Chapter Text
Terok Nor was unlike any other place Ziyal had been to in her young life. Owing to the position of her benevolent and powerful father she had visited many stations in Cardassian space all throughout her adolescence, most with a similar or even the same layout. And yet there was a different air about this place. It was as if the guards stood stiffer, the servants worked harder, and those in power became even more powerful.
As she stepped out of the airlock she was greeted by a rather stocky and plain looking Gul who did not at all look to be enjoying himself. "Lady Ziyal! It is my pleasure to welcome you to Terok Nor! Please, if you would follow me."
By rights Ziyal held the rank of Glinn in the Cardassian military and therefore the Alliance, which was thanks to her father's vast influence— but she did strongly prefer to be addressed with more elegant honorifics by her inferiors. Going by technicality the petulant Gul ranked above her, of course, but everyone in the Cardassian Empire was well aware that the beloved daughter of Legate Dukat was as untouchable as the Castellan himself.
"Where are my quarters?" she asked deliberately rudely. "It's been an arduous journey with all that dreadful rebel business interfering with travel - I desperately need to rest..."
The Gul sniffed and took her outstretched hand to help her down the docking ramp. "Of course, my Lady. I am Gul Garak and responsible for your wellbeing and every need - if there is anything you require during your stay on our station you are free to ask me for it. I aspire to serve you to your fullest satisfaction."
Ziyal smiled sharply, narrowing her eyes a little as she followed Garak towards the turbolift. "Thank you, Gul Garak. I'll be sure to make gratuitous use of your esteemed assistance. Ah, I take it my luggage is being transported into my quarters directly?"
"Yes. You will also receive your own personal Terran attendant provided by the Intendant herself," Garak huffed, half-laughing half-scoffing. "She picks them well. Consider it... a personal gift."
"When will I get to meet the Intendant? I've heard a lot about her inspiring work. And as you surely know, my father sent me here with the explicit assignment to learn from her... respectable competence."
They stepped into the turbolift and Garak turned to glance at Ziyal more intently. She couldn't make anything of his expression, although the disdain in his voice was easy to pick up on when he spoke. "You will make her acquaintance soon enough. For now I believe it is best you recover in your quarters until tomorrow."
Ziyal didn't bother to dignify him with an answer beyond jerking her chin.
Garak didn’t say much either as he escorted her the rest of the way to her quarters. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he was extremely unhappy to have her here, but Ziyal, for her part, couldn’t possibly have cared less about his feelings. She closed the door in his face as soon as she stepped inside, then looked around.
The quarters were nice, nice enough that she didn’t have grounds to complain, but not nice enough to think that the Intendant was granting her any special deference… yet. They could have been better, larger, but they would do for now. The furnishings were tasteful but generic, the kind offered to any passing KCA diplomat. The Terran that the Intendant had gifted her was already standing in the centre of her quarters, shirtless and holding a plate of spiced klemmen and canka nuts.
He obviously didn’t want her to be here, either. Or, more specifically, he obviously didn’t want to be here himself.
Ziyal picked up a large canka nut and popped it into her mouth, delicately licking her fingers as she circled the uncomfortable Terran, inspecting him. He was handsome, for a Terran, she supposed. Bronze-skinned and long-limbed, dark hair, intriguing eyes, very good neck. There had been some obvious effort put into fattening him up, but he was still quite skinny. He was clean cut, entirely hairless below the eyelashes, and had been lightly oiled in the Cardassian style, though Ziyal could easily imagine that he had not been nearly so well-groomed this morning. Nor that he had enjoyed the grooming process.
She decided that she would let him grow back his body hair. Perhaps it was the Bajoran part of her speaking, but she’d always found Cardassians who liked their Terrans smooth to be rather boring and uninspired.
“What’s your designation?” she asked him.
The Terran stared straight ahead instead of at her. “1244-Theta,” he said. His voice wasn’t too bad, either.
“And your name?”
Now he did look at her. “Why?” he said, rather insolently, “I thought your type wasn’t interested in that.”
“I’m a new type,” Ziyal said simply.
He seemed to relax a little, likely assuming that he could find some sympathy in Ziyal; she did not correct him. “My name’s Julian Bashir,” he said.
“Julian,” Ziyal said warmly. “You can call me Ziyal — in private. ‘My Lady’ if we have company.”
He didn't seem to be particularly enthralled with either option. "Yes, my Lady."
Maybe he was defective, or simply not very smart. Which would likely mean he would bore Ziyal quickly, but she supposed his looks were interesting enough to keep her entertained for at least a little while. Perhaps it was only the Cardassian pronunciation that was impossible to achieve in all its sophistication by such a basely species.
