#procal dukat

[evstrrratt]

i always wanted to know, what had happened between Garak and Dukat's father (Procal Dukat??)

also i needed an excuse to draw Garak in SS-like uniform (because Obsidian Order always reminded me of SS on many cases)

[tirlaeyn]

Cursed Thought:

On his death bed, Tain tells Garak he has a half-brother. It's Skrain Dukat. But Skrain doesn't know and neither did Procal, the man he called father.

What does Elim do with this information?

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 7

Ziyal takes her leave as they exit the Promenade, and Procal stops to watch her as she walks away. He only moves when the Doctor clears his throat, and scowls as he’s led through the hallways of the station. The Doctor shows him to the quarters he will be staying in, and promises to pick up his clothes for him when they’re ready. He’s introduced to the Starfleet security officer posted outside his door, a human man he does not recognize.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m your babysitter.” The man does not appear to enjoy his assignment at all. Procal decides not to bother speaking to him. He enters the room when the door is opened, and looks around.

The quarters are fairly small, but plenty big enough for him at his size. He’s relieved to see that it has not been renovated to fit Starfleet regulation. The bed and other pieces of furniture are Cardassian. There’s a replicator in one wall, and he intends to make full use of it once the Doctor leaves.

“If you feel sick, or need a hypo for your headache, just tell the Lieutenant. He’ll call for me.”

“When may I see Ziyal again?”

“That’s up to her and the Captain.” 

The Doctor finally goes, and Procal lingers in the middle of the room. Once he’s sure the man isn’t coming back, he goes up to the replicator. It’s easy enough to get rid of the default restrictions on it so he can order a glass of kanar, alcohol included. It’s always been a bad habit of his to drink kanar on an empty stomach, but he needs it to cope with all of this. He downs the glass. It’s poor quality, but it will have to do.

He goes back to the replicator, and after it recycles his glass, he requests, “Another glass- no, belay that. A bottle of kanar.” A twisted bottle appears. Taking it, he goes to the small bed in the room and sits down. After a long sip, he coughs, and then sighs.

Looking around, he asks aloud, “Why did you send me here?” He doesn’t get a response from the creatures, not that he really expected one. “If you wanted to get through to my granddaughter or son, you shouldn’t have sent a starving child. You should have sent that damned Bajoran woman. Skrain listened to his mistress more than he ever did to me.” A chill runs down his spine, and he takes that as their way of telling him they’d heard him, as their way of confirming his suspicions.

They want him to interfere with the timeline.

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 6

The Obsidian Order agent takes his measurements under the careful watch of Ziyal and Doctor Bashir. Procal hates how thin he is in this child’s body, how he’s practically skin, scales, and bones. It brings up horrible memories, a starving Cardassia, devoid of the resources needed to feed and nourish her people. It wasn’t until adulthood that he knew what it was to truly not know hunger.

In that respect, he can look at Ziyal and know that she is his blood; she is a survivor. She knows struggle. And though it is still so difficult to look past her odd coloring, the alien ridges on her nose... he can see a determined girl when he gets past that.

“You’re very thin, my dear boy. Perhaps you should join your sister and I for lunch one day. I’ll treat you to a good and proper meal.”

Garak had dined with him on plenty of occasions in his old life, working his way into his inner circle like a parasite. Procal frowns at the offer, but knows he must accept if he wishes to keep up his lie.

At least he will be able to keep an eye on the man and his intentions with his granddaughter. Perhaps he could distract her from her infatuation with him. Turn her attention to herself, so perhaps she might be spared her fate. Then again, do the creatures even want that? Now is not the time for such thoughts, though.

“I suppose. If it’s alright with my sister.” Though it irks him, in this game he must treat her as his elder. He looks back at her, and she almost squirms under his gaze. When he glances back at Garak, he sees a flash of suspicion in his pale blue eyes.

“Um... Perhaps next week. You need time to adjust to the station, brother, and to get better. Right, Doctor Bashir?”

“Ah, yes. He needs a lot of rest, and I’ll see if I can come up with a diet plan to get some meat on those bones.”

Garak finishes his measurements, and asks him if there’s anything he’d prefer. He asks for dull colors, and something warm. “Something Cardassian.” He won’t wear something human, and certainly not Bajoran. While he’s willing to pretend that he doesn’t see the latter as inferior, he will not partake in any part of their culture, not even if it would let him fit in better on this station.

