The game began before they exchanged a single word. Dukat fixed his gaze on the comm padd as the doors slid open and the young woman entered the room. She did not pause awkwardly inside the door, awaiting instructions, as was typical for such petitioners when entering the presence of the dreaded Prefect of Bajor. Instead, she stepped lightly across the room, halting directly in front of his desk.

He frowned, studying the data on the padd. His preoccupation was deliberate, allowing him to establish his control over the situation. He would raise a woman’s anxiety by ignoring her, and then confound her by alternating charm with mild intimidation. It was a familiar and successful pattern.

Less typical, though, was the information the computer revealed about this particular supplicant. A petty thief hoping to avoid a labor camp, a laborer requesting an increase in rations, these were the petitioners Dukat frequently encountered. Tabek Karis came from a privileged background. Her father, he had read with surprise, was a senior engineer at the Center for Science, a sensible man who valued research over politics. *Now why would she be desperate enough to arrange a private meeting with me?* Dukat wondered, as he raised his eyes to her face. He was momentarily startled by the calm expression that greeted him, and the cool scrutiny of her intensely blue eyes.

Karis gazed directly into the commander’s face. *You’d think we were being introduced at a dinner party,* Dukat marveled. Tearful pleas and bitter reproaches bored him. Her apparent equanimity piqued his interest. Was he witnessing self-confidence, Dukat wondered, or self-control? The assured manners of a well-bred young lady schooled to handle any situation with aplomb? Perhaps. Or perhaps this was a woman secure in the power of her beauty to ease her way and to manipulate men.

He studied her face for a long moment, increasingly pleased by the prospect of this day’s business. Self-control or self-confidence, both raised intriguing possibilities. To shatter the aura of self-possession she wore, to strip away all pretensions of civility, to reduce decorum to desperate need, this posed a challenge worthy of his talents. A slight smile twisted his lips as he imagined her face flushed with desire, her hands and mouth avidly seeking him out.

Karis was the first to break the silence. "Gul Dukat, it was kind of you to agree to meet with me." Her voice was low and pleasant.

Dukat smiled. "Not at all," he assured her firmly, his voice betraying only a hint of irony. "It is my pleasure to render what assistance I can to those under my charge." He gestured to a chair opposite him. "Please, have a seat, and tell me what I can do for you."

The first moments of these transactions were always awkward, Dukat reflected, as he watched Karis lower herself gracefully into the chair. The women usually waited for him to initiate the discussion, for him to spell out precisely what he would require from them in exchange for his assistance. It was as if they hoped that by merely assenting to his demands, they could avoid any guilt for their participation in this affair. The brutish, Cardassian conqueror forced his will upon them when they were most vulnerable. Dukat would have no part of it. Polite, but intractable, he insisted that the women suggest their terms to him. The onus of responsibility would remain on them. And so he waited, patiently, for Karis to find the words to offer herself to him.

"Gul Dukat, I’ve come to ask you to intervene on the behalf of a friend of mine, a woman named Naren," she said at last. "Until last month she was employed as a janitor at the Center for Science. Now that she’s lost her job in a protected industry, she is available for labor conscription. Last week she was ordered to report for work at an ore processing plant. She’s getting older, the work at the plant would be very hard for her. I came here to ask you to rescind the conscription order, and to find her another protected janitorial job."

Dukat folded his hands over his chest and considered her request. "These matters are usually handled by my subordinates," he noted. "I’m curious. Why did you come to me, instead of to the officer in charge of labor conscription?"

Karis hesitated before she responded. "I suppose celebrity must have its drawbacks. I’ve never heard of the officer in charge of labor conscription, but it’s well known that you will listen to any reasonable request for assistance. Your reputation, sir, brought me to you."

"You’re too kind," he replied.

"Not at all," Karis answered, in a voice devoid of irony. Dukat cast a quick glance at her face, trying to decide if Karis were mocking him, but her expression remained bland and respectful.

Dukat returned to his contemplation of her petition. "It is possible that I could help your friend, but first I would need to understand the particulars of her case. Why was she dismissed from her position at the Center for Science?"

