Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine® Volume Three Page 6

  “Well, I did move away from there as soon as I could,” Quark said.

  “I assumed you were following the Seventy-Fifth Rule.”

  Home is where the heart is, but the stars are made of latinum, Quark thought. I really love a woman who knows the Rules. “To an extent, yes, but—well, never mind, you don’t need to know my tiresome family history.”

  At that, Ro laughed. “Quark, your mother was involved with the Grand Nagus. Most of your family history is public record.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Quark said emphatically. “All right, then. I’ll be able to show you all the sights—the Tower of Commerce, the Museum of Plundered Art, the Great Marketplace. You’ll love it!” He stood up from the chair. “The transport should be here at 1900 to—”

  “I know, Quark—that Krax person called ahead to reserve a docking port already.”

  “Oh.” Quark gave her a look. “Is that the real reason why you knew Krax’s information off the top of your head?”

  “Actually, I remembered who he was when he called—but I did look up his record.”

  Quark shook his head and moved toward the door. What a woman.

  “Hey, Quark?”

  He stopped and turned around.

  “You’re not really worried about getting hurt. You just wanted me to come with you, didn’t you?”

  That caught Quark off-guard. “Well, uh—”

  “Why didn’t you just ask me? Maybe added an emotional appeal in that sincere voice that you’ve spent so many years honing to almost-realistic levels in order to convince me that you were serious?”

  Quark shook his head. You’d think I’d have learned not to underestimate her by now. “I wasn’t sure you’d buy it.” Then he added with a grin, “And I didn’t need it. See, that was Plan C, and you bought Plan B.”

  Chuckling, Ro said, “Well, it wouldn’t have worked anyhow. The only way I can go is officially. If I just went with you for fun, I’d have to take leave time.”

  “So? Doesn’t Starfleet lavish you officers with tons of unnecessary vacation time? That’s what Nog’s using.”

  “Sort of—you have to accumulate it. Since I’ve only been back in Starfleet for about three and a half seconds, I haven’t really accrued any yet.”

  Smirking, Quark said, “Well then it’s a good thing I gave you a good excuse to sell Kira on.”

  “I just hope it works.”

  Quark wasn’t worried. Ro had a streak of Ferengi-like ruthlessness in her—besides, she’d earned Kira’s trust, which was no easy feat. “You’ll pull it off—and if you need help, I have some excellent bribery suggestions.”

  Ro hit the button that opened the security-office door. “Get out of my sight, Quark.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  This time he made it halfway through the threshold before she stopped him again. It didn’t surprise him—he’d been on this station for a decade and a half, under the control of the Cardassians, the Bajorans, the Dominion, and the Federation, and the one constant had been that conversations in this office took forever to end. “Oh, Quark?”

  “Yes?”

  “I was talking with Treir before. She was telling me about your customers last night. Had some interesting things to say about the way the wind is blowing on Ferenginar these days.”

  Nervously, Quark said, “Really?”

  “Yeah. Just thought you’d want to know why Plan B worked.”

  Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his jacket, Quark said, “Okay. Thanks.”

  The first thing Nog did when he came off-shift was go to Captain Kira’s office and officially request leave time to go to Ferenginar to be there for the birth of his stepsibling. When Kira expressed surprise that he didn’t know the gender of the child, Nog explained the raffle, then tried to sell a chance to the captain, who politely declined. Father had promised to let Nog keep ten percent of any chances he sold, but only if he sold one strip’s worth—that was a hundred chances. So far, he’d sold only a dozen, and half of those were to Commander Vaughn.

  Once that was taken care of, he went to the bar to double-check with Uncle Quark to make sure all was well. That was when he found out that Lieutenant Ro would be accompanying them.

  After that, he made a mad dash to the docking ring to catch a transport to Bajor—he had a dinner date that he had no intention of missing, especially now that he was going to be off-station for an indeterminate period.

