by Ian Edginton
“Silence!” shouted Senior Adjuster Brumm, a middle-aged Ferengi with fine, wrinkled lobes.
He had been dragged from having these fine lobes massaged by a group of diplomatic handmaidens from Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet. They were currently visiting to negotiate trading and vacation rates with the Ferenginar Alliance. This was his own personal economic project to promote Ferengi interests on worlds of particular sybaritic interest. Pleasure and commerce were forever linked in Ferengi culture.
Forever, he thought mournfully. Won’t be much longer when Milia comes here….
Finally the hubbub quieted down. They looked up at the disheveled Adjuster. “Thank you.”
“Tell us it’s not true!” yelled Bromidge, an elderly Ferengi. Brumm knew that Bromidge’s interests included hard-fought spice and herbs routes into the Gamma Quadrant. Those deals had drained three of his sons’ fortunes—a detail that Bromidge had kept from his offspring, and of which they would remain unaware until the Great Audit took their father away—until this horrific turn of events had occurred and threatened the death knell of Ferengi culture.
Unfortunately, the Senior Adjuster was not in a position to give succor to the massed hordes of Ferengi businessmen gathered before him.
“It is as we have all seen on our screens. The great heretic Milia is returning. These are not some aberrant broadcasts of a cunning plan to undermine Ferengi stocks and create a rash of panic selling….” He paused, wondering why he hadn’t considered this idea himself, as did most in the hall (apart from Bromidge, who was no doubt calculating how thinly he’d have to be sliced to pay off his sons). Brumm continued, “… deplorable as that would be. No, it really is a re-creation of Milia. And he’s coming here.”
The gasp rang through the hall. The chattering and swearing came louder than before, then the accusations started flying.
“It’s a judgment! If we hadn’t gone down the path dictated by Grand Nagus Zek, this would never be happening!”
“Women in clothes! It was a sign of the Great Liquidation!”
“Our latinum is water, our gold is mud! We’ve strayed!”
“Ahem.”
They all turned to see the two figures that now stood next to Brumm. One was Rom—a quite ordinary-looking Ferengi wrapped in the robes of the Grand Nagus, and still not looking comfortable in them even after several months in the role. Next to him stood a statuesque Bajoran female: his wife Leeta, no less stunning for being completely clothed. Brumm, still with the memories of the ambassadors of Wrigley lingering in his mind, had to admit they’d have a ways to go to match her presence.
“Pray silence for your Grand Nagus, Rom!” he cried.
Rom stepped forward. “Uh, hi, everyone. I just thought you all should know that I’ve spoken to my friends in the Federation and they’ve sent out a starship to deal with this situation.”
There was a mixture of cheers and mumbling. The Federation and Ferenginar had always had a strained relationship, with confusion, duplicity, and outright double-dealing making up so much of the history between them. One voice cried out, attempting to rally them.
“I bet they’ve sent the Enterprise! The human Picard has proved a worthy adversary to Ferengi in the past! He’s the one to stop this heretic!”
There were more cheers, the Ferengi warming to the theme.
“Uh, no, actually,” admitted Rom.
The same one—Brumm finally recognized him as Quinton, a young idealistic Ferengi who’d idolized Zek, and saw links with the Federation as the way ahead—thought for a second, as the worried mumbling returned, then brightly exclaimed: “Captain Sisko and the Defiant! He is our champion!”
More cheers responded to this, though Brumm knew that Sisko had, in fact, disappeared after the Dominion War ended and his space station was now run by a Bajoran female who was not (in Brumm’s opinion) nearly as stunning as the Nagus’s wife.
Rom replied, “Uh, no—Captain Sisko is, uh, unavailable now. But it is a great leader and a fantastic ship! Captain Gold of the da Vinci!”
Quinton looked baffled by the name, then thought better of his confusion and so cried out, “Hooray for Captain Gold!” Other Ferengi joined in. The cheering rallied them.
Brumm turned to Rom, and in a soft voice asked, “Who?”
Rom smiled, a warm generous grin. “My son liked him. He said he seemed like a very nice man.”
