#verse drabble

[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: Insurance - Introduction

“Ow!” Procal startles, and realizes two things at once. First, he’s finally capable of looking away from the dreadful visions he’s plagued by. Second, a young boy has just plopped to the ground by his feet. He looks down at him, and dread settles deep inside of him. He recognizes the boy, even though the visions rarely show him.

It is, as painful as it is to admit it internally, his youngest grandson. Kyle Sisko. The boy looks like someone had smoothed out all the ridges and scales of a Cardassian, and then used too warm a palette to color him in. His hair is distinctly not Cardassian, the tight curls not found anywhere on his home planet.

In short, the boy looks entirely too human, just like his sire. 

Despite his human heritage, the boy is dressed like a proper Cardassian youth, and when he speaks, it is in flawless kardasi, full of suspicion. “Who are you? Where am I?”

A cold pressure pushes down on his back until he kneels next to the boy and answers, “I’m Procal Dukat. This is my home.”

The boy looks around, confusion in his eyes. “I’ve never seen a place like this before. Is your name really Dukat? That’s my Yadik’s name.”

“I am your ya’yadik.”

“Yadik said my Cardassian ya’yadik was dead.”

“He was correct.”

“Oh.” He pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Does that mean I’m dead too?”

The visions haven’t shown him the child in a while, perhaps he would get to watch the boy’s death soon. He doubts the creatures would bring Kyle here while he was still alive, but maybe... “Most likely.”

Kyle looks disappointed, frowning. “If I am, that means I died before I ever got to meet my human father. Yadik promised I would meet him someday.” There’s nothing he can say to that. When he stays silent, the boy continues, “I wonder if he’ll tell my father about me, or if he’ll try to forget about me. Ziyal is going to be sad, though. She likes me, and I think Yadik will tell her.”

“Perhaps. Do you remember how you died, child?”

The boy thinks for a while, chewing on one of his fingers as he tries to uncover the memory. “The last thing I remember is seeing Yadik... I was sick. It was hard to breathe or move, and he was holding me, saying I was going to be alright as soon as we got to some station.”

“Your genetic condition?” The girl had suffered from breathing issues as a young child, her hybrid genes not working in her favor. Humans were fragile, no doubt the inferior genes had caused a number of issues in his grandson.

Kyle nods. “I think so. But... It was different, then just not being able to breathe. I felt sick. And it was cold...” The boy seems much smaller when he says that, arms wrapping around his thin frame. A dull look enters his eyes. “It was so cold.”

After a moment of hesitation, Procal puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, fingers twitching at the first sensation of touch in an eternity. Kyle looks up at him, and his eyes are rimmed red, his skin pallid and scales brittle. His ridges are devoid of any coloring, where little children are supposed to be spotted or flushed with emotion.

Pitiful thing.

[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 - 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.”

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - 1

He’s taken down to the infirmary by the changeling, Odo. It’s strange, walking among these people, walking through the station, and knowing it all, despite the fact that he has never been to Terok Nor, and has never met any of these people. The doctor scans him and determines that he’s healthy, if not cold, and with a stress headache. He’s given a fresh change of clothes and a thermal blanket while he scans him for any indication that he’s telling the truth.

“I can compare his DNA to a sample of Ziyal’s, see if they’re related.” He calls the girl down, and Procal is curious to know whether or not his granddaughter knows him, here.

“You don’t honestly believe he’s Gul Dukat’s father, do you, doctor?”

“He’s been exposed to some sort of radiation I can’t identify, with no ill effects. If he’s been transported through time, that could be a residual trace of whatever brought him here.”

“I have not been transported through time. I have been brought back to life. As a child.”

“You remember everything about your life?”

He’s not sure why he answers their questions. Maybe he believes it will get him out of this infirmary faster. “As much as can be expected, for my age. My real age. I remember dying.”

“And then what do you remember?”

“The creatures put me in a strange dimension and forced me to watch fragments of my son’s life.” 

“Creatures?”

“The Bajoran gods- the prophets, the pah-wraiths. They brought me there after I was murdered.” A horrible thought occurs to him, then. What if the creatures are using him to change the future? If they showed him what his son was fated to do, so he could stop him, or help him? He decides that he’s going to keep that theory to himself.

The changeling huffs. “You certainly looked like you’ve been near a murder. Whose blood is on his clothes, Doctor?”

“His own, though I can’t find a single injury on him. The only thing wrong with him is a headache from stress.”

He wishes the doctor would give him a hypo for the pain, but doesn’t ask for one. He won’t show weakness in front of them. 

A few minutes after being called by the human doctor, his granddaughter walks in. Procal is so relieved to see someone he’s actually familiar with that he forgets his self control and smiles. “Ziyal!”

She stares at him in confusion, no hint of recognition in her eyes. His smile fades, and he hates the disappointment that settles like poison in his chest. Of course she doesn’t know him. She hasn’t died yet in this timeline. This isn’t the granddaughter he had spent a fraction of eternity talking to, alone in the void together until her mother appeared.

He had appeared in the clothes he died in. She’s in a dress he had only seen in the visions. Not the wide necked dress that soldier had shot her in. There is no phaser mark.

The shapeshifter gives him an odd look. Procal turns his face and scowls. “If you’re really Procal, why are you happy to see her? Cardassians of your kind aren’t a fan of hybrids.”

