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Sometimes Dukat quietly admits to himself that he had gone about the occupation of Bajor in the entirely wrong way. He was, for one, pretty democratic – he did take a certain pick, of course, of the more cultured and reasonable Bajorans for his attaches, government workers and informants. But when it came to the rest of them, he did not go easy on the higher d’hjarras, or whatever that antiquated caste system was called. Rebellious aristocrats were shot and sent to waste away in camps just as much as rebellious farmhands were. Most of the so called-elites, of course, packed up and ran like cowards the moment Cardassians entered Bajoran air space. This, along with Dukat’s nondiscriminatory policies (and did somebody thank him for helping to equalize opportunities?), have rendered the concept of an educated Bajoran basically null and void…
Which led to disasters such as this one. What group of idiots would pick a simpleton like Shakaar for the First Minister? Well, a group of Bajorans, Dukat supposed. These people, to put it simply, were not meant to ever self-govern… but what he didn’t really get is why did Major Kira choose him as her partner?
He pulls up a holoimage of the man on the Bird of Prey’s computer and grits his teeth. Shakaar is tall, of course, passably handsome… but Dukat really did think that a woman like Major Kira care about something more than looks. And clearly, there were more handsome and more powerful men than Shakaar. Like Dukat himself, for example.
Shakaar is an unsophisticated, effeminate idiot who mumbles and stutters through his meager political speeches. What could Major Kira possibly want from him? It must have been power or looks, because what else did he have? Was it possible that this airheaded boy was a good enough lay to entice her?
Dukat intended to find out. And make sure that the appeal was thoroughly gone. Even if Major Kira had a baffling taste in men, surely not even she would still desire a man who had submitted to another as completely as what Dukat had in mind.
Dukat makes sure that the recording equipment is working without letting himself look away from Shakaar’s face. It’s so peaceful, so kind, now that the man is unconscious. Who would have thought that the boy is a ruthless ex-terrorist, brimming with hate for the Cardassian people?
He has him stretched out on a table, wearing only his underwear, arms tied to the table at the sides of his body. An appealing body, for sure. A slimmer waist than Dukat expected, and a fuller chest, fat and muscle forming pleasing curves. And Dukat has always been fascinated by Bajoran nipples, and Shakaar has very lovely nipples indeed… Dark pink in color, small, slightly raised. Dukat was going to pay some attention to them.
He comes closer when Shakaar starts stirring in his bonds, and stands above him. He wants to be the first thing the man sees when he wakes… and soon enough, Shakaar’s eyes shoot open. Revulsion and fear rearrange his pretty features into a Bajoran expression nostalgically familiar to Dukat.
“Dukat,” Shakaar spits out like an insult. His eyes narrow as he subtly tries to escape his bonds.
“I see there’s no need to introduce myself,” Dukat inclines his head in mocking respect. “First Minister.”
Dukat can see that Shakaar is barely restraining himself from spitting and throwing his weight around, jaw clenched in a barely held together show of control. It’s always amusing when barbarians try to be politicians.
“I- don’t know what you are hoping to gain here,” Shakaar grits out.
It’s a bit impolite for Dukat’s tastes. “Aah, is it not enough to spend some time together?” He reaches across Shakaar’s body to readjust a strap that doesn’t need readjusting, just to see the man flinch. The little fearful clench of Shakaar’s abdominal muscles is extremely satisfying. “I was hoping that we could have a little conversation,” he smiles.
Shakaar’s reaction to that is even more satisfying than the last one. His entire face tenses in terror. The Obsidian Order was a bunch of losers and desperates, but they did make Cardassian ways of extracting information infamous across the entire quadrant.
“I’m not going to tell you anything,” Shakaar says, voice stumbling a little but not even shaking. Dukat feels, against himself, an indescribable fondness. It is such a quintessentially Bajoran thing, to be so helpless against Dukat’s superior strength and yet try so hard to be brave. And of course, the man thinks that it’s his meager government secrets that Dukat was after… As if any of that matters at all, when his entire self is in Dukat’s hands.
Dukat doesn’t say anything, just lets Shakaar be with the uncertainty. He looks over his body, and wonders where to start, thinking what would Major Kira consider most emasculating.