"She didn’t do anything wrong," Karis said. "Her supervisor married and he decided to give Naren’s job to his new wife."

"I see," he nodded. "More to the point, I find it odd that you would go to so much trouble for an aging janitor. How do you know her? Why is her fate so important to you?" He sat quite still, and maintained his friendly expression, but his eyes never left her face. Karis raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, a gesture that bought her a moment’s respite from his scrutiny.

"Naren was my family’s housekeeper when I was young," she began. "She was always very kind to me; she taught me old songs and made me special treats." Karis paused, the memory bringing a frown to her face. "When I was ten, I borrowed my mother’s jewelry, and a man stole it from me. When my parents asked if I knew what happened to it, I lied, and they believed me." She shook her head. "It didn’t occur to me that somebody would have to take the blame for the jewelry’s disappearance. They accused Naren of stealing it and they fired her."

"You didn’t go to your parents and admit your guilt, even after they unjustly dismissed your servant?" Dukat asked.

"No. I was a coward and Naren paid the price. Jarrell and I decided to keep the lie a secret forever."

Dukat frowned, "Jarrell?"

"Jarrell was a friend, the son of one of father’s colleagues. He was with me when the thief took my mother’s jewelry."

"I’ve seen that name," Dukat said, leaning forward to scan the comm padd. He pretended to search for the name, even though he had thoroughly studied the young man’s file. "Here." He pointed at the screen. "It says that Timaar Jarrell was betrothed to you when he was killed last year, carrying a bomb for the Bajoran underground." Dukat settled back in his chair and tilted his head to one side. "You were engaged to a terrorist?"

"Jarrell was no terrorist!"

Dukat tapped the screen of the comm padd. "The records would indicate otherwise. A bomb he was transporting killed him. How can you deny he was a terrorist?"

"I would never have allowed Jarrell to join the underground!" Karis insisted. The image of Karis barking orders to a pliant Jarrell brought a smile to Dukat’s lips, a smile he quickly suppressed. As if aware that she had painted a less than flattering portrait of her dead fiancé, Karis lowered her voice and continued weakly, "I mean, Jarrell never mentioned any inclination to join the underground, and if he had, I would have tried to dissuade him. Someone must have tricked him into carrying the bomb."

Dukat studied the records again. "Our investigation reached the same conclusion. Timaar Jarrell most likely had no idea what he was doing. He was an innocent dupe." From Dukat’s lips the description sounded less an acquittal than an indictment. "A pity," he concluded, "but shall we return to the matter at hand? You were saying that you were a coward, that you allowed Naren to take the blame for the theft."

"Yes," Karis agreed, her voice flat.

"And this troubled your conscience? Placed you under some kind of obligation to her?"

"Yes."

"Interesting," Dukat observed. "Young Karis, haunted by her complicity in a grievous wrong done a faithful servant. I wonder, was your betrothal to Jarrell an act of contrition? A sop to your guilty conscience?" He goaded her, hoping to touch a nerve. "Why else would you pledge yourself to some insipid, malleable boy?"

"How dare you?" Karis sputtered, color flooding her cheeks. "Jarrell was the kindest and sweetest man. He adored me!" She stopped, and glanced down at her lap. Her eyes fluttered shut as she pressed her thumbs against her forefingers. After a deep breath, she looked up. "I think it would be better if we didn’t discuss Jarrell."

Dukat watched with interest as Karis struggled to compose herself. To gage from her reaction, he guessed that his supposition was on the mark, perhaps more accurate than she was willing to admit, even to herself. It would have been a pity, he decided, if she had allowed a guilty conscience to compel her to marry Jarrell. His file revealed an earnest, plodding young man whose chief achievement in life was attaining the good graces of Karis and her family. Karis’s loyalty to him made far less sense than her loyalty to her wronged servant. Still, loyalty, if properly channeled, was an admirable thing. Dukat suspected that this sheltered young woman, once exposed to the ways of the world, might develop many admirable traits.