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 5

It is more than a shock to see the Obsidian Order agent, and Procal finds it unnerving to see him mending a rip in some sort of fabric. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible, and sticks close to Ziyal. The agent is fond of the girl, and wouldn’t do something to frighten her.

“Doctor, Ziyal, what an unexpected pleasure. Oh, who is this young man?”

“A customer. He needs an outfit.” The doctor physically moves him away from Ziyal and towards the tailor. Procal scowls, lifting his head. The cold is settling in again, and it hurts to tilt his head up. “Something warm.”

“Of course. I’m certain I have something near his size I can alter now... Doctor, may I assume that you will be paying for my services? He doesn’t look to have a slip to his name.”

It takes all his self-restraint not to flinch when the agent touches his arm, and all his mental discipline to keep himself from drowning in the memory of his interrogation. He fights not to see the same man, much younger, a determined shine in his pale blue eyes, lifting up a knife.

There was blood seeping through the thin clothes he’d been granted, and he could feel a cold ache seeping into his bones as his life drained away. Being reduced to begging, as the agent lost himself in the task-

“What’s your name, dear boy?”

He pries himself out of the memory and focuses on what he needs to do. He needs to lie, needs to find an appropriate story to hide who he truly is, but explain why he’s with Ziyal. Something believable, but impossible to determine by hacking into records alone. Bashir hasn’t filed a report just yet. For once he’s grateful for his son’s outrageous behavior as he responds, “Dukat.”

“Really? You do bear quite a resemblance to him, I suppose.” The agent is searching his face, looking for any sign of deception. Procal sets his shoulders back, steeling himself.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I resemble my father?”

“I take it you are not one of his legitimate children.”

“No.” He bares his teeth and growls, “I hear you’re my sister’s friend. If you do anything untoward to her, I’ll-”

“I promise, child, that I have no desire to harm your sister,” the agent says in a soothing voice. “I’d like to get started on your clothes before you freeze. You look quite cold, and I do not want a child to pass out from hypothermia in my shop.” The agent turns to find a shirt for him, and Procal takes the change of subject as a victory. He shoots a look back at Ziyal and the doctor, a play along with my story or else.

His granddaughter doesn’t look very excited at the prospect of pretending to have a half brother, and he doesn’t trust the human to keep the secret very long. Pity. Now that he thinks about it, perhaps it would have been easier to call himself Skrain’s son from the beginning. 

If only the creatures had given him some warning, he wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 4

The Captain decides that Procal will have a security guard posted to stand outside the door of his quarters, both to make sure he doesn’t attempt anything, and to act as a responsible adult in case he needs something. They will check up on him once an hour, and he will receive a visit from the shapeshifter later. He pitches his idea of staying with Ziyal to the man, but is once more denied.

“For all we know, you could be an agent sent here to hurt her.”

“I commend you for your precaution, sir, it’s very Cardassian. But, Captain, what damage could I do, in this weakened child’s body?”

“I don’t make a habit of underestimating Cardassians. You’ll be fine in your own quarters. Doctor, why don’t you take him to get some proper clothes? I’m sure Mr. Garak will be glad to have a Cardassian customer.”

“Garak?” Procal tenses up at the name of the agent who murdered him, years ago.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. The name sounded familiar, Captain. I was a very important man, you know. I met many people.”

The Captain gives him a placating smile. “I’m sure.”

Annoying. The doctor beckons him to follow, and then asks Ziyal if she would like to accompany him. She agrees, and Procal wants to make a comment about how he knows of her infatuation with the man. Wants to tell her that the agent won’t save her, in the end.

She has the good sense as they walk through the Promenade to quietly tell the doctor, “Please don’t tell Garak who this boy shares DNA with. My father told me Garak was the one responsible for my grandfather’s death.”

The doctor shoots him a look, and Procal nods. “An interrogation gone too far. I can recall that incident quite vividly.”

“Maybe your mission is to go after Garak, then.”

“I don’t have a mission. If I do, the Prophets never bothered telling me what it was, Doctor.” His ridges twitch with frustration, and he can practically feel them changing color, the child’s body untrained. “I too would appreciate it if you did not tell that Obsidian Order agent who I was. I have no desire to lose this life as well.”

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 3

Procal had always had a short temper as a child, and it’s back in force as the human doctor insists that he must be some sort of clone with an implanted memory. He barely manages to keep himself from snapping at the man, and his headache doesn’t do his self-control any favors. The doctor and the shapeshifter theorize together, and Ziyal stands near them, eyes flickering between them as they talk.