In the end, Dukat decides to humor himself. He bends down, and takes Shakaar’s nipple in his mouth, giving it a slow, open-mouthed kiss. He makes sure the skin is thoroughly wet and the nub fully hardened before he starts sucking, making sure to be gentle at first.
Despite this, Shakaar stiffens in his bonds and then starts trashing. Dukat did not fasten his head to the stretcher, and Shakaar now uses the little leeway he has to throw his neck around, desperately trying to escape Dukat’s mouth.
“What-” Shakaar struggles to get a word out, his face twisting with revulsion. “What perverted ideas-”
Dukat just straightens out, releasing the nipple from his mouth. It’s even more beautiful now, swollen slightly from the stimulation, and glistening. “That’s not very polite,” he says simply to Shakaar. “Surely you don’t think that’s the proper way to talk to your host?”
Shakaar sputters something Dukat doesn’t pay attention to. He takes the nipple into his hand this time, admires how it looks when tweaked by his grey fingers. The man beneath him lunges in protest. Dukat gives him a chance – he moves his hand from Shakaar’s pectoral to his neck – and sure enough, the Bajoran lunges crazily for Dukat’s hand, trying to bite, exactly like a wild animal.
“Really, First Minister?” Dukat raises his eyeridge. “I think I’m going to have to teach you some manners.” He goes to retrieve the device – a little thing, just big enough to fit on a Bajoran’s forehead, but one that he knows to be extremely powerful. He puts his hand at Shakaar’s throat faster than the man can react, and uses gentle pressure to keep him still, then allows the nerve stimulator to attach itself. The control panel comes to life with Shakaar’s brain activity – elevated stress levels, who would have thought. He feels the Bajoran’s pulse race under his hand, feverishly fast.
Then, pleased, he straightens up. “Let’s see,” he says, and bends down to take Shakaar’s nipple into his mouth again – the struggle resumes, feral and disobedient, so without further ado Dukat stops, shows the device remote control to Shakaar, and presses the button.
The effect is instant. Shakaar tenses his entire body as pain overtakes him. A strangled sound escapes his throat, muscles too seized up to allow it to come out fully, breath hitching. Dukat counts to two and releases the button. Released from the pain, Shakaar starts panting, sweat covering his entire body with a slight sheen.
Dukat looks him in the eyes. For a moment, the man is too shocked from the pain to register anything, and Dukat waits patiently for him to catch up, drumming his fingers on the control remote. “Let’s try again.” he says, and reaches for Shakaar’s chest – the Bajoran struggles away from it, too panicked to make a good decision. Dukat presses the button again, this time for four seconds.
For a Cardassian this amount of stimulation of the pain centers of the brain would be nothing, but Shakaar cries out and goes stiff, completely overwhelmed. This time, he looks at Dukat straight away – his eyes lock on the pilot and Dukat’s finger on it, neck straining.
“Enough?” Dukat asks. He’d take mercy if Shakaar asked now. But Shakaar doesn’t – his eyes flit back and forth nervously. Every time Dukat hovers his finger above the button, his breathing hitches. He’s proud, like all Bajorans are, and thinks of Cardassians as something akin to demons. He can’t agree to obey Dukat now. Dukat is going to make the decision easier for him, and that by itself a form of mercy. He doesn’t want to hurt Shakaar, after all.
He makes sure the terms are clear. “You’re going to be polite,” he says, lightly teasing Shakaar’s nipple, reminding him of what is at stake. No intel questions, just this.
He holds the button for ten seconds this time.
When it's over, Shakaar’s hair is soaked through with sweat and his chin is shaking. Dukat knows he has him now, recognizes the obedience behind the man’s eyes. He could work it into him with his hands alone, but this was of course so much faster… and it’s this Shakaar he wanted to appear on the recording, with the least chances of impertinent bravado to display.
“Well?” Dukat prompts.
“Please,” Shakaar chokes out. He still flinches when Dukat’s hand meets his stomach, and then his eyes widen when he realizes he did. “No, please, I’ll do what you want, Gul-”
Dukat just raises his eyeridge again. Shakaar’s eyes jump to his armor. Instinctual and fast, clearly somebody attempted to work manners into him, once, during the Occupation. Shame it didn’t stick.
“Legate!” Shakaar corrects himself. “Legate Dukat, please-”
“Very well,” Dukat says, and gives him an affectionate pat on the stomach. Then, he turns and deposits the remote controller on the console behind them. Not out of reach, but away for now.