Will the creatures punish him for being truthful? If he tells them he knows when the girl dies, it might alter the future. He can’t be sure, and is afraid to find out the answer, if the creatures intend him to manipulate this universe just to save the life of one girl. “Things change after an eternity.”

[procaldukat]

Afterlife: Resurrection - Introduction

He’s talking to Ziyal and Naprem, explaining the basics of the Cardassian legal system to them as they watch Skrain attending his trial on the vision screen, when all of the sudden they’re not there. The vision is gone, and the endless expanse of the stars has been replaced with Cardassian walls. For a moment he wonders if he’s home, if the past eternity has been nothing but a nightmare, but then he hears a voice demand, in Federation Standard, “Who are you?”

Procal turns and sees the Captain Skrain is obsessed with, Benjamin Sisko. He quickly realizes he’s standing in the man’s office, and that the Bajoran woman, Kira Nerys, is pointing a phaser at him.

Is this some sort of new test from the creatures?

They’re waiting for an answer as he adjusts to his surroundings. The lights are too bright, and he’s suddenly aware of being cold. He straightens up, wondering why he feels so short compared to the Captain. “I’m First Justice Procal Dukat.”

The Bajoran woman barks a laugh, and he scowls at her. If this was... however many years ago, he would reprimand her for laughing at him. But Naprem and Ziyal have been reminding him not to be rude about their being Bajoran, and he decides to hold his tongue.

Captain Sisko frowns. “How did you get here?”

He thought the man was supposed to be the Emissary. Couldn’t he tell? “The creatures have sent me.”

“Creatures?”

“The Prophets.” Procal recalls one of the visions that had only appeared once. “Or perhaps the Pah-wraiths. I’m not sure.”

“What? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Most assuredly not.” He looks around. It seems Ziyal and her mother had not been sent with him. He’s disgusted to find that he feels lonely without them.

“Who are you?” Sisko demands, again. He rises from his seat.

“Procal Dukat.” He already answered. Why did he have to say it again?

“Listen, kid, Procal Dukat is dead. And even if he wasn’t, he’s certainly not some child.”

“Child?” he echoes, and looks down at himself. Sure enough, his body looks decades younger, like a young teenager, and he’s in a smaller version of the clothes he died in, blood stains and all. He touches one of the stains, but it’s dry. “These are the clothes I was wearing when that Obsidian Order agent killed me. Why would they put me in this?”

[procaldukat]

Afterlife - 3

His granddaughter, and Procal weeps internally at the small betrayal of his sensibilities to call her such, is upset with him. Once more, he can’t find her, no matter how hard he looks. And he searches, wandering the wide expanse of stars, looking for the wall she is hiding behind. He traces his hands over nonexistent tabletops, giddy at the the sensation of touch.

His senses have been so deprived he’s surprised he hasn’t lost his mind sooner. No wonder he remained in his unconscious state for so long. For an eternity there was nothing to look at, nothing to hear or taste or smell or touch, not without the visions. And then the girl appeared, and he could see and hear again, taste her scent whenever he sipped the air. But touch- touch had been rare. After he’d struck her, she’d kept her distance.

“Ziyal! Ziyal, my granddaughter! It’s very rude to ignore your elders, you know? If we were home, I would be forced to punish you.” If we were home. He can’t help but chuckle at the thought. His wife had disowned Skrain for bringing Ziyal to her home- if he’d tried to accept the girl on Cardassia, his wife would have called him insane.

Procal keeps walking, arms spread to feel for the walls she has become so adept at creating. As he walks, the euphoria of touch wears off into paranoia. What if he’s alone again? What will he do? It’s miserable, waiting for Skrain to die. Miserable, rewatching his son’s pathetic life, over and over. If it wasn’t for the conversation he could have with Ziyal, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He slows his pace when he feels like he’s being watched. The small, rational part of him tries to convince him that it is just Ziyal, waiting for him to settle down before coming out again.

Turning, Procal sees a tall Bajoran wearing a long dress with short sleeves. There’s something familiar about her, and it clicks when he sees that the ridges on her nose match his granddaughter’s. “You must be Tora Naprem!” Of course it is, he recognizes her now. He’s seen her in the visions too many times to count. He laughs, unsure of why he’s laughing.

Naprem glances over at a vision being played. It’s Skrain, as usual. He’s weeping over a grave. A red haired woman approaches him. It repeats. It glitches. When he looks back at Naprem, her eyes have been replaced by the stars.

“First Justice, haven’t you realized?”

“Realized what?”

“Skrain went mad long before our daughter joined you here.”

“Yes, yes, Ziyal figured that out. Cried until her lovely little eyes turned red. She has my wife’s eyes, did you know that? Did Skrain ever say that to you? I wonder if he noticed, that she has his mother’s eyes. Wretched little thing.” He turns and shouts, “Ziyal! Stop hiding, you’re behaving like a hatchling!”

Procal doesn’t believe Naprem likes him very much. She’s frowning at him. The vision switches to Skrain ushering Naprem and Ziyal onto the transport. Ziyal is crying. She looks so pitiful. “Skinny girl. Didn’t you feed her? Oh- do you want to help me find her? She’s hiding from me. I think she’ll come out if she knows you’ve joined us in waiting for Skrain.”

Her eyes are back to normal. Were they ever actually stars? She tilts her head. It’s disconcerting to look up at her. She has a few inches on him, had an inch on his son. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Yes, yes.” He waves a dismissive arm at her. “Come along, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Ziyal could be anywhere, and who knows when Skrain will arrive.”