Brumm blinked. “Oh. Well, there we go.”
Rom raised the Cane of the Grand Nagus. “Carry on trading! Everything will be all right!”
Rom and Leeta left, waving to the amassed businessmen. Brumm gave a polite nod, and headed back to his chambers. We’re entrusting the whole future of our civilization to a human the Grand Nagus’s son thinks is “nice.” We’re doomed….
The away team and their Ferengi hosts found themselves up against stacked boarding and detritus, completely out of keeping with the layout of the surrounding boutiques and clothing stores on the Level of the Golden Measure.
“Now that looks promising,” Corsi muttered.
Gomez scanned with her tricorder. The Ferengi who had fallen into the Way of Milia paid her no mind now that the Bacchanal had ended.
“There’s something beyond all this debris,” she said. “A very powerful energy signal.”
Corsi started pulling off boards and other objects, which Gomez recognized as various pieces of shop displays—garment racks, book display stands, tables.
As she dismantled, a familiar voice said, “Health to us all, fellow of the Way of Milia. What are you doing, citizen?”
The da Vinci security chief turned to see Vance Hawkins, still with the remains of the trash he’d fallen into hanging from his uniform. On his face was the biggest grin Gomez had ever seen, and, given how much time she’d spent in Kieran Duffy’s company, this was going some. Vance was usually a quiet, reserved sort; when he did smile, it was a small, pleasant one, and his eyes generally betrayed a certain intelligence. This grin, however, was eerie, the eyes above it dead.
“Knitting fish,” Corsi replied, and Gomez nodded with approval. Kirk and his crew had confused Landru’s minions by giving inappropriate responses to requests, and Gomez had ordered them all to try this when challenged.
It seemed to have the desired effect—Hawkins blinked twice at the nonsequitur, and looked into the air as though responding to some unheard voice. He turned back to Corsi. The grin was still there, but it now looked forced and uncertain.
“Is this the Will of Milia? I do not think you are acting in the best interests of the whole.”
“Cheese gets soft in Norway,” Gomez said. She turned to Abramowitz, hoping she’d get the idea.
She did; unfortunately that wasn’t the problem. Carol Abramowitz, an academic without equal, froze at the thought of speaking in nonsense.
“I—I—I—dictate in Spanish wh-when underwater.” She shot Gomez a panicked look. Is that okay? she mouthed.
Gomez nodded encouragingly. Confused the heck out of me, she thought.
Hawkins looked among the three women. Whatever voices were talking to him were obviously debating hard. Abramowitz took the moment’s delay to reach into the emergency medikit to ready a hypospray. She slowly walked behind the guard, ready to send him back to sleep.
Before she could react, his arm struck out behind him, sending her sprawling.
“Carol!” cried out Gomez, running to her side. Hawkins turned to follow her, obviously intent on carrying on the Will of Milia with extreme prejudice.
Corsi stood poised with a heavy metal stand obviously designed to show off Ferengi headskirts to best effect. Balanced on her left foot, she swung the display, smashing her subordinate clean across the face. He fell solidly like an oak.
“Nice to see the subtle approach still works,” she muttered under her breath. She went over to help Gomez assist Abramowitz to her feet. “If you want to try that hypospray again, I think you’ll find your patient’s a little more sedate.”
&nbs
p; Ainoc started spluttering, “Starfleet! Starfleet! We’ve got a problem!”
The three turned to see that the shopkeepers and customers had started to take notice of them. The placid Ferengi began picking up the bits of rubble discarded by Corsi. There were dozens of Ferengi, and they weren’t going to stop. The remaining rubble and shop display detritus blocked the only route out.
In the air in front of them, the figure of Milia appeared again, a pained expression of reproof on his face.
“You seek to harm Milia. To harm the whole, the way of Milia. This cannot be allowed.”
Gomez steeled herself. There has to be a way out of this, she thought. Her engineer’s mind refused to accept that they couldn’t think their way to a solution.
Then Corsi tapped her on the shoulder. To Gomez’s abject shock, the no-nonsense, by-the-book security chief had a smile on her face.