It was time, Dukat decided, to press for the culmination of this negotiation. "Let’s turn the conversation back to Naren," he agreed. "You blame yourself for her plight because it was your lie that cost her a secure job with your family. You are responsible, yet you ask me to make it right." He shrugged. "I’m curious. What makes you think that I would be willing to pay the price for your misdeed?"

"I would not expect you to do so without some…consideration," Karis stumbled on the word.

"Consideration?" repeated Dukat blandly, raising an eyeridge and looking, for all the world, as if he had no idea what she could be alluding to.

Karis swallowed. "Without some …reciprocity."

"Reciprocity?" Dukat’s face assumed a baffled air. He took no pleasure in watching her flounder about from euphemism to euphemism, but it must be clear to Karis that no gallant attempt to ease her discomfort would be forthcoming. She must succeed or fail on her own.

Karis paused for a moment and gripped the seat of her chair. "Gul Dukat, if you help me, if you intervene on Naren’s behalf, I will be grateful." Her voice faltered, but she maintained eye contact with the Gul. "And…and I will express my gratitude by sleeping with you." A dull blush crept up her cheeks, but she sat proudly erect and kept her eyes locked on Dukat’s.

Dukat stood and walked around the desk. Leaning back, the picture of ease, he perched on its surface, scant feet from Karis’s chair. "Let us understand one another," he said. "If I help your old housekeeper, you will sacrifice your virtue and surrender yourself to my libidinous whims?" A hint of a smile touched his lips, and Karis appraised him warily, as if expecting a laughing dismissal.

Karis shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and clutched again at her chair seat. "Yes," she said, surprising him with the firmness of her voice.

"How very commendable," Dukat said, inclining his head. He studied her for another long moment. "I will agree to your proposition, if you agree to the conditions that I attach to it."

Her eyes widened in alarm. *What can she be imagining?* Dukat wondered, as the apprehension danced into life in her eyes. Multiple partners? Jeering spectators? Some unspeakable Cardassian perversity? Would she burst into tears and scamper from the room, or hold her ground?

Karis sat very still. "May I know the conditions?"

"Of course," he answered. "To be successful, an arrangement such as the one you suggest, must be mutually beneficial, mutually satisfying. I know what you want from me. You must know what I require of you." He spoke deliberately, unequivocally. "Sex with a martyr is tedious! If you imagine you can fulfill your obligation to me by lying back, gritting your teeth, and pretending yourself elsewhere, then you are wrong. I don’t want you to simply comply with our agreement. Compliance," he insisted, leaning forward, "is boring! Your obligation is concluded when I am satisfied that you’ve given yourself fully to the experience, that you’ve held nothing back. If you can’t give me that satisfaction, then our contract is nullified, and your great sacrifice will have been in vain."

"You want me to promise that I’ll enjoy it?" Karis asked doubtfully.

Dukat opened his mouth, intent on informing Karis that he could guarantee her enjoyment, but he stopped himself. Better she discover that for herself. "No. No, I want you to promise to keep your mind open to the possibility that you might enjoy it."

"I can promise that," Karis said. A look of resigned determination flickered across her face as Karis rose slowly to her feet, an expression Dukat found neither flattering nor enticing. He watched with alarm as she lifted a hand to the clasp that fastened the bodice of her dress. Before she could snap it open, he reached out and seized her fingers.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m participating enthusiastically," Karis answered, her voice and eyes solemn.

Dukat glanced down at his boots while he mastered the laughter that threatened to erupt from his throat. When he raised his eyes, he found her looking at him in puzzlement.

"What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, I commend your good intentions." He had been wrong in his initial assessment of her, Dukat realized. Karis possessed neither the assured self-confidence of a worldly and sophisticated beauty, nor the unflappable self-control of a terminally well bred young lady. She had demonstrated, instead, a determination to retain her dignity while following an excruciatingly difficult course of action. Beautiful, intelligent, and loyal, she was a well of untapped potential constrained by narrow experience and a rigid sense of duty.