"That fat Gul who led me here said that the Intendant hand-picked you for me?" She asked and sat down against a padded lounger, stretching out her legs. "Put that down and help me with my boots. They make my feet ache."
"That is what happened," Julian confirmed and did as he was told.
"What is she like? I hear her beauty is unmatched— as is her cruelty."
Julian's expression switched from wary neutrality to charming leisure. "Oh, yes. She is very beautiful. But not as beautiful as you, my Lady." He carefully pulled her boots off and placed them next to the lounger.
Ziyal wasn't too amused by his clumsy and opportunistic blandishments and only awarded him with a hint of a smile. "Help me unpack my belongings," she said, not taking her eyes off the Terran kneeling at her feet and skillfully massaging her ankles. "And then tell me everything you know about the Intendant."
He looked up at her, eyes widening at the severity of her tone. If the Intendant wasn't going to come to Ziyal, it simply meant she would find a way to get to her.
"Everything."
Ziyal had expected that, as the days passed, she would begin to find Terok Nor more and more familiar, but instead it just seemed increasingly alien to her. It was not strictly logical; she had both Bajoran and Cardassian roots, and the station was almost exclusively run by Bajorans and Cardassians, with the only Klingons being a handful of security goons. But here, unlike many areas on Bajor that Ziyal had visited, Bajoran and Cardassian culture did not blend but instead seemed to destroy each other and themselves wherever they met. Terok Nor was unique— uniquely volatile and ugly and exciting.
She knew no one here except Glinn Damar (he still seemed doomed to never get that promotion he wanted), who had been her father’s adjutant for most of her life before being sent to Terok Nor a few years ago to keep an eye on Gul Garak. Ziyal wasn’t unhappy to see him but she’d always found him rather dull - uninteresting and anxious and never loosened up enough to even have a drink.
She couldn’t bring herself to care much about Gul Garak, either. She quickly found out that he planned to depose the Intendant, violently if possible, and the whole station knew it. Back on Cardassia he would have been executed for it but here he was allowed to not only stay alive but to keep serving as the Intendant’s second-in-command, because he was simply too incompetent to actually pose a real threat to her. Garak would have floundered in the Intendant’s position anyway. He was far too interested in petty random sadism and whatever sick acts he performed on the Terran slaves that got handed to him.
The Ferengi bartender was more interesting. He was meek and subservient, and quite obviously sympathetic to the Terrans, though he tried to hide it. Ziyal heavily suspected that with a little digging she could uncover proof of Quark’s involvement in the occasional mysterious (non-Garak- or Klingon-related) disappearance of a Terran or two. However, if it was this obvious to a newcomer like herself, then the Intendant probably knew about it and had her own reasons for ignoring it. Bringing it up to her probably wouldn’t do much to endear Ziyal.
Julian seemed to have decided without explicit confirmation (though, perhaps, admittedly a few well-placed insinuations) that Ziyal planned to kill the Intendant and became marvellously helpful. He still retained enough of a distance from her that he wouldn’t use her name and hardly ever looked her in the eyes, but he answered her questions promptly and, as far as she could tell, honestly. His theta designation and position as her personal servant got him places on Terok Nor that he wouldn’t have had access to before - something that he didn’t seem particularly grateful for, nor the better food and clothing, for that matter — Ziyal had him tracking the Intendant’s whereabouts and activities, mostly. It kept him out of her hair. What he thought was going to happen if the Intendant were killed, Ziyal had no idea. That would have left Garak in charge, after all, and Ziyal had already seen several times in the short period she’d been here that Garak had apparently taken a bit of a liking to Julian and would stare at him like a kava at its tiku prey whenever they encountered one another.
Ziyal's official position on Terok Nor left her in charge of the schooling and handling of several Terran servant groups - mostly women and a few pretty men. These Terrans were to be groomed and instructed to... adequately serve the Alliance's elite - on and off the station if needed. After some persuasive inquiries she quickly learned that her own Julian had previously been a part of this specific subgroup of workers, most of whom seemed to be very thankful to be freed of the harsh and merciless conditions in the ore processing unit.
Through her work and increasing connections across Terok Nor (and her status as Legate Dukat's precious daughter) she quickly established herself as a valuable presence and was not at all surprised when Julian presented her with a delightfully perfumed invitation letter only a few weeks into her stay.
"It's for the Intendant's upcoming banquet," he explained without her needing to ask. "It seems she has taken notice of you, my Lady, and wishes for you to attend. She sent for a tailor to outfit you with a dress she has picked specifically to flatter your mesmerising grace as well."