  Tonight, Nog was finally going to meet Korena, a Bajoran artist who had, to everyone’s surprise, caught the heart of one Jake Sisko. Nog had barely had time to register that his best friend even had a girlfriend before the announcement came from Bajor that they’d gotten married.

  Nog’s irritation at Jake’s going off and getting married without Nog even having the chance to meet her was ameliorated somewhat by Jake’s offer of dinner at Bajor’s finest restaurant—Fallert’s, in Dahkur Province. Fallert’s was located in the midst of a beautiful garden right on the coast. A salty breeze blew in from the ocean as Nog materialized in the transporter station that had beamed him from the spaceport. To his surprise, the station was of Cardassian design, though it had been a Federation transporter that brought him here.

  The sun was just starting to set, painting the sky in a variety of colors that nearly stunned Nog into insensibility.

  “Nog, your mouth is hanging open.”

  Forcing his gaze away from the incandescent sky, he turned to look at the source of the voice: Jake Sisko. As appallingly tall as ever, the human had his arm around the shoulder of a Bajoran female of much more reasonable height, though she was still taller than Nog.

  Whatever concerns Nog might have had regarding his friend’s whirlwind courtship abated at the look on Jake’s face. I haven’t seen him glow like that since we got the captain that baseball card.

  “This,” Jake continued, “is Rena.”

  Korena smiled. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Nog. Jake’s told me all about you.”

  Nog chuckled. “Well, don’t believe a word of it—I’m actually a very nice person.”

  They all laughed at that. Korena had a musical laugh. It’s like the sound coins make when you drop them into a safe. He decided not to share that analogy, as non-Ferengi tended not to appreciate its true romanticism.

  As the trio approached the front door, Jake said, “I can’t wait to try this place.”

  Again, Korena smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

  Nog was hard pressed to say whose smile was brighter, Korena’s or her husband’s. Either way, their two smiles could provide all the light needed to keep the restaurant alight once the sun sets. Aloud, he asked her, “You’ve been here before?”

  “A few times. I went to school in Dahkur. During the Occupation, this was a Cardassian restaurant. There aren’t any roads leading here—the only way to come here was by transporter, and only Cardassians had free access to transporters. Bajorans who didn’t work here could only come with the permission of a Cardassian.”

  Before she could continue, they arrived at the maître d’s station. “Reservation for three,” Jake said, “in the name of Sisko.”

  The female behind the station bowed her head. “Of course. It is our honor to serve the son of the Emissary and his new bride—as well as one of our Starfleet benefactors,” she added with a look at Nog. In his rush to get down here, he hadn’t had the chance to change out of uniform. “Please, come in.”

  They were led to a table by the large picture window that looked out over the ocean, providing a spectacular view of the sunset. Three screens rose out of slots in the center of the table and lit up with the day’s menu. Touching an entry resulted in a holographic representation of the meal being projected onto the place setting.

  Nog, however, paid little attention to that, as he was, again, mesmerized by the sunset. “It’s beautiful.” At a snicker from Jake, Nog again yanked his gaze away. “Sorry—it’s just that I haven’t seen that many Bajoran sunsets. On Ferenginar,
sunset just means the sky goes from light gray to dark gray, and on the station, there are no sunsets.”

  “That must’ve been terrible.” Korena sounded sincere and empathetic, which Nog appreciated. “Anyhow, after the withdrawal, one of the Bajoran cooks took over the place. It’s become one of the hot spots on the planet. I came here once to paint the sunset for my grandfather.”

  “Did he like the painting?” Nog asked.

  Korena shifted in her seat, and Jake’s face fell.

  “He died not too long ago,” Korena said, then added quickly: “You couldn’t have known, Nog, it’s okay. He said he always wanted to see the sun set in Dahkur, and he never got to. So I came here, painted it, and put it up in his house. It’s still there.”

  A voice from behind them said, “And one of these days, Rena, I’ll convince you to hang that painting here.”

  Nog turned to see a round, jovial Bajoran male.