Then, he reaches for Shakaar’s face – he takes his chin into his hand and pushes him down gently. The Bajoran understands the cue and lies his head back down, baring his throat, willing himself to relax. His jugular is fluttering wildly, right beneath the skin. Then, Dukat slides two fingers into Shakaar’s mouth and works them in, resting them against the warm and wet tongue. He raises his eyeridge, waiting if Shakaar will bite. But he doesn’t. The inside of the man’s mouth is wet and warm and he keeps his jaw obediently slack. He’s clearly too scared to look away from Dukat, but can’t stand the full force of his gaze either.
This is exactly what Dukat’s undoing always was. He can’t help it, never could – he really just finds Bajorans so undeniably darling. Shakaar’s eyes are blue, not as venomously as a Cardassian’s would be, muted and soft. There is always such sweet submission under all of that anger.
Dukat gently strokes Shakaar’s cheek. “It’s going to feel really good, Edon,” he promises. Then, he slides his fingers out of the man’s mouth. Shakaar can’t suppress a small disgusted shiver when Dukat gently teases the underside of his jaw, and Dukat likes that as well – it’s always more satisfying to give pleasure to somebody who tries very hard not to take it.
This time, he starts to tease Shakaar’s nipples with the tips of his claws, tickling them slightly. The man keeps himself small and still under him, slowly regaining his breath. Dukat doesn’t taunt him, just keeps gently scratching, keeping the right balance between putting pressure on the nipple and giving gentle tickles to the areolas, still that wonderful shade of dusty pink. That’s another wonderful thing about a Bajoran’s nipples – Dukat knows that soon enough Shakaar is not going to be able to stop himself from becoming aroused, whether he wants to or not. Especially now that he was trying so hard to be good, keeping his chest motionless and still for Dukat.
Dukat keeps an eye on the small things – the speeding up of breath, lips being bitten together in an effort to not cry out, legs pressing together – and soon enough, it all comes, a tell-tale flush entering Shakaar’s face, miniscule twitches of his arms against the bonds telling Dukat that suddenly standing the Cardassian claws teasing his pecs was becoming more and more difficult. Dukat wonders what it would be like if he had Shakaar untied – would he start begging for Dukat to stop now, knowing he could soon no longer push his tits into merciless, tickling hands?
Dukat stops the assault and starts to massage Shakaar’s chest in circles, only occasionally catching the sensitive nubs with his thumb. He can see that Shakaar had gotten hard from this – he could see it even before he took a look at the small rise in his underwear, from the furious way the man set his jaw. But that doesn’t matter – the small ridged thing in Shakaar’s trousers doesn’t interest Dukat, perhaps not as much as it does Major Kira. He massages until Shakaar’s muscles get tired of fighting him and his shoulders sink slightly, tension giving way to obedience.
Then, he lets his hands travel down, no doubt making Shakaar anticipate harassment of his crotch. But Dukat stops before the waistband, only barely touching the material – smooth and soft, no doubt giving both too much and not enough friction to Shakaar’s ridges, only enough to tantalize – and settles his hand there. He looks at Shakaar. The Bajoran still has his head down on the stretcher, clearly forcing it to not rise to see what Dukat is doing. He looks like a frightened animal turned upside down, its belly showing. His instincts are clearly more intelligent than the man possessing them.
Dukat smiles. It’s a good sight, a Bajoran quiet and docile. But he had Shakaar kidnapped to humiliate him, not just get him off. Even though that the most pleasurable touch would bring Shakaar close to disgusted, angry tears just with the thought that it was the Cardassian conqueror delivering it to him, and a man, no less, taking control of him with overwhelming force, Dukat knew that much… But that was not enough.
He pushes the waistband of Shakaar’s underwear down slightly, mostly just to make the material roll over his erection, driving home the point that Dukat knows that Shakaar is enjoying himself. Then, he starts to gently tease his claws across Shakaar’s stomach.
Shakaar takes a panicked breath as Dukat works at his lower belly. Most Bajorans are very ticklish, especially when touched with a gentle, clawed hand – yet another feature clearly telling of their submissive natures. Shakaar is no exception, his skin soft and sensitive, only it and the thin layer of fat protecting his inner organs. Dukat keeps his fingers to the man’s lower abdomen, the fact that it’s only one hand that delivers such an overwhelming onslaught of sensation clearly adding to the humiliation of it. It’s only that strip of the body between two straps binding Shakaar to the stretcher that concerns Dukat, and he spiders his fingers across it.