"Who told you about this?"
Julian stared at the floor, neck arched as demurely as he possibly could. "Gul Garak, my Lady. He was instructed by the Intendant herself to inform me of the details."
"Hm. Try to avoid further contact with him," Ziyal said with a pointy little smile and brushed her claws through Julian's short hair. She thought it would look nicer if she'd have him grow it out in a classic Cardassian fashion. "Now, the tailor?"
...
The dress was a perfect choice. It seemed like the Intendant did indeed have a keen eye for fashion - and Ziyal. She felt giddy with excitement as Julian helped her into the complicated costume on the long-awaited evening of the banquet, fastening straps and lace hidden well by the flowing, velvety fabric to draw attention to her ample décolletage framed by a traditional, geometric neckline. For better or worse Ziyal had learned early on in her life to weaponize not just her intellect but also her physical advantages.
"You look stunning," Julian commented from behind her exposed shoulder, for once sounding entirely sincere about his compliments.
"I don't need you to tell me that," she scoffed, but regarded him not all uncharitably. "Remind me to reward you for your efforts after the banquet."
His eyes lit up. "Yes, my Lady."
The banquet was opulent, lavish, decadent. When her father had sent her here to learn this was probably not what he was expecting Ziyal to be exposed to. There was more food than one could imagine being on the station after watching the half-starved Terran laborers hurry up and down the promenade all day; Bajoran, Cardassian, Klingon, and even Terran and Vulcan cuisine had been cooked up by the slaves, with what smelled like fresh, non-replicated ingredients. The fact that Ziyal had left Julian in her quarters was immaterial - the room was packed with servants ready to wait on each attendee hand and foot, and all of them were even more half-naked than Julian had been the first time Ziyal had seen him.
(Really, though, if she had brought him here then Garak probably would have stolen him halfway through the dinner service, which would have been rather disruptive for Ziyal’s plans.)
“Lady Ziyal,” Damar said when she swept into the seat next to him - conveniently right next to the head of the table, so that she would be on the Intendant’s right-hand side once she arrived. An oiled Vulcan slave hurried to present her with rock wine. The glass in front of Damar was visibly untouched.
“Corat,” Ziyal cooed. She had grown up bossing him around, so she felt entitled to use his first name even though he clearly didn’t like her doing it. “Do you know when the Intendant will be arriving?”
“I’m not sure. Soon, I hope.”
“I take it you want to discharge your duties here and get back to your quarters as soon as you can.” She looked around at the utterly debauched slaves and the station officials lazing around. “This is so… degenerate.”
“I know,” Damar said, “it’s disgusting.”
Ziyal grinned. “I love it.”
Damar looked like he might have been about to say something but evidently decided to keep his mouth shut. Shortly thereafter, the festivities calmed down when the Intendant finally made her entrance. Even the noisiest, most perpetually drunken Klingons shut their mouths as soon as the doors slid open to reveal their glorious, much-loathed leader.
She looked ravishing. Ziyal had thought her own outfit was strappy and revealing, but it had nothing on the Intendant. Her dress exposed every curve of her form, fabric hugging the slight swell of her stomach and accentuating her pale chest. Her whole body looked so soft and warm and pleaded, no, demanded for Ziyal to run her hands over it. Oh, what she wouldn’t do in that moment to be allowed to touch her waist, her hips, run her hands up to her neck… to see that sharp face and those laughing eyes look at her in passionate approval…
Ziyal came to her senses when she realised that Damar was hissing in pain because she had stabbed him in the leg with her fork.
"Are you alright?" she asked him with all the politeness she could muster, quickly recovering.
“Fine,” Damar said through gritted teeth. “Though perhaps I should step out and… pay a quick visit to the infirmary.”
“Perhaps you should.”
He certainly wouldn’t be around to ruin the mood with his dourness for the rest of the night.
Ziyal turned back to watch the Intendant continue her entrance, momentarily distracted by Gul Garak's annoyingly big head obscuring the view as he sat down across from her. Eventually the Intendant seemed to have enough of the guls and glinns around her begging for her attention like hungry riding hound puppies and seated herself at the head of the table, which seemed to be a sort of starting signal for the feast to begin.
"Oh, that dress," came her voice low and thick like syrup. "You must be Lady Ziyal."
"Yes, Intendant. I am overjoyed to be finally able to experience the honour of meeting you."
"Ha! What flattery. I see I made the correct choice for your wardrobe," the Intendant let out a dangerous chuckle and took Ziyal's face by the chin as if she was appraising her worth. "I'm surprised to see Legate Dukat's firstborn daughter is such a delicate beauty."