*Damn Jarrell,* he thought viciously. If Jarrell hadn’t blown himself up, Dukat would have had him shot. Jarrell, who had confused puppy love with passion, and had smothered Karis with the puerile attentions of an overawed and callow boy. What inhibitions, false assumptions, and bad habits would Karis have to overcome before she could embrace life and all its pleasures?

*Someone needs to take the child in hand,* Dukat concluded. Compel her to revel in her senses, force her to lose all control. *Remedial fucking,* he sighed. The prospect did not displease him, but it was hardly a task that could be accomplished in ten minutes on the desk of his office, as he had sealed similar negotiations.

Dukat had retained his grip on her hand, not wanting Karis to interpret his reaction as a rejection. He stood now, and raised her hand to his lips, an old fashioned and courtly gesture that brought another quizzical expression to her face. Instead of the chivalrous kiss to the hand, which his action promised, Dukat abruptly turned her palm sideways, and slid her forefinger into his mouth. Karis gasped as he pressed tongue to palate, creating a moist, warm tunnel from which he slowly withdrew her trembling finger. He kissed the fingertip and sucked it briefly back into his mouth, the tip of his tongue encircling the tip of her finger. Dragging the finger out between his teeth, Dukat scraped a line of ridges along the soft pad of flesh. He relinquished his grip on her hand, but instead of returning to her side, it seemed to float in the air between them.

Karis stared at her raised hand as if it were a foreign body. "What are you going to do to me?"

He smiled, then reached out a hand and leisurely traced the outline of her lips. "You will come to my quarters tonight at eight," he instructed, his gaze lingering on her mouth. "Make whatever excuses are necessary to your family, but be prepared to stay the night. My aide will give you instructions, or, if you wish, arrange transportation." He paused, awaiting her response. She nodded, her expression dazed.

Dukat leaned back against his desk, resisting the urge to reach out to her again. The success of his first assault upon her senses, intended to be a tantalizing hint of the night to come, almost undid his resolution to postpone their coupling. *No,* he reminded himself. More pleasure could be had in mounting an unhurried seduction, and in forcing a gradual unraveling of her inhibitions. He would wait.

"I have other appointments now," he said reluctantly, "so I must send you on your way." As Karis turned to leave, he caught her hand. "I am glad you came to me, and I anticipate with pleasure our rendezvous tonight."

"I will be there at eight," Karis promised, managing at last to find her voice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Even as she bathed and dressed, Karis reproached herself for the care she took preparing for her assignation with Dukat. Her pride, and if she would admit it, her vanity, would not allow her to arrive looking anything less than her best. To that end, she selected her most flattering dress and mobilized an array of lotions and perfumes, all devised to render her smooth, soft, and deliciously fragrant from head to toes.

"Give myself fully to the experience!" she muttered as she sat cross-legged in the tub, assiduously pumicing the dry skin off her heels. "Hold nothing back!" she grumbled, frowning as she recalled Dukat’s words. She sawed back and forth with the stone, until her exertion carved a red abrasion, when callous inevitably gave way to tender new skin. "Ouch!" Karis threw the stone across the tub, then watched in disgust as her blood leeched into the scum of bubbles clinging to her foot. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub.

*Stop it!* Karis ordered herself. *Naren’s life may depend on this.* No self-indulgent emotional outbursts. Anger and fear would only fray the edges of her hard won calm. She couldn’t allow her fine resolve to unravel this late in the game.

Karis slid down until her chin rested on the water’s surface. She was hardly the first woman to petition the formidable commander for a concession, a favor that always came at a cost. The practice was so entrenched that an unofficial protocol existed. Success could be had, but only if she retained clarity of thought and purpose.

The Dukat she met today was far different from the phantom Dukat who had haunted her dreams during the past week. She had imagined him older, possessing a harsh countenance and a cruel and forbidding demeanor. The prospect of sex with such a man had filled her with dread. When forced to think of it, she envisioned a hasty and passionless consummation of their contract, a barrage of thrusts she could tolerate only by divorcing her spirit from her body.

