main plot. The main plot was, well, dull.

     Now, they were being hustled into the garish, purple throne room. The Warlord
awaited them on his perch. 

     As the guards shoved Garak and Odo into the spotlight in front of the Warlord's dais,
the Warlord called out, "Stop!

     "What do we have here?" he purred. He seemed less bored than usual. Garak
perked up--had Odo made some improvements after all?

     One of the guards--the bigger, stupider one--spoke up. "Intruders, Sire," he
announced. "We found them in the Control Room. They were trying to sabotage the
Gamma Blaster Ray. What do you want us to do with them?"

     The Warlord smiled, not pleasantly. "Hmm, an interesting question. Should I play it
safe and kill you now or can I play with you for a little while?" He looked at the guards.
"What do you think, lads?"

     "Sire," the smaller, smarter guard spoke up. "Perhaps we should find out who they
are, first."

     "What for?" said the first guard grumpily. "Once they're space dust, who'll care?"

     "I already know who they are," the Warlord retorted. "They're Constable Odo and his
friend, Mr. Garak."

     Garak, startled, glanced at Odo. Odo looked non-plussed. Oh, dear. Suddenly, the
Warlord was beginning to look *very* bright indeed, and the Constable didn't appear
to have had anything to do with it. Had somebody programmed in a glitch? Garak
automatically began reviewing all of his known enemies who could tamper with a
holosuite program. The list was dismayingly long.

     Clearly uneasy, Odo started into his arrest speech sooner than usual. "Your threats
mean nothing to a Changeling, Vantika," he declared. "Any more than your chains."

     At that, his arms began to melt. But, instead of letting his manacles slip through his
wrists, he cried out and dropped his arms. The chains buzzed and slid off, taking drips
of Odo with them. They clanked to the floor, where, covered with goo, they sparked
ominously.

     "What are you doing?" Garak hissed, as he fished frantically up his sleeve for the
lockpick he always kept handy.

     "Forcefields," Odo gasped back. "In the manacles. They burned me!"

     Garak, stunned, dropped his lockpick. If he'd tried to spring his own chains, he
would have received the same shock as Odo. He had no desire to do that.

      "Damn," said the Warlord, observing Odo's and Garak's consternation. "I suppose
'd better kill you after all." He slouched further on his throne, steepled his hands, and
smiled evilly. "Guards!" he called. "Shoot these pathetic excuses for policemen."

     Now thoroughly alarmed, Odo called out, "Computer! End holodeck program Odo
number 36."

     "Computer," the Warlord countered lazily, just as the scenario began to dissolve
around them. "Belay that order." The walls of Castle Orion solidified once more.

     "Holodeck safeties off," the Warlord continued, as both Odo and Garak gaped at
him. "Guards. Fire."

     Garak looked around wildly for something to jump behind, but he and Odo were in
the middle of the room. There wasn't enough shelter for an Aldebaran slug, let alone a
Cardassian and a shapeshifter. As the guards stepped back and raised their rifles,
Garak closed his eyes. There was a loud bang, then a hiss, and suddenly he was
doused with frigid water. He jumped and opened his eyes. The guards raised their
water pistols and froze into parade rest.

     The Warlord laughed. Garak knew that laugh. He'd never heard it quite so loud
before, but he still knew it. Then, he realized he was still alive. As he looked up at the
Warlord, he wished, just for a moment, that he wasn't.

     "You can reform, now, Constable," the Warlord said, with just a hint of mockery.
Garak looked down at the puddle next to him on the floor. If possible, it looked
sheepish. Slowly, it rose off the floor, retaking Odo's shape.

     "I *told* you not to go into the simulation right before you had to regenerate!" Garak
hissed at Odo. Odo, now clearly abashed, could only shrug. Then, both he and Garak
were forced to turn toward the real problem.

     "Hello, Doctor," Odo offered cautiously.

     The Warlord/Bashir leered down at them. "Hel-lo, Constable, Mr. Garak," he nodded
at Garak, not bothering to hide his mockery, now. "It appears that I have you both in
quite a spot. You really should have been more careful about including Quark in your
little game. He was your weak link, you know."

     "Ah. Yes," Odo said, his still mobile features quivering uncertainly. "This isn't what it
looks like."

     "Let's see," Bashir leaned back on his throne (and didn't he look like he really
owned it, at that moment!). "I'm calculating just what it took to create this scenario:
personal--*very* personal--observation, ship's *and* personal logs, rank gossip,
breaking into my medical files, maybe a bug or two in my quarters--have I left anything
out?"

     Odo licked his lips (Garak wondered where he had picked up that mannerism).
"We...didn't do anything illegal, really. We didn't mean any harm."

     The look of rage and humilation that crossed Bashir's face at that moment made
both Odo and Garak want to melt into the floor. But, Garak couldn't do it, and Odo was
still too embarassed to try again. 

     "We'll destroy the program, of course," Garak blurted out. Normally, neither he nor
Odo was at all easy to intimidate. They both prided themselves on their separate
codes of conduct, however, which they had both violated beyond all possibility of
denial, just for a little holosuite fun. And why? The inescapable truth was that Bashir
had seemed like such an easy target.

     Neither constable nor tailor was about to make that mistake again.

     Bashir must have read all of this in their faces, for he relaxed and slouched back
onto his throne. His smile came back; now, it was openly malicious. 

     "Oh, no, gentlemen," he said. "I'm not letting you off *that* easily."

     Garak tensed. Was Bashir really going tell Sisko, after all? *That* could be very
unpleasant. But, what Bashir had in mind, as it turned out, was even worse.

     Bashir slung one long leg over an arm of his throne and picked at a thread on his
purple-black caftan. "I rather like this program," he said. "Really, gentlemen, you've
been most selfish not letting me in on your little secret. The scenario does have one
small problem, however." Bashir rolled his eyes back and regarded the golden ceiling
of his throne room. For a moment, he looked feral, very...Vantika-like.

     *Oh, no.* Garak thought, but didn't dare move or speak.

     "Your villain," Bashir continued, cocking his head to one side and fondling one of
the mammoth tusks. "Needs a little work. I mean, really, all you have to do to defeat
him is to turn him off. Now, that's not very challenging at all, is it?"

     Bashir swung his jackbooted feet back to the floor and stood up. "But, I'm sure that I
can help you remedy *that.* Oh, yes, I'm quite sure that we can work something out to
our collective satisfaction--or, at any rate, to *my* satisfaction. And then there wouldn't
be any need to bring Captain Sisko or, Heaven forbid, Major Kira into this at all. That
wouldn't be very much fun for any of us, now would it?

     "Oh, my. Yes," he said, coming down the steps of the dais, his smile now definitely
Vantika's. "I think that the next few weeks will be quite stimulating for all concerned.
Until tomorrow night, gentlemen."

     And with that, the Warlord of Orion's Belt strode through the holodeck doors and
back out into Quark's Bar.

END