Ziyal desperately craved a drink - her lips were too dry. "I take after my mother," she breathed. "She was Bajoran."
Laughing, the Intendant let go of her at last. "And you should be very thankful for that!" she said with a glance at Gul Garak, who only rolled his eyes and beckoned for a Terran slave to refill his glass.
"I came here in the hopes of learning more about our people from a knowledgeable source and to advance my... abilities."
"Hm, I suppose there's a certain potential to be uncovered. For all his faults your dear father does manage to keep the Cardassian people satisfied enough to fight for our cause - and if you possess only a little bit of his administrative and political prowess you might have a promising future in the Alliance ahead of you..."
Ziyal looked at her intently, eyes wide and feeling a dizzying flush creeping into her cheeks.
The Intendant reacted with a dangerous smile. "And you definitely make up in charisma for what you lack in experience, my dear."
"A quality that is entirely missing from her father's repertoire, it seems," Garak piped up from across the table. Intendant Kira shot him a scathing look, which shut him up immediately.
"Ignore him," she told Ziyal and ran her hand over her shoulder. "Tell me, did you enjoy the Terran I picked for you? I hear he's very talented when it comes to... certain physical matters."
"I am satisfied with his service, and he is nice to look at," Ziyal admitted and inclined her head. "Although I haven't sampled his... more exotic talents yet."
Garak stuffed his mouth with a big chunk of zabu steak, glaring.
"Really?” the Intendant said with a grin. “Or perhaps your interests don’t… lie in that direction?”
“I never said that,” Ziyal said, but allowed her eyes to briefly flick down to the Intendant’s lips, then her chest, for good measure.
The Intendant rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. “Is that so? Well, perhaps you’d like to meet some of my own personal servants. I made sure to get you a pretty one, but you’ll forgive me if he isn’t the best-looking on the station after all.”
“Oh, I never imagined he was. I’m sure you keep the best for yourself, Intendant.”
“Yes… of course I do.” Her eyes gleamed. “My quarters, Lady Ziyal, after the banquet.”
“Yes, Intendant.”
Some part of Ziyal was irritated. All the effort she’d put into figuring out how to eventually endear herself to the Intendant, gone to waste because in the end the Intendant had simply looked at her and said the word. On the other hand… she was certainly getting what she wanted now.
Results mattered more than waste, Ziyal supposed.
Garak looked disgruntled. Ziyal would have to remember to send word to Julian to make himself scarce until she got back from the Intendant’s quarters.
The banquet, in the meantime, couldn’t be over fast enough. In comparison to the Intendant’s heady promise, no amount of scantily-clad Terrans or carefully-prepared delicacies could hold Ziyal’s attention. And she had to nurse her rock wine slowly - she couldn’t risk impairing her judgement in any way. (Not that it ever was a good idea, really. Damar was so obnoxiously straight-laced but it wasn’t like he didn’t have the right idea sometimes.)
At long last the Intendant ordered that Ziyal be escorted to her quarters to wait for her there. Thankfully she did not ask Garak to do it but rather discharged the duty to some demure Vulcan after complaining that Damar had never come back to the banquet. Garak glowered after her as they went. Ziyal did not even attempt to talk to the Vulcan. Being brought to the Intendant’s quarters like this made her feel like some disposable conquest and she was determined to show the Intendant she was good for more than just some quick and cheap pleasure.
Much more.
Ziyal was greeted in the Intendant’s quarters by a Terran servant who looked to be clothed and styled more expensively and glamorous than most of the upper class women she had been around on Cardassia. There was a subtle air of sublimity about her that made her seem anything but a slave - which was likely aided by her stark black, long hair that was intricately braided and reminiscent of popular Cardassian styles. The Terran bowed and dared to smile at her.
"Lady Ziyal, I welcome you to the Intendant's personal quarters."
The room she had entered at first was already grand and intimidating in its lavish decor, but upon being led further into the living quarters she quickly realised that the Intendant had to be even more powerful and influential than she had previously assumed.
"The Intendant has ordered me to serve your every need until she returns. Now, if I may help you undress?"
As the Terran helped Ziyal out of her clothes, Ziyal couldn't help but stare at her curiously. "And what's your name?"
"1872-Eta."
"No," Ziyal huffed in annoyance. "Your personal name."
"Keiko. But I would advise against addressing servants with anything but their official designations or occupation. It would reflect badly on you, Lady Ziyal."
That made Ziyal grin. This Keiko seemed to be a bit more clever than her own Terran.