This emotional retreat, of course, was precisely what she had promised the real Dukat she would not do. She was bound by honor and necessity to stay alert and involved. Karis had little doubt that sex with Dukat would be a far different experience from sex with Jarrell. Gentle, adoring, grateful, Jarrell was attentive to her every mood and smallest impatient sighs. Dukat, although less fearsome than his spectral counterpart, was clearly a man rapacious for his own pleasure.

Before meeting Dukat, Karis had steeled herself to accept the nature of her pact with the Prefect. She would do whatever the circumstances demanded, as long as it helped Naren. With the success of her endeavor practically in hand, the lengths to which she was required to go began to gall Karis. That Naren’s life might depend upon Karis’s willingness to sleep with Dukat posed an infuriating abuse of his power, an abuse she was helpless to protest or change. All the advantages belonged to Dukat, the man who sneered at poor, dead Jarrell, and who demanded that she not only give herself to him, but that she enjoy it!

*Stop it!* she ordered again, alarmed at how easily her emotions spun out of control. She had already fought her way back from a panic attack once today. As she waited to be called into Dukat’s office, his two Cardassian guards exchanged knowing smirks. Karis wilted under their lewd scrutiny. Only an old mental trick learned in childhood allowed her to resist the urge to run.

Without her parents’ knowledge, the young Karis and Jarrell had met several times with an elderly monk. In defiance of Cardassian decree, the old monk sought to instruct the children in their traditional faith. He taught Karis to create an imaginary haven, a still and sacred place in her mind, into which no worries or troubles could intrude. His intention was to instill the mental discipline necessary to banish distractions, to focus her thoughts, to center her pagh.

That was all well and good, but the practical applications of this skill interested Karis far more than the spiritual ones. To hide a guilty conscience behind a mask of serenity, to face any parental inquisition with equanimity, these were enticing prospects to an unruly child. As she grew older, Karis realized that the brave monk would have despaired to find his patient teachings so perverted, a sacred practice turned to a secular purpose. She allowed the technique to slip from her mind, until Naren’s plight forced her to disinter it.

*Relax…Focus.* Karis took several deep, slow breaths. With each exhalation, she imagined that all her fears were slipping away. Her hands relaxed as she pressed her thumbs against the tips of her forefingers, forming two circles. She pictured herself descending a long staircase, the cool metal of the banister sliding smoothly beneath her fingers. At the bottom of the stairway lay a small, reflecting pool. When she sat beside that pool, she would know only peace and calm. At each step of her descent, Karis would pause and mentally repeat the name Naren. She could do this for Naren. She could lay fear aside and finally turn the monk’s instructions to a just purpose.

*I am calm. I am in control of myself.* Karis felt her anxiety dissipate, and her pulse and breathing slow to normal. She sat up and leaned forward to reach for the drain. As her gaze fell upon her outstretched hand she froze.

"Damn," Karis whispered, recalling the image of Dukat’s mouth enveloping her finger. She shuddered as an echo of the sensations his action engendered took hold of her. Her breath caught in her throat, her nipples grew erect, and a quivering warmth spread from her hand throughout her body. She closed her eyes, remembering. How could such a simple act produce such a jolt of sensation? The heat and moisture of his mouth, the pressure of his teeth against her skin, these created a compelling intimacy that staggered her senses.

Karis shook her head, rejecting the feelings the memory evoked. "It wasn’t Dukat," she insisted aloud to herself. It was shock, a simple physiological reaction to physical stimulation. Not Dukat. "Not Dukat!" she repeated, resolutely forcing herself to pull open the drain. She rinsed the blood from her foot, then refilled the tub with hot, clear water. Soon enough she must anoint herself with the creams and cosmetics that would transform her into a vision of delight, a worthy recipient of the commander’s largesse. For now, she was content to lie back, nurse her grievances, and dismiss her fears.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A Cardassian plans a seduction in much the same way he plans a battle. With his strategic goal firmly in mind, he marshals the resources necessary to overwhelm his opponent. No self-doubt or hesitation clouds his mind, rather an overarching confidence in his skills lends certainty to his actions. A Cardassian, moreover, is nothing if not adaptable, capable of a split second tactical concession to the unfolding of events. Aggressor, diplomat, injured party, he assumes whatever role is required to win the day. Or the night.