But Shakaar doesn’t laugh. He’s stiff with fear, eyes wide, desperately trying to keep still. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to, Dukat gleefully realizes, as flinching away made Dukat punish him last time. But he can’t stay still when it tickles so much, when he’s forced to take it on his bare stomach, Dukat’s practiced fingers grasping his skin.
Dukat revels in it. “Does it feel good?” he asks, moving to Shakaar’s sides, pushing his hands in the gap he made sure to leave between them and the Bajoran’s bound arms. And of course, Shakaar is ticklish there as well, and it makes him gasp and strain in his bindings.
Shakaar tries to answer and cuts himself off, clearly not knowing what to say now. Dukat comes back to his belly and uses both hands now, lightly scratching just in the right way that makes Shakaar knit his eyebrows together and desperately clench his muscles, as if that could make it tickle any less.
Dukat, as always, takes mercy – breaking Shakaar’s reluctance to appear as anything as the submissive little creature he clearly is is his exact goal, after all, so he needs to reward all of those lapses of control, condition Shakaar into taking what he’s given. “Does it tickle?” he asks.
Shakaar nods. A forced smile makes it hard for him to speak, but he chokes it out: “Yes- Yes, Legate.”
Dukat smiles. “It’s alright, you can laugh,” he says. It’s too late anyway – Shakaar is laughing, his stomach simply too sensitive for him to resist the slightly rough skin on Dukat’s fingers, the way the scales feel when Dukat rubs his knuckles gently on the inside of his hips.
“Good,” Dukat praises him. A more subtle torture of this type on Shakaar would be splendid too, of course – get him defiant and angry, watch him fall desperate and mewling as Dukat slowly teases the inside of his armpit or the inside of his thigh – but there was something so undoubtedly satisfying about quickly and effortlessly rendering Shakaar unable to do anything but submit to him. This wasn’t like using the nerve stimulator – here, no matter if Shakaar fought or not, if he tried to hold back his reaction or not, the effect was the same. It’s not as if any tactic would have made the tickles go away, make Dukat move off that sensitive spot, low on Shakaar’s stomach.
Dukat hopes that this particular lesson stays with Shakaar – that the next time the little rebel considers mouthing off to Cardassia in the official capacity, he will consider the fact that all it would take is Dukat scooping him into his arms and spidering his hand across his belly, and the First Minister of Bajor would be kneeling again, and the whole Bajor along with it. But of course, this assumes that Shakaar’s compatriots would be merciful enough to not laugh him out of the government the moment they saw the recording of the man pitifully writhing under Legate Dukat’s strong hands.
Speaking of the recording… Dukat makes sure he’s not standing in the way of the recording device and quickly tears off Shakaar’s underwear. He wasn’t intending on it, but on a second thought, the image of the man’s erect cock – even smaller than Dukat originally envisioned – bouncing in the rhythm of Shakaar’s desperate laughter is a pretty strong messaging. Dukat tickles the newly revealed places, and Shakaar’s laughter jumps up an octave, less and less choked as fatigue makes it more and more difficult to hold back – powerlessness is always a strong enhancer of sensation, and those small hollows between the hips and stomach are another place most Bajorans are very ticklish on. Ticklish enough that Dukat massaging this place firmly would no doubt send Shakaar into panicked tears – but tears are a sign of martyrdom, and Dukat does not intend to make Shakaar into a martyr. He intends to make Shakaar into a little bitch. So he keeps his caresses light, almost pleasurable, draws the emblem of the Cardassian Union on the inner side of Shakaar’s hip, over and over, and watches the man helplessly try to kick, toes flexing.