  Once again, Korena favored them with a bright smile. “Nog, Jake, this is Fallert Kon, the owner. Kon, this is Lieutenant Nog from the space station and my husband—”

  “Jake Sisko. It is an honor to have you all in my restaurant. I highly recommend the steamed asnor fish. Enjoy your meal.”

  With that, he walked off.

  Nog shook his head. “Fish—when there are probably hundreds of succulent slugs in that garden outside.”

  Korena looked at Nog. “You’re not gonna ask me to chew your food, are you?”

  They all laughed once again. “That won’t be necessary,” Nog said.

  “You know, he actually asked a girl to do that on a double date once when we were kids?” Jake said.

  That quickly led into a round of reminiscing. After Jake was done embarrassing Nog with the story of the double date, Nog told Korena all about the time Jake suggested they put frimja dust in the air vents. Then they both told her about the nascent “Noh-Jay Consortium” that engaged in a few transactions on Bajor.

  Pausing only to order, then get appetizers and wine—Korena recommended a particular vintage, which Nog had found to be almost drinkable—they continued to talk of their times together and apart. Korena seemed particularly impressed with the lengths to which the two of them went to acquire a Willie Mays baseball card for Jake’s father on the eve of the Dominion War.

  Then Jake talked about being part of the resistance movement on the station while the Dominion occupied it, while Nog was serving on the Defiant.

  “I was scared to death that the Dominion would have him executed,” Nog said.

  Jake chuckled. “And I was scared to death that he was gonna die in combat without me around to protect him. Let’s face it, Nog, I carried you.”

  In mock outrage, Nog said, “What’re you talking about? I carried you, you stunt-eared hoo-mon.”

  “Who was the only sane person on the Valiant?”

  Nog had to grant him that one. The cadets on that ship had become fanatics—worse, they had become stupid fanatics—and they had temporarily swept Nog up in their dangerous euphoria.

  Korena shook her head as she swallowed the last of her salad. “It’s funny—you two really did rub off on each other.”

  Nog frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Jake’s the son of a Starfleet captain, and you’re the son of a Ferengi waiter. When the two of you met, which one would you have predicted would wind up in Starfleet and which one would wind up serving on a pirate ship?”

  Defensively, Jake said, “The Even Odds was not a pirate ship.”

  Leaning toward Korena, Nog said, “Let him have his delusions.”

  Nodding, Korena said, “Yeah, it’s probably safer.”

  “You two do know that I’m sitting right here?” Jake was trying to maintain the defensive tone, but it was swimming upstream against the laugh that Nog could hear building in the human’s throat.

  “From what you told me about what happened on the Even Odds,” Nog said, “Uncle Quark would probably say you’re a better Ferengi than I am now.”

  “Well,” Korena said, “you did say I didn’t have to chew your food.”

  “Actually, females don’t have to do that on Ferenginar anymore.”

  “I know, I was just teasing you.” Before Korena could go on, the main course arrived. Both Jake and Korena had the fish special. Nog, to his surprise, was met with no resistance when he asked about the possibility of sautéed slugs. It pays to show up with the son of a religious figure, he thought, wondering if there was some way to make that into a Rule of Acquisition.

  The slugs weren’t anywhere near as succulent as Nog had been hoping for—they were obviously just taken off the ground, not bred for it at all—but the spicy sautée made up for it. It tasted like a thicker version of the Cajun sauce that he’d gotten from Jake’s grandfather on Earth.

  After swallowing a few more slugs, Nog spoke in a more serious tone than he’d been using. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about Ferenginar.”

  Spearing a piece of fish with his fork, Jake asked, “What about it?”

  Nog explained about Father’s summons. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. I’ve seen your homeworld, when I was at the Academy.” He chuckled. “I practically lived in your grandfather’s restaurant when I was off-duty. And I was hoping to return the favor.”

  Jake and Korena exchanged an awkward glance.

  As soon as they did so, Nog cursed himself for an idiot for even asking. “Never mind—I shouldn’t have asked. You two are newlyweds.”

