“I invented it after I realized that the gentleman at table 6 will cough up one bar of gold-pressed latinum for the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.” She indicated an assorted group of humans, smuggler or mercenary types, huddling in a corner of the bar.
Quark grinned. Holosuites going for five times their usual rates. Latinum for bogus package deals, and two gorgeous females sitting right in his eye line. Maybe things weren’t going so bad, even if he couldn’t understand a single word those females were saying!He composed himself. This was business, after all. “By all means, offer them the Special.”
“See, the thing is, if I become the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special, I want fifteen percent instead of my usual five percent,” she said, dropping seasoning tablets into half a dozen Black Holes.
Treir, there isn’t a tar pit big enough or dark enough to hold your evil mind.“No deal.” He wasn’t in the mood to take more punishment at female hands than he had to. He’d figure out his own bogus package deal and charge more.
“Fine. I’ll tell them to check out the Fifth Moon Casino on their way home to New Sydney. Their Dabo-Dom-Jot special is only 45 strips, anyway.”
“Ten percent,” he countered.
“I would have settled for eight, but thanks for the bonus.”
An incongruity in Treir’s tale occurred to him. “How could the Fifth Moon Casino charge 45 strips for their Dabo-Dom-Jot special if you invented it?”
Her white teeth shone against her jade complexion.
Whatever temporary stupidity was afflicting him had better go away in a hurry. He’d be giving every dabo girl vacation days before the night was out. And there was the legitimate possibility he was worrying about nothing. He needed intelligence, but he wasn’t about to waltz over there and talk to Natima and Ro directly. “Excuse me, ladies, somebody here mention my name?” What an idiot!If they weren’t laughing about him already, they’d certainly be laughing about him after that.
Quark needed a spy.
“Treir, you haven’t had a chance to see if table 5 needs their drinks refreshed. I happen to know the Cardassian ambassador has a fondness for Samarian Sunsets.”
“Translated: Have I heard any good gossip eavesdropping on your girlfriends?”
“You got your extra five percent. I’d say that’s worth something.”
Treir sighed. “Natima said something about someone never guessing that she was faking it because if she let things go any further, he’d find out that—”
Quark held up a hand to silence her. “I’ve heard enough, thanks. Go be the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.”
“I need to change first,” she said. “Oh. And Councillor zh’Thane’s party is up next for the holosuites. You might want to send a ten-minute warning to the group in there now. Never know if they’re in a compromising position.” She sauntered into the backroom.
He mulled over Treir’s tidbit. His stomach tightened. He imagined every possible permutation of conversation that might lead to those comments from his former lover and the object of his present pursuit and he liked none of them. From the rear, the sounds of the cellar hatch slamming closed and storage clattering to the floor gave him one more reason to worry. What was Treir doing back there?
Treir emerged, a florescent pink hairpiece mounted on her head, a short spangled dress dangling beads and pearlized bells. The outfit had much in common with an exploding wedding dais.
“Um, Treir. About what you’re wearing…” Quark began.
“They were talking about the oddest place they’d ever hid a weapon, by the way,” she whispered in his ear as she pranced by.
In that moment, Quark had enough. Either that, or the whiskey had finally unbound his courage.
A Ferengi’s gotta do what a Ferengi’s gotta do,Quark recited in his mind, steeling himself to face Natima. The 100th Rule of Acquisition. He slid a tray off the rack, ordered up a couple of drinks and started off on what he hoped would appear to be a leisurely stroll across the floor.
“He’s coming,” Ro said, quietly. Because Lang’s chair only half faced the bar, Ro had kept Quark under surveillance. Once they’d transcended the usual swapping of histories and small talk, the status of their dealings with Quark had come up. Ro explained her still ambiguous intentions toward him; Lang related the story of their affair. Resolving that neither woman had any reason to compete with the other, they closed the book on Quark in just under five minutes by placing a small wager on how long he would be able to endure watching them from a distance before his curiosity—or anxiety—drove him to check on them.
“He lasted longer than I thought he would,” Lang said.
“You think he’s built up a good head of paranoia?”
“Probably. I’ll pay you after we settle up our bill.”
“That’s all right. Winning’s enough for me.”
“Ah! You enjoy the game more than the prize. I respect that.” Lang grinned, raised her glass of kanarand clinked a toast with Ro.
“Ladies,” Quark said, sliding the drink tray onto their table. “Thought I’d bring over a little theme drink I’ve concocted for the reception. See if you think the diplomatic corps will approve. I call it a Peace Treaty. Starts off provocative, ends on a smooth note.”
“Thanks, Quark,” Ro said, taking a drink from the tray and passing it to Natima before taking one for herself. Ro choked, barely avoiding spitting up. “A bit heavy on the syrup.”
Thoughtfully, Natima palmed the glass, swirling the liquid around and delicately smacked her lips as if to contemplate the drink’s overtones. “The sweet juxtaposes the fire of the whiskey nicely.”
“Sounds like the dealings between your governments could take awhile, eh, ladies?” Quark said, bussing empty appetizer dishes onto the drink tray. “Consensus can be hard to come by.”
“No, I think we’ve found consensus on many things,” Natima said, her sparkling eyes searching out Ro’s.
Taking her cue, Ro nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. I think Bajorans and Cardassians can find a lot of common ground.”
“Oh. I suppose that’s positive,” Quark said, glancing between the women. “So…”
“So…” Natima echoed.
He stood in front of the table, tapping his foot, waiting, and clearly hoping that one of his guests would say something. Ro felt no obligation to rescue Quark. His seeming inability to string together a snappy comeback was a rare enough occurrence to be novel to her. She contented herself with surveying the crowd; playing security chief for a minute or two couldn’t hurt anything. Besides, if anything was going to get out of hand tonight, she’d like advance notice. A large cluster of off-duty Starfleet personnel moved aside, giving her full view of Councillor zh’Thane accompanied by Shar’s bondmates. Now was as good a time as any to update zh’Thane’s party regarding her special request.
And let poor Quark off the hook.
“Quark, why don’t you have a seat? I have an early shift and some business to take care of,” Ro said, rising. “And put all this on my tab, would you? Ambassador, it’s been a delight.”
Lang raised her glass again as Ro stood up. “The pleasure was mine, Lieutenant.”
“We still have our evening together, Laren?” Quark said, a bit too loudly.
Lang covered her mouth with her hand, but not before a guffaw escaped.
Ro sighed. “Once everyone’s adjusted to the new security protocols and the reception is over, I’ll be able to make definite plans,” Ro explained, “But I think I’ll be ready to put in a holosuite reservation soon.” She gave Natima a little wink and headed off to meet with zh’Thane.
“Lieutenant Ro and I are exploring the possibility of a social relationship,” Quark said after she’d left.
“She mentioned that you two got along pretty well,” Natima said.
He watched Ro cross over to where the Andorian party—all four of them—waited for their holosuite. He’d heard rumors about some of the unique quirks of Andorian biology and was—intrigued?—by the commercial possibilities. “Hmmm. Now there’s a holoprogram I’m certain would be a big hit: ‘Andorian Ecstasy: Good Things Come In Fours.’ Never occurred to me before now, but it might have more wide-scale appeal than just for Andorians. Few people know about Andorians and how they, you know.” He grinned luridly. “Very hush-hush.”