The poor thing doesn’t even beg. He whines like an animal, and his little cock stays hard, absolutely defenseless under Dukat’s attention. Dukat, displeased, is forced to admit that the man would indeed be a nice little toy to have in your bed, especially if Major Kira likes to dominate her men as well. (Which, of course, given that she is also a Bajoran, must be a preference born only from lack of experience with a good, strong Cardassian.) It’s a pretty cock – Dukat thought he had no interest in it, but the thing is so small that taking it into Dukat’s mouth would be no different than sucking a Bajoran’s clit. Even with the ridges, the whole thing is not any thicker or longer than Dukat’s two fingers. Bajorans are usually petite, in all aspects, but this particular specimen is almost laughably tiny – Dukat longs to make Shakaar come, just to see how pathetic it looked when soft, take a picture of it against Shakaar’s delicate stomach. No doubt it would be satisfying to tease those ridges, run over them again and again without the promise of a release, or perhaps tease the underside of it with a stiff feather…
But Dukat doesn’t let himself touch the enticing cocklet in front of him. It’s Shakaar who’s getting a career-destroying recording made, not Dukat. It’s not Dukat’s proclivities being exposed here. It’s a shame – Dukat knows that just like everything else, the inside of Shakaar is ridged, too, and that his hole would feel delightfully soft and tight. But this is not about Dukat, after all.
He lets up and stands away from Shakaar. The man catches his breath – Dukat watches, takes into account his posture, now more relaxed – out of necessity, the fatigue quickly taking claim of the delicate Bajoran body. It would be even harder for Shakaar to defend himself now, even if Dukat untied him.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Dukat asks. Shakaar is breathing heavily, exhausted. There is a dangerous spark of hate in his eyes, still, one that warns Dukat to be wary – but right now, with Shakaar helpless, it’s irrelevant. He tickles the man’s belly again when Shakaar opens his mouth to speak, just because he can.
“-hgn,” Shakaar can’t help but grimace when Dukat gently slides his fingers to the sides of his ribs and teases them, when he scribbles gently under Shakaar’s chin, even going as far as softly caressing the shell of his ear, in a way that he knows sends a shamefully pleasurable shiver down the man’s stomach and crotch. When he realizes that the onslaught of little caresses is not going to stop, he hurries to answer: “Yes, Legate.” The words are stiff and forced, but Dukat doesn’t miss the way that Shakaar bares his throat for him, inviting fingers to run down it, again and again.
“Of course it does,” Dukat says soothingly. He pets at Shakaar’s throat – which is probably slightly ticklish too, only that Shakaar is too depleted to tense his shoulders anymore – and nips at his ear, licks it, in a way that to a Bajoran is both extremely pleasurable and – taken so willingly from a Cardassian – extremely humiliating. He makes sure that his whispered words tickle Shakaar’s ear. “Do you want me to tickle your stomach again, or kiss your nipples?”
Shakaar’s jaw tenses – with amusement, Dukat notices that the man is again furious. He can make him smile again in seconds, but for now he lets the anger be. If Shakaar disobeys again, then he can be punished again, and that makes the lesson even better.
“Or both at once?” Dukat adds. He knows what Shakaar will choose – the one he can at least pretend to be unaffected by. He nips at the ear again, this time strongly enough to make the man tense in pain. It proves enough of a warning:
“...my nipples,” Shakaar mumbles out. His hands are whitening at the knuckles where he’s digging his nails into his hands. “Legate.”
Dukat smiles and does as he’s asked. It’s funny – clearly, Shakaar really does enjoy this, but he’s going to fight tooth and nail over every small way of admitting it. Dukat sucks at the nipples slowly and massages Shakaar’s chest with his hands as he does so, enjoying the way the resistance gets smaller and smaller every time. This time, Shakaar just takes it, the repeated effects of slightly acidic Cardassian saliva no doubt making his naturally sensitive nipples feel even more tingly and tender. A small, mortified whine escapes Shakaar’s throat, and Dukat steals a look at his quivering stomach and shamefully exposed erection. The First Minister of Bajor, begging the Chief Military Advisor to the Cardassian Detapa Council to have his tits played with… A masterpiece. And it was almost finished.
“You have beautiful nipples,” Dukat says, straightening up, to Shakaar’s face. “Stunning. You love it so much when I touch them, don’t you?” He punctures this point with a more sadistic tweak of his fingers, pinching the raw red nub with his fingers. Shakaar gasps.
“I was thinking, you Bajorans love your jewelry so much… these could do with some ornamentation, no?” Dukat wonders out loud.
Shakaar goes pale, the threat of pain overshadowing the pleasure of submitting to Dukat’s skilled touch. “Legate,” he says, “Legate, I did what you wanted, please-”
Dukat lets him beg – it wasn’t Shakaar’s fault, of course, that Dukat left him in the dark about this point of the programme not being subject to discussion.