  “It’s not that we’re not flattered,” Korena started, “but—”

  Nog held up a hand. “No, it’s all right. It was selfish of me to ask. I’m sorry.”

  Jake said, “It’s not selfish, Nog, I just—We’re—”

  “You don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t have said anything. I guess—” He chuckled again. “I just didn’t want to be stuck alone in a transport with Uncle Quark and Lieutenant Ro for two days.”

  At that, Jake frowned. “What’s wrong with Ro? I haven’t really gotten to know her that well, but she seemed okay to me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with her—it’s the way Uncle Quark acts when she’s around.”

  “How does he act?”

  Nog grinned. “The way you do around her.”

  Korena laughed at that, while Jake looked like he was contemplating throwing his side vegetables at Nog’s face. “Hardy har har,” Jake said.

  “Besides, I haven’t been home in a long time.” Nog looked up, just realizing how long it had been. “Come to think of it, I haven’t been home since before I signed up for Starfleet Academy. I guess I’m a little nervous about it.”

  “Doesn’t your mom still live on Ferenginar?”

  Nog nodded as he placed a few slugs in his mouth.

  Korena asked, “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “When Father and I left Ferenginar. Over fifteen years.”

  “Are you gonna see her?” Jake asked.

  Letting out a long breath, Nog said, “I’m not sure. I don’t know what to say to her. Leeta’s more my moogie now than my biological mother was. I barely even remember her.”

  “You should go see her.” Korena spoke with finality. “You never know when you’ll have your last chance to see family before they’re gone.”

  Jake said nothing, but he didn’t have to—Nog could see the words etched on his face. Jake’s trip on the Even Odds was a direct result of his desperate quest to find his father, motivated in part by his inability to say good-bye to him before the Prophets took him away. It all worked out in the end—Captain Sisko had been returned in time for the birth of Jake’s half-sister—but Jake hadn’t known that when he bought a shuttle from Uncle Quark and headed for the wormhole.

  “I probably will,” Nog finally said.

  Korena nodded. “Good.”

  “You know, Nog,” Jake said slowly, “if you really want us to come—”

  Recognizing the typically human gesture, Nog shook
his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be all right. Besides, why would you want to leave this sunset behind?”

  4

  A contract is a contract is a contract—but only between Ferengi.

  —RULE OF ACQUISITION #17

  Ro Laren hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect when she set foot on Ferenginar, but what she got was a soggy, overwhelming, all-encompassing sense of pure humidity. She intellectually knew that humidity couldn’t get above one hundred percent, but if it could, Ferenginar would have managed it.

  When she, Quark, and Nog boarded the transport that the Grand Nagus sent, they were required to pay an entrance fee of one slip of gold-pressed latinum each. When they arrived on Ferenginar, each of them had to pay a one-slip exit fee.

  They disembarked into the Fram Memorial Spaceport; according to Nog, Fram had the spaceport built, and his will stipulated that it remain named after him even after death, regardless of who bought it. The dark blue carpet was plush, and several stands selling a variety of goods lined the walls. Holographic ads for everything from Slug-O-Cola to the latest in outerwear to the finest tooth sharpeners were festooned about the floorspace. A few doors were labeled with a phrase in the Ferengi script that Ro’s amateur eye was fairly sure said AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  Walking down the carpeted floor, Ro noticed an odd background noise in the air, a persistent, irregular metallic popping sound that permeated the spaceport. It took Ro a few moments to realize that what she was hearing was the constant rattle of thousands of latinum slips being paid in hundreds of different transactions—most of them occurring by the simple expedient of dropping a slip into a receptacle just like the ones Ro had used on the transport.

  Ro asked, “Uh, Quark? What if I didn’t have a slip to pay my exit fee with?”

  Quark’s answer was to point at three Ferengi wearing black leather outfits with white trim, carrying neural whips, and leading a crying Bolian toward one of the doors that was only for authorized use.

  “Local law enforcement?” Ro asked.

  Nodding, Quark said, “My guess is that Bolian didn’t have his exit fee.”