Despite having prepared herself thoroughly for the banquet, it seemed it was expected of her to get changed yet again. Keiko wiped her body down with Kendra rosehip oil and then clad her in a very beautiful and very sheer robe before moving on to her hair. She had worn it down and slicked back for the banquet, but Keiko brushed it out and then fixed it in an elaborate updo.
"Did the Intendant request for me to change my attire?"
"No," Keiko said simply. "I just happen to know her preferences."
"I am not here to sleep with her."
"Aren't you? My apologies."
Ziyal pressed her thighs together and averted her eyes. "You're not like the other Terrans I've met," she said evasively.
"I merely benefit from the Intendant's charity. I am very grateful to serve her."
Julian really could take a page from her book, Ziyal thought dubiously.
Perhaps it was because these quarters were so large and she was therefore standing rather far away from the doors, and perhaps it had to do with her half-Cardassian ears being somewhat worse than typical Bajoran ones, but Ziyal didn’t hear the Intendant approaching and in fact only sensed her presence half a moment before she slipped her arms around her waist from behind. “Intendant,” Ziyal said with some surprise, distracted by the soft body now pressed warmly against her.
“Oh, please,” the Intendant said, “call me Nerys.”
“Nerys,” Ziyal tasted the name.
“Hm, it sounds good when you say it.” Nerys’ hand drifted up, barely - unsatisfactorily - skimming across Ziyal’s breasts before settling at the base of her throat. “Tell me, how has your stay on Terok Nor been so far, princess? Learning as much as you thought you would?”
Princess? Ziyal thought, too flattered to feel irritated. “I am learning much,” she said, “but I know there is still… more. More that I could learn from you, Nerys.”
“And that’s why you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“You would do the same in my position.”
She felt Nerys grin against the nape of her neck. “I would,” she said.
Ziyal’s gaze settled on Keiko, who was still standing there, hands folded politely. Keiko watched them in a detached, blasé sort of way, like she regularly saw the Intendant doing these sorts of things right in front of her. And she probably does, Ziyal thought with a flash of bitter jealousy.
"Is she going to stay?"
"I trust her completely. Terrans can be quite useful if you know how to train them correctly. They're such a fiercely loyal species..." Nerys mused and snaked her hand under Ziyal's robe. "Now, tell me the true reason you came to me," she spoke against Ziyal's earridge.
"I-I came to learn..."
"Oh, I don't doubt that. But you could have apprenticed under even more powerful women on Bajor. There is something else you want. Don't be shy." A warm chuckle. "I won't tell anyone."
With great difficulty Ziyal managed to turn around in the Intendant's arms and faced her, her robe becoming partially loose from the motion - she averted her eyes in shame she really could not afford.
"My father..."
"Dukat?" Nerys asked, sounding almost disappointed. "Did he send you to kill me after all? My, what a waste—"
"No!" Ziyal exclaimed quickly. "My father is a despicably short-sighted coward! The only reason he is still in power is that he serves as a useful puppet to more capable men! I came here because something has to be done.”
Nerys looked surprised for a moment, then her delicate features twisted into a devious and impossibly pleased smile. “What exactly did you have in mind, princess?” she asked carefully.
Ziyal felt keenly aware of Keiko’s presence somewhere behind them — but if Nerys trusted her, then Ziyal was willing to talk even with the Terran present… “I plan for him to be deposed,” she said, “and to replace him.”
The Intendant's grin only widened. “And you need my help, is that it?”
“I could certainly use it.”
“Well, what is your plan, so far?” Nerys said, close enough that she and Ziyal were breathing the same air.
Hot discomfort rose in Ziyal's cheek. She didn't have one beyond convincing her father to send her to Terok Nor and winning the favour of the Intendant. She averted her eyes and Nerys let out a small but unsettling chuckle.
"You're naïve, but smart enough. I like that in a girl."
"Nerys," Ziyal muttered, unable to focus properly. Standing so close to the Intendant's intimidating presence made her feel hot and short of breath, her stomach twisting uncomfortably with nausea. Some smaller, more collected part of Ziyal scolded her for her foolishness, the ease at which she had admitted to her true motivations and the way all her rationale seemed to be paralyzed by her proximity to such a beautiful, such a terrifying woman.
"Yes?" Nerys asked sweetly now, drawing Ziyal's attention back to her by guiding her chin with perfectly manicured fingers.
"Please aid me in my endeavour! You will benefit from it greatly! And once I hold control over Cardassia you will be able to enjoy immeasurable power not just in this sector but the whole quadrant."
Predictably, the Intendant laughed at her outburst. "My, you're so eager! But will that eagerness be enough to take over Cardassia?"
"Teach me," Ziyal pleaded. "Guide me and Cardassia will be yours— as will I..."