“If you’re good,” Dukat promises, “we’re going to numb you up beforehand.” And if he’s not, Dukat is going to tug at those piercings hard enough to make him cry, and then just cut the tears out of the recording, but this part stays unspoken. Sometimes less is more.
He knows Shakaar is going to be good – either out of fear of the knowledge or the unspoken promise of more pleasure, or the natural fulfillment a Bajoran gets from submitting to Cardassian dominance. He tests him, just in case – two fingers go into Shakaar’s mouth, deep enough to almost choke, and the man obediently breathes through his nose and sucks on them, not even thinking of biting. Dukat purposefully bumps into the nerve stimulator on his forehead when he snakes his hand down to Shakaar’s throat and tickles the vulnerable space right below his ear – the message is clearly received, because Shakaar allows it all.
It really is a shame Dukat doesn’t have more time with him. He tells him just this. “It’s a shame I’m going to have to let you go,” he says, jabbing a hypospray into the man’s each pectoral.
The drug would make the piercing painless, but it would also, on the comedown, make Shakaar’s entire chest extremely sensitive and unbearably easy to stimulate, enough that even a brush of clothing would make him bend over in overwhelming pleasure. It was a very amusing day on Terok Nor when they discovered this particular side effect the drug had on the Bajoran populace. Unfortunately, Dukat was not going to be there to witness Shakaar trying to keep his cool with it in his system – but whoever Shakaar raced to to have the piercings removed (and, with the material chosen by Dukat, it was going to be a whole ordeal, full of examinations and all sort of engineers coming to lend their expertise, all probably needing to handle and touch Shakaar’s chest, all of his attaches and adjutants watching as the First Minister whimpers at every touch… And if Shakaar manages to save face through this, then well – there is of course still the recording.) would undoubtedly find this all quite entertaining.
“I’d love to keep you here at a position more suited towards your talents, First Minister,” Dukat says.
Shakaar turns his face away when Dukat does his work. “Look,” Dukat encourages him, piercing and regenerating the wound at the same time, enjoying the way the body heals around the gold ring – one that had to be cut through in order to be removed. (And as Shakaar was going to find out, could only be cut with one kind of a laser… manufactured only in Cardassia, of course, but perhaps available for export after some brief concessions from the Bajoran government.)
“So lovely, Edon,” Dukat praises. “I really wish you could stay with me.”
He steps away to admire his work. Shakaar is so pale he’s almost green, and Dukat almost feels cruel when he has to make sure he also has the recording of him aroused and submissive with the rings in.
That recording can be from the waist up, Dukat decides. He knows it’s his vice – he’s always too kind to Bajorans, even at his own losses. How can anybody call him a cruel oppressor, that’s really beyond him. He’s so gentle now, for one, when he starts to stroke Shakaar’s thighs, rubbing gentle circles, getting closer and closer to his little cock. When Shakaar tries to struggle, once that Dukat’s hands get too close to the ticklish hollows of his hips, Dukat mercifully moves back down, and massages Shakaar’s legs, squeezing the muscle above his knee a couple times. The caresses he gives to the bare soles of the man’s feet are soft and pleasurable – Shakaar is clearly enjoying them, with the way he whines once Dukat takes a hold of his kicking ankle and presses his claws in the space beneath his toes. And of course, when he finally walks his hands up back to Shakaar’s little dick – voices his marvel at it, tells Shakaar how adorably tiny it is, and obvious it is that he was meant to be a Cardassian’s little pet, with the way he is so clearly enjoys submitting, still hard and asking for Dukat’s touch – he’s gentle too, rubbing each ridge with his fingers. This breaks Shakaar. He starts to beg for Dukat to stop, tears running down his face, asking for anything but this, even more pain, saying he will do anything, anything but this – but Dukat is a kind man, and he doesn’t punish him for it. They both have their weaknesses, after all.
Instead, he gently plays with the cock, making sure Shakaar doesn’t come from this. He wants to beam him down to the Chamber of Ministers still hard and aching, his pleasure obvious through the thin trousers Dukat is going to dress him in. He chose a shirt, too, a gorgeous Cardassian design that the nipple rings will show through, immediately obvious to everybody. Yes, Legate Dukat is a very kind man. It’s really unclear why Shakaar is crying.