It’s cold and bright, so he wraps the thermal blanket tighter around himself and squints, turning his eyes down to the floor. The clothes he’s in are thin and light, and he feels like his scales and ridges are turning to ice. His being a child means he loses body heat much faster. If he were mammalian, Procal knew he would be shivering.

If his granddaughter and her mother are watching him through the void’s view screen, he wonders what they’re thinking. Are they laughing at his plight? Thinking that the cruel old man is finally getting what they deserve?

Ziyal glances back at him, and there’s pity in her eyes. No, they wouldn’t laugh at him. They were kind people. If anything, they were probably worrying about him, though he’s done nothing to deserve it.

“Doctor Bashir, he looks like he’s freezing.”

“You’re right. I’ll get him a heat pack.” The doctor fetches a rubbery looking square, and presses a button on it. “Hold this, or tuck it under your shirt.”

He clutches it to his chest, and it slowly warms up. Though it isn’t very strong, the cold no longer feels so biting, and the thermal blanket gradually warms, actually having something to insulate, now. Much more comfortable, though the lights are still painful.

Finally, the shapeshifter leaves to message his contacts. Procal is left with the doctor and his granddaughter. He stares at the girl, ignoring how uncomfortable she looks. The doctor steps between them to scan him again, but he leans to the side to maintain the stare. “Would you like something for your headache?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll request some quarters for you.”

An idea comes to him, though he knows the answer will be no. He makes eye contact with the girl as he speaks to the doctor. “Tora Ziyal is my granddaughter, perhaps I should stay with her. Her quarters will be set for a Cardassian already, won’t they? No extra work for any of you Federaji officers.”

“No. I’ll have my friend adjust the settings of a room for you. It won’t be any trouble.”

He smiles up at the doctor, tilting his head. “I’m just a child, will you really leave me in a room by myself, Doctor?”

“We’ll discuss that with the Captain.”

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 2

His granddaughter doesn’t know him, and the Federation doctor takes her aside to explain what’s going on. Procal watches them from the corner of his eye, and wonders if Ziyal and Naprem are watching him from the void, or if they simply don’t exist anymore. It’s a depressing thought, that, and he suspects his child’s body is making him more prone to sentiment.

“My grandfather?” the girl repeats, incredulous. “Doctor, he’s younger than I am!”

“He says he’s been de-aged, somehow. We’ll run a quick test, and the results will tell us whether or not he’s telling the truth.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then asks, “And if he is?”

“Then we’ll figure out how he got here, and send him back.”

Procal chooses that as the perfect time to join the conversation. “Doctor, I’m quite certain the only way to send me back is if the Prophets choose to. They brought me here.”

“The Prophets?”

Union, it’s so strange to be back at square one with her. He’s been talking to her for so long that it’s almost disconcerting to hear the disbelief in her voice, see the suspicion in her eyes. His head is pounding, and he’d give almost anything to be back talking about Cardassian law with her and Naprem.

“They’re awful, meddling things. But, as you Bajorans would say, the Prophets always have a reason for what they do.”

The doctor performs his test, and then Procal lays back on the biobed, staring up at the ceiling. The shapeshifter tries to ask him more questions, but he’s fed up with answering. He’ll speak after the doctor confirms he’s been telling the truth about his identity.

“Genetic match confirmed.” He directs a smirk at the shapeshifter. Ha! He thinks. You were foolish to doubt me. 

“Computer, rerun scan.”

“Really, Doctor, is that necessary?” he drawls, knowing that they’ll think of his son, with his same sneering tone. It’s one that makes Naprem amused, but when he glances at Ziyal, she just looks surprised, not paying attention to him. He tsks, and sits up. “Do you doubt your computer?”

“Genetic match confirmed,” the computer repeats.

“He really is Ziyal’s grandfather.” The doctor looks almost unnerved. Finally, the human turns to look at him. “Odo, if you could use your contacts on Cardassia to get a scan of Procal Dukat’s DNA, I’ll be able to compare the sample, tell whether or not he’s a clone.”

“And what will you do with me while we wait for that?”

“I think we should put him in a holding cell,” the shapeshifter grabs his arm. Procal growls at him.

The doctor sighs, looking exasperated. “Odo, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He can stay here.” A pointed glare has him amending, “Or perhaps he could be assigned some quarters.”