Natima, her thick hair sparkling with merlot-colored gems woven into the twist down her back and extending to her waist, wearing that crisp, shimmering red-black gown, the square neckline showing off enough of her fine, feminine assets to bring back pleasant memories of springwine and oomox.And Ro, zipped to the neck in some stretchy blue thing that looked far too Starfleetish for Quark’s preference, still had that dark, sexy tomboy aura going for her. Too bad Garak wasn’t around to offer Ro some off-duty wardrobe advice. He might have been able to persuade her to try something more flattering. Quark shuddered when he recognized the lunacy of that last thought. A female reduces me to missing Garak?Quark poured himself a shot of whiskey, threw it back in one swift motion and waited for the burning sensation in his eyes to recede. With all the chattering, he could only pick up the slightest hint of the timbre of Natima’s voice or the higher notes in Ro’s laugh.
At least she’s laughing.
But what if she was laughing at him?
He’d thrown back a second shot before he’d even had a chance to consider how his staff might take advantage of his panic by pocketing their own tips. Quark made a mental note: Conduct locker and body searches before staff clocks out.
Several stools away from where he stood, he noticed an unfamiliar Starfleet officer sitting quietly, sipping spoonfuls from a bowl of what looked like plomeek soup and reading the latest edition from the Federation News Service. He scoped her out. A thin, platinum band on her left hand, fine age lines around her eyes and a centered sensibility evidenced by how easily she focused on her reading in this noisy room. Discerning her descent (she was a bit too—pointy?—to be all human) proved challenging. Before he’d drawn any conclusions, he found a pair of steady green eyes fixed on him.
“Hello,” she said. “You must be Quark.”
“And you must be a new customer I need to impress. Can I get you something to drink?” He sauntered down the bar and cozied up to the new kid on the station. Pretty. Nice hands. Definitely on the curvy side of female. Add a plunging neckline and she’d be a dabo girl to be reckoned with.
“Thanks. But the soup is fine until my husband gets here,” she said with a polite smile, and resumed reading.
And what in that padd could possibly be more interesting than me?Maybe it was his approach. He tried again. “I’ve quite a selection of otherworldly delicacies. Can I get something going for you and your husband, Lieutenant Commander—”
“Matthias. Actually, I believe he’s already eaten with our children. We’re meeting here before we attend Prylar Kanton’s B’hala lecture.”
“A lecture?” Quark couldn’t hide how underwhelmed he was by her choice of entertainment. “A spin at the dabowheel or a hand of tongowouldn’t be more fun? Who knows—you might get lucky.”
She tucked a loose amber-blond tendril behind her ear and took another spoonful of soup. “I’m certain the lecture will be very pleasant.”
Pleasant. We wake up in the morning so our day can be pleasant? What a sad, sad life.He sighed. With Bajor about to join the Federation and the Militia poised to be assimilated into Starfleet, the fun quotient around here will plunge. One more reason to search for business options elsewhere…
…A search that might be aided by one Ambassador Natima Lang,Quark suddenly realized, and reminded himself that he needed to keep her under his watchful eye.
“My house specialty drinks are the perfect way to toast your pleasantevening,” he suggested to Matthias. “A Warp Core Breech? Black Hole? Triskelion Tidal Wave?”
“I’ll pass. After all, once I’m done with the lecture—a pleasantpart for him since he’s an archeologist—the excitementbegins in the atrium with a candlelight dinner for two. The Chateau Mouton Rothschild we’re being served will be my drink quota for the night.”
Quark grimaced. “Why settle for something as pedestrian as a Rothschild when I can offer you the seductive delights of a thousand worlds?”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Quark tskedand left Matthias to her soup. Having Natima around must be throwing my game off,Quark thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone zero for five on a sale. He resumed his perch within eyesight of Natima and Laren.
“You must be very fond of her,” Matthias observed, ostensibly attending to her padd.
Quark twisted toward the officer, but realized she wasn’t looking at him. “Are you talking to me?”
“You were involved with the Cardassian at that table, what, five or more years ago.” She paused, pondering her next words thoughtfully. “Things didn’t end well. You’re watching for an opening to go over there to find out what they’ve been talking about.”
Oh please don’t let me be dealing with a telepath. I’ll never be able to fix the wheels again!Panic threatened to flood him.
Matthias must have noticed his discomfort because she quickly clarified her comments. “I spent five years doing field research in inter-species anthropology. Studying the body language patterns and brain stem physiological reactions of a number of Alpha Quadrant sentients. Most individuals fail to realize how much their unconscious reactions reveal about them.”
Being a man whose work it was to know what his customers wanted without asking, Quark appreciated her area of study. “Remarkable that you can know so much without reading my mind.”
“I didn’t say that,” she teased. “I have some Vulcan ancestry, but it’s a few generations back on my father’s side. Your secrets are safe, Quark.”
“Secrets? I have no secrets. My life is an open book.”
“True. Ferengi aren’t particularly complicated to decipher.”
“Not particularly complicated?” Quark felt like he’d just been insulted.
“No,” she said, unapologetically.
“So you can just look at whoever happens to walk into the room and after a relatively short observation figure who and what that person is about.”
“More or less. Some sentients are more obscure than others.”
“You don’t say?” Now that’s a talent a good businessman could learn to exploit.“What about him?” Quark asked, indicating Morn, who sat in his usual seat, nursing a tall mug of frothy ale. The Lurian turned toward Matthias and blinked blearily.
“He falls into the obscure category,” she said.
Impressed, Quark considered asking Commander Matthias if she could share a few tips that would enhance his already formidable skills in the fine art of behavioral profiling, but before he could open his mouth, in walked a Bajoran man with smooth pate and a thick, but neatly trimmed brown-black beard. Decently tailored clothes for an academic. Quark watched as the man cast a glance around the room, smiling when he spotted Matthias; he moved speedily to her side. The husband, I presume.
Their animated whispers held no interest for Quark. Before he could ask the husband if maybe he wanted a spin at the dabo wheel, Matthias pushed away her half-emptied soup bowl. Holding hands like newlyweds,Quark thought cynically, as they left the bar presumably to hear Prylar Kanton’s scintillating lecture on the wonders of B’hala.
Morn watched him, straight-faced.
“What are you looking at Mr. Obscure?” Quark snapped, sending his best customer scurrying off for cover behind the new dabo boy, guessing correctly that Quark’s glare wouldn’t find him there. Quark spent a good part of his day pretending he didn’t have a dabo boy.
“Table 6 wants the Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” Treir said, sidling up beside him.
Quark also spent a good part of his day pondering those staff members most likely to exploit any weakness on the part of management. “We don’t have a Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” he answered, waiting to see what angle Treir was coming from. She had to have one: she wouldn’t be Treir if she didn’t.