Withdrawing from the staircase and walking through the main gallery, I saw that the dream corridor was completely bricked up. This had been the tunnel entrance leading to a twenty-second-century-vintage outbuilding where I kept my dreams in temporary storage until eventually filing them away permanently under the dome. Everywhere else I looked, portals and entryways were similarly barred. Several slender, spidery creatures worked diligently to add to the chaos.
Each of them had Kukalaka’s gumdrop eyes.
It seemed that there probably wasn’t much more room left inside the Hagia Sophia than there was in my shrinking quarters. And I filled the tiny soundproofed space around me with screams.
14
As Quark dressed for the evening, his belly roiled with a curious mixture of anticipation and fear. The anticipation was easy enough to understand—Ro Laren was an extraordinarily attractive female. The fear was a little harder to fathom. After all, tonight wouldn’t be the first time he and Ro had shared dinner together. But it wouldbe the first time he had been the one to pick the evening’s activities.
On the previous occasion, Ro had treated him to an evening of pointlessly strenuous windsurfing on a body of water called the Columbia River, which she had told him she’d visited during her Starfleet Academy days. No fun at all really, except for the company.
He set aside the tooth sharpener and inspected his tuxedoed reflection one last time. What if she can’t relate to this holosuite scenario at all?he thought as he carefully smoothed his cummerbund and adjusted the knot on his black bow tie. It’s not as though she’s some nostalgia-crazed hew-mon.
As he made his way from his quarters onto the lightly populated Promenade, he tried to put his lingering misgivings aside. Whether or not Ro would appreciate Las Vegas might not matter any more than Quark’s attitude toward windsurfing had.
Because if there was one being in the entire quadrant capable of putting Ro into a romantic frame of mind, it was Vic.
He entered the bar and crossed to the spiral staircase that led to the upper level and the holosuites. Behind the bar, Frool was doling out drinks to a pair of Rigelians and a Valerian while Morn appeared to be trying to regale them all with one of his innumerable traveler’s tales. Quark walked quickly to avoid being drawn into the verbal melee. As he ascended, he glanced down toward the dabo wheel, where Broik was taking drink orders while Deputy Etana watched a hulking Nausicaan with obvious suspicion. Hetik, the aggressively profitable dabo boy Treir had hired, was doing an admirable job hustling the dabo customers—representatives of at least a half-dozen worlds—who had obviously been drawn to the gaming area by Treir’s abundant charms. The tall Orion woman met Quark’s gaze and regarded him with an unrestrained smirk. He wondered yet again what she had really said to Ro about their impending dinner engagement, then decided that it wasn’t worth worrying about. It’s never too late to fire the staff,Quark thought, quoting the 193rd Rule of Acquisition to himself. Let’s see how the evening goes first.
There still was no sign of Ro, which concerned him. She was nothing if not punctual. Then he opened the holosuite door, where Julian Bashir’s 1962 Las Vegas lounge scenario was perpetually up and running—except on those occasions when Vic himself voluntarily took his own program off-line. The band was tuning, perky cocktail waitresses were serving, and hew-mon alcoholic beverages of various sorts were flowing freely among the sparse but growing dinner crowd. Quark noted with considerable relief that Taran’atar apparently hadn’t left the place in ruins after his visit a little earlier. It was important that everything go perfectly tonight.
Ro was already seated at a table not far from the stage, looking exquisite, if somewhat uncomfortable, in a black, off-the-shoulder evening gown. He had no idea whether she was as uneasy in this twentieth-century Earth scenario as he had been trying to control a holographic boat that seemed bent on tossing him overboard. But she didn’t appear ready to bolt. At least not yet.
Which, Quark realized, had to be due to the reassuring presence of Vic Fontaine, who stood near Ro’s table, an authentically archaic-looking stage microphone in his hand.
Acknowledging Quark’s entrance with a knowing nod and a worldly smile, Vic turned toward the stage, where a trio of tuxedoed humans struck up an expert piano-bass-and-drums accompaniment as Vic began warbling a bouncy musical travelogue whose recurring refrain was “Let’s Get Away From It All.” Just before beginning his performance, Vic mentioned that an Earth singer named Sin-Ah-Trah had made the tune famous.
Quark took a seat across the small table from Ro, realizing that he’d already missed the opportunity to pull her chair out for her. But that was all right. If she could learn to feel as comfortable in this alien milieu as he had become over the past few months, then perhaps she would lower her shields voluntarily. Quark recalled how he had once regarded Vic’s holographic establishment as unwelcome competition, until the upheavals of the Dominion War had taught him that ancient Las Vegas was really a refuge from troubles of every sort. A refuge that could be overused, as Nog had demonstrated during the months following the loss of his leg, but one that stood ready to offer solace at all times. Twenty-six/seven, as some of the hew-mons around here like to say.
As Vic concluded his number and took a bow before the applauding dinner crowd, Quark glanced at Ro, who seemed engrossed in the environment. Good,he thought.
Quark leaned forward and assayed his most nonthreatening smile. “You got here a little early.”
She nodded, a wry expression on her face. “I didn’t think you’d mind. I’m less accessible here than I am in the security office. Besides, after the dress shop finished sewing me into this costume, I realized I wasn’t exactly dressed for work.”
“There’s more to life than work,” Quark said, grinning.
She favored him with a silent that’s-easy-for-you-to-sayglower.
Sensing that something else besides the demands of her job was bothering her, he decided to change the subject. “How do you like Las Vegas so far?”
“It’s…interesting.” Her tone was noncommittal and her brow remained furrowed as she gazed around the room. The earring dangling from her left ear gleamed enticingly in the room’s subdued lighting.
Quark hadn’t noticed that Vic had taken up a position alongside their table. “Interesting,doll-face?” the crooner said with an urbane smile.
Ro cast a quick glance over her shoulder as though convinced Vic had to be addressing someone else.
“No need for the double take, sweetheart,” Vic said. “I was just wondering when your beau here was going to get around to introducing us.”
“I think maybe I need to have my universal translator checked,” Ro said.
“This is 1962,” Vic said, his smile disarming. “Here you’ll have to pick up the lingo the old-fashioned way. By experience.” He turned toward Quark while making a courtly gesture in Ro’s direction. “So are you going to keep this vision you’ve found all to yourself?”
Quark realized he had been staring at Ro the entire time, drinking in her image. He shook himself as though from a dream. “Vic, meet Lieutenant Ro Laren, the station’s chief of security. Ro, Vic Fontaine.”
With the deftness of an expert stage magician, Vic somehow managed to take Ro’s hand and raise it to his lips—without prompting her to throw him bodily across the neighboring table. Charmed, I’m sure,Quark thought, feeling all the satisfaction of a man entering the finalstage negotiations of a killer deal.