“I have an idea, Commander. Trust me?”
Gomez mulled for half a second. She’d served with Corsi for many months now, and had indeed learned to trust her instincts. Bereft of any ideas of her own, she nodded, wondering what Corsi had in mind.
Corsi walked up so the holo-image, and did the last thing Gomez expected to see.
She bowed deferentially and said, “Great Milia, we surrender.”
Gomez shot Corsi a look of surprise—the Ferengi and Abramowitz did likewise, but they were in complete shock.
“We are part of a mighty vessel,” Corsi said. “It has many who would benefit from the joining with your Way. Take us into your presence, that we may bring forth our crewmates!”
Gomez smiled, finally getting it. Let’s hope we live to see this through, she thought. She gave Abramowitz and the Ferengi a reassuring nod. Carol looked placated, the Ferengi somewhat less so, but they made no move against them, either.
Milia beamed beatifically. “Then let it be so.” He gestured for the Ferengi to dismantle the rubble wall. They made short work of it.
Total hive mind, thought Gomez. Their individual identity subsumed to the whole. Almost Borg-like.
Ferengi Borg. There’s an image I didn’t need….
Within minutes, the wreckage was removed, the path to the core cleared. Gomez didn’t know the Rules of Acquisition, but she did know one of Corsi’s other handbooks: The Art of War by Sun-Tzu. Right now they were on what Sun-Tzu would call “entangling ground.” If the enemy was not prepared for you, you would win; if the enemy was prepared, though, and you failed to defeat him, disaster would ensue.
The path opened out into a vast computer hub. The systems that had once been independent of the Landru mechanism were all linked now through conduits and systems carriers. Some Gomez recognized; some she was at a loss to explain how they could still operate. The actual computer unit was an unprepossessing gray block, adorned with chip blocks of reds, whites, and yellows. The technology was so outdated, she half-expected there to actually be a cable running into a wall socket—or maybe a hamster on a wheel powering the whole thing.
The holo-image of Milia that had led them and their entourage of at least fifty Ferengi into this hall turned to the away team. On either side of the team stood diminutive Adjusters, their cloaks darkening their faces.
“Here you stand within the proud beating heart of the Way of Milia. This vessel will reach Ferenginar and all races throughout the galaxy, bringing them to the family, to the Way itself.” He gestured toward Corsi. “It is your honor to be the first ship to go with joy.”
Corsi nodded respectfully, stepping forward, her hand reaching out to the ancient computer core. She tapped it gently. “Milia is good,” she said.
“Step away from the holy sepulcher, citizen,” intoned the deep voice from the nearest Adjuster.
She bowed deferentially. “I meant no disrespect.”
Never thought I’d live to see this, Gomez thought with an internal smile. I just hope I’ve read her intentions right….
* * *
“Gomez to da Vinci.”
Kieran Duffy had never in his life been so relieved to hear Sonnie’s voice. Well, okay, there was when I found her on Sarindar, but this is a very, very close second.
There was, however, something odd about her voice….
“Da Vinci here,” Gold said. “Report.”
“We have decided to follow the Way of Milia, Captain, and invite you to join us in this holy, joyous path.”
Duffy felt his world spin away from him. Sonnie had somehow fallen under the power of this millennia-old device. He felt a sickening feeling that they’d just lost.
At the back of the bridge, Phug started cursing and spluttering. “Stupid humans! Pwagh! You have failed! You have doomed us all! I told you! I told you!”
“We want you, your wife, Rachel, and everyone else on the ship to join us in the Way, Captain.”
Duffy’s world spun right back into place. Sonnie knew quite well that Gold’s wife was back home on Earth. Someone under the influence, so to speak, wouldn’t have been able to lie. He grinned at Gold, who grinned right back.
“I shall take your generous offer under advisement, Commander,” Gold said. “Tell me where might we find you currently. Your signal’s coming from an area we’re having problems getting a fix on.”
“We are here in the very heart of the Way, sir. Standing side by side with Milia himself.”
“Aha. I see. How do you suggest we proceed?”