Gul Dukat glanced around his quarters with satisfaction. Although by no means opulent or of sybaritic luxury, the rooms were tailored to the tastes of a sensualist. A gratifying contrast in textures greeted hands as they passed from rough stone, to polished metal, to slubbed fabric. Large pillar candles illuminated dark corners and tabletops, spilling pools of light whose unsteady margins advanced and retreated with every movement of the air. A small table was set for a late supper. Soft and unobtrusive music soothed the ears.

Dukat nodded, content that he had contrived a tableau that would appeal to all the senses, a fitting setting for tonight’s engagement. He poured a glass of spring wine and lounged in a deep chair, a speculative smile touching his lips as he anticipated Karis’s arrival.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Karis ignored the guards stationed outside Dukat’s quarters, and took a moment to gather her thoughts before she chimed her arrival. As the door slid open, Dukat rose to greet her. "You look very lovely tonight," he smiled his approval of the attention she had lavished on her appearance. Karis acknowledged his greeting with a nod, but said nothing as she entered the room.

She accepted the proffered glass of wine and surveyed her surroundings as she lifted the rim to her lips. So, Dukat wanted to pretend that this was a seduction and not some sordid contract they were fulfilling? Who could blame him? It could hardly flatter a man’s ego to think that his success depends less on his inherent charms than upon the favors he could bestow.

She took one sip, and then another. Setting the glass on a table, Karis strolled across the room. She trailed her fingers across the back of a chair; paused, then reached out and gingerly touched the rivulet of melted wax that spilled down the side of a candle. Impulsively, she tapped the flame with her fingertip, extinguishing it. Karis turned to face Dukat. "Music, candlelight, wine? Cardassians have never been celebrated for the subtlety of their seduction techniques, but isn’t this more than a little trite? And totally unnecessary?"

Dukat’s eyes narrowed as he set his wineglass on the table next to hers. A decidedly unpleasant smile contorted his lips as he approached Karis, his pace unhurried and deliberate. "What are you doing, Karis?" he demanded, his voice deceptively calm. He halted one step in front of her. Her heart pounding, Karis resisted the urge to step backward.

There was no honorable retreat, so Karis sought courage in provocative language. "What am I doing?" she repeated, her voice brittle. "I’m merely commenting on all the preparations you’ve made." She glanced contemptuously around the room. "I wouldn’t have expected you to be so heavy handed, so obvious. And there’s no need to court me, you know. There’s no need to entice me into your bed. I’m here to close a deal. I came here to fuck you."

Dukat moved more quickly than Karis imagined possible. One second he was standing stone-faced in front of her listening to her tirade, and the next, the weight of his body propelled her backwards against the wall. His left forearm immobilized her shoulders. He leaned into her, his body armor biting into the exposed skin of her breasts.

"What are you thinking," he wondered aloud, "that you would speak to me in such a fashion?" Karis didn’t answer, and Dukat peered intently into her eyes. "Is your conscience troubling you again, Karis? Do you hope to make me angry?" His gaze bore into her, and she could read disappointment mixed with the anger. "Goad me into a quick and dirty rape that will fulfill your obligation, but leave your conscience clear and your sense of outrage intact?"

"You think that I’m trying to control you!" she exclaimed, furious at the suggestion. Summoning all her strength, Karis hurled herself against his restraining arm and tried to twist sideways out of his grip. His eyes grim, Dukat easily countered her offensive. He shoved her back against the wall, wincing as her head struck its surface. Karis squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to stand motionless. No more futile, undignified scuffling, she resolved. Anger and residual adrenaline produced another sort of attack. She opened her eyes and glared at him. "Is this the rough Cardassian foreplay I’ve heard so much about?"

The rage that swept over Dukat transformed his face into a predatory mask of malice. Karis shrank back against the wall, her anger spent. Whatever reckless courage she possessed fled, and she was aghast at her inflammatory words. The spit in her mouth evaporated. Time itself seemed to recoil from the face of his fury. As Dukat raised his hands, Karis perceived the movement in extreme slow motion, a journey so languorous that by the time his palms brushed her temples, she believed she could have fled the room and run all the way home.

Karis scarcely breathed as Dukat pressed his hands against the sides of her face. His thumbs rested on her temples and his fourth and fifth fingers followed the curves of her jaw. If he increased the pressure, Karis had no doubt that the bones of her cheeks and jaw would snap.

Surely Dukat could sense her fright. Her racing pulse, clearly detectable in the artery that ran beneath her jaw, must telegraph her alarm. Even through his heavy body armor, he should feel the trembling that had gripped her. Karis prayed that the knowledge that she was afraid, that she finally understood the risks that her behavior incurred, would calm him a little.

After a long moment, Dukat inclined his head toward hers and spoke in a low, emphatic voice. "Nobody talks to me that way. Nobody." He paused. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to make me angry? Do you know how vulnerable you are? Do you?"

Karis drew a deep, unsteady breath. "I know exactly how helpless I am. Is it so hard for you to imagine that I’d become angry when I realize how powerless I truly am?"

Dukat frowned. "Helpless? Powerless? An odd choice of words. How can you describe yourself as powerless when you set this whole affair in motion? You approached me. You suggested the terms of our contract. And you came here tonight of your own free will." He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and shifted his weight so that the pressure holding her to the wall eased. "Say the word and we’ll end this now. Stay or go, your choice. But understand this, I won’t tolerate another tiresome tantrum. The power," he emphasized the word, "the power to decide what happens tonight is yours."

"The power is mine?" Karis repeated skeptically. "You’re playing with words, Dukat. We both know that you hold all the real power here." She watched him carefully for signs of resurgent anger, but saw only his intense gaze focused on her. "If I want to help Naren I can’t walk away, but you, you could grant my request without any strings attached."

"Yes, I could," he allowed, "but why would I? I’ve been entrusted with the task of maintaining order and discipline on Bajor. I can’t scatter my favors indiscriminately. I would demonstrate that my benevolence must be earned…There’s a principle at stake here," he added with no apparent embarrassment.

"You’re aware that that is a remarkably self-serving observation?"

Dukat shrugged. "I prefer to think of it as a happy collusion between the needs of the state and my own inclinations."

For the briefest moment, a smile flickered on Karis’s face. *The man is shameless,* she decided, glancing down lest he be offended by any glint of amusement reflected in her eyes. When Karis lifted her gaze, she found, to her surprise, a similar smile touching Dukat’s lips. The easing of tension between them was palpable. Dukat sighed and raised his fingers to her lips.

"Despite what you may think, Karis, you always have choices. No one exercises absolute control over his own life. We are all constrained by circumstances, but we are never powerless in determining our fates. Even in the worst of situations we can choose between acceptance or intransigence, between the benefits of cooperation and the consequences of defiance, the iron fist or the velvet glove." He dropped his voice to a seductive whisper, "Personally, I’ve always favored cooperation." His eyes, suddenly serious, sought hers. "There is no need for any unpleasantness between us."

Karis nodded. "I know. I choose to stay. I intend to honor my part of our agreement."

"I would expect no less," Dukat replied huskily, his hand traversing the delicate line of her collarbone. Karis willed herself to relax as his fingers played across her skin. She had committed herself to this engagement and would see it through. She must think of it as an entirely different thing than the tender communion she had shared with Jarrell, but for Naren’s sake, Karis resolved to bear it.

Her eyes drifted shut. An odd lassitude seized her as Dukat’s hand cupped her breast. How long had it been since anyone had touched her so intimately, she wondered? Since a man pressed so close against her that she could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath? Since her pulse quickened in response to a caress? Karis sighed as Dukat’s thumb brushed across the thin stuff of her dress, teasing her nipple into prominence.