* * *
Gomez looked around the room, all eyes expectantly on her. We’re going to have to time this just right, she thought, or we’ll all become Milians for real.
“Captain, can you operate transporters yet?” she said in the languid voice she’d adopted for the purpose.
“No—the computer worm is still blocking that and all defense systems.”
“Then, tell Soloman to stop fighting it, sir. Allow the da Vinci to become one with the mighty Milia.”
There was a second’s pause.
“Are you sure about this, Gomez?”
“Yes, sir!” She grinned wildly, looking at the approving grins on all the Ferengi around her. “Think of it as … Masada. You know, that great tale you told me, of personal sacrifice?”
“Masada? But—one second, Commander.”
Another pause. The Ferengi continued to grin beatifically. Milia turned to Gomez. “Why does your captain delay?”
“I think you’ll find he needs you to show your openness and all-embracing love. Let his ship sense where we are. Diminish your shields slightly. It would be a noble gesture.”
“It shall be so.”
* * *
Ina’s displays lit up, identifying the position of the away team. “We’ve got a fix on them, sir,” Duffy said, standing over the Bajoran ops officer. “Now what?”
“Open hailing frequencies again. I think I know what they’re planning, but I need to be sure.”
“Dead dead dead,” muttered Phug.
* * *
“Gold here, Commander. We’ve considered your invitation. I need more clarification on the ‘Masada’ analogy … who among you is to carry out this great deed?”
Gomez hoped the relief she felt didn’t show on her face. He got it. They still needed to play this carefully though.
“Lt. Commander Corsi, sir. When you’re ready.”
* * *
Gold gave a throat-cutting gesture to McAllan to end the transmission, then tapped the intercom on his chair. “Transporter room, lock onto Lt. Commander Corsi and energize on my mark.”
From the transporter room, Chief Feliciano said, “Aye, sir.”
Gold then got up and walked to Soloman’s station.
“What are they planning, sir?” the Bynar asked.
Phug responded before Gold could. “That we’re all going to be sold into slavery, to the brainless ways of the joy brigade down there!”
Gold smiled calmly at the Ferengi. “Watch and learn, DaiMon Phug.” Turning back to the Bynar, he said, “Soloman, prepare to put your king into c
heck-mate.”
“Sir?”
“We’ll have a split second when the system becomes completely invaded, but before we lose control, when we can carry out Gomez’s ‘Masada’ play.”
* * *
The look on Milia’s face took on an even more beatific aura. “They are stopping the fight! They are allowing the love and joy of Milia to—”
He never got to finish. Behind the crowd, the familiar whine of a transporter beam could be heard. On the da Vinci, they had locked onto Corsi—or, more precisely, Corsi’s combadge—and energized. Except, of course, Corsi’s combadge wasn’t attached to her uniform, as she had placed it on the computer that thought of itself as Milia moments earlier.
The holo-image vanished as the physical machine disappeared. The massed Ferengi initially stood stunned, then started looking warily around at each other, backing away from the group.
Forg ran up to Gomez and Corsi. “What did you do?”
“Well, I didn’t think we could beat Milia with weapons,” Corsi said, “so we had to come up with a different approach.”
“And one worthy of a Ferengi!” gushed Ainoc. He and his brother had come to join the group. “So devious, so sneaky! To convince the customer you’re buying his goods, when in fact you plan to steal his whole warehouse!”
Aylai strummed his fingers against his uneven, green teeth. “Now, which Rule is that?”
Gomez raised a hand. “Please. No more Rules.” She tapped her combadge. “Status, Captain?”
“Feliciano beamed the computer core into deep space. As soon as we did, the worm ceased trying to take over the ship. Good plan, Commander.”
“It was Corsi, sir. I just followed her lead.”
“And it’s good to know you actually listen to the ramblings of a doting grandfather … that whole ‘Masada’ conversation we had this morning.”
“Yes, sir, I thought you’d appreciate the ‘sacrifice rather than fall to slavery’ idea.”
“Only here, you ‘sacrificed’ the enslaver.”
She nodded happily, as the first fights broke out among the Ferengi behind her.
* * *