by S. D. Perry
If these were members of the crew, they’d certainly paid for the act of dumping their lethal payload on Europa Nova.
Of Taran’atar, she saw no sign.
Then a huge figure stepped into view, walking purposefully toward her. The figure—whom Kira guessed was at least two and a half meters tall, though her worm’s-eye view gave her a skewed perspective—wore an imposing uniform of dark metallic armor. Most of its head was covered by a helmet with ridges that began close together at the forehead and spread out and around to the back of the head. The only displays of color beyond the blue-black of the armor were the alien’s mottled brown face, the streak of white on either side of the helmet’s middle ridge, and the streak of bright red under the leftmost ridge.
The alien stopped, looked down on Kira, and spoke one word in a deep, resonant voice that carried the promise of a painful death.
“Prey.”
Chapter Thirteen
Farius Prime
So this is it, Quark thought. We’re going to die.
What galled him the most was that it was Gaila who engineered this. The beloved cousin to whom he had lent that latinum to get his arms business started—and this is how he repays me. He undermines a business deal just to take some misguided revenge on me. How could Gaila, of all people, forget the Sixth Rule of Acquisition? “Never allow family to stand in the way of opportunity.”
No, Gaila just sat there, smiling his “I won” smile as if he hadn’t just ruined things for his own client. The Iconians would never get a better offer than this. The Orions were not likely to engender much confidence as a potential buyer after killing their own negotiator.
He probably had that same smile on his face after he had Quark’s Treasure delivered to DS9. Gaila had always claimed that the malfunction that caused the ship to be transported over four hundred years into the past wasn’t the result of sabotage, but Quark had never believed it.
One of the two burly Orions looked over at Tamra and smiled lasciviously. “Just so’s you know, Quark—after I kill you, I’m takin’ the dabo girl for myself.”
Tamra smiled right back.
The Orion’s face fell. This was not the vacuous facial expression of a woman whose main purpose was to provide distracting eye-candy for the customers. This was closer to one of Gaila’s smiles.
Then Tamra grabbed one of those idiotic tassels from her waist and threw it into the middle of the room.
Quark quickly closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. When the flare went off, a huge flash of light filled the room. Quark could see the glow even through his eyelids and hands.
A hand grabbed his left arm and yanked him out of his chair.
He opened his eyes to see the room in chaos. The Iconians, the Orions, and Gaila were all blinking, trying to clear their vision and obviously failing miserably. For his part, Quark was being dragged toward the door.
The only person standing between the two of them and that door was Malic, crying, “Kill them! Kill them!”
“I’m blind! I’m blind!” one of the burly Orions screamed over Malic’s voice. He had, Quark noticed, dropped his disruptor.
The other Orion, though, still had his disruptor, and took Malic’s instructions to heart; he fired. Luckily for Quark, he was as blind as his panicky comrade: the shot went about a half a meter over Quark’s head.
The blond Bajoran, still dragging Quark with one hand, clipped Malic with her other arm, knocking the Orion to the floor. In the same motion, she bent over and picked up the dropped disruptor.
Another shot flew over Quark’s head, closer this time.
“Quark! You won’t get away with this, cousin!” Gaila was, Quark noted, facing away from Quark, yelling at a bulkhead.
When they reached the corridor, Quark yanked his arm free. “What took you so long? I was starting to think you were going to wait until he actually pulled the trigger.”
Lieutenant Ro Laren glowered at him from under her unnaturally colored hair. “You’re welcome, Quark.”
Deep Space 9 (four days ago)
“I’ve got a little bit of a problem.”
It hadn’t been easy for Quark to come to the security office. He had, in fact, spent the last day staring at the door to Ro’s office, trying to figure out what to do.
Normally, of course, he wouldn’t even need an excuse to go to the security office. After all, Ro was there, and that vision of Bajoran loveliness was more than enough reason for Quark to contrive a feeble excuse to drop in.
But this was different.
It had seemed innocent enough when it began nearly two weeks ago. An Orion named Malic had entered the bar with a business proposal: he wanted Quark to negotiate a deal for the Orion Syndicate on his behalf. The terms had been pretty vague at first, as had the payment—all Malic had said was that it would be “worth your while.” It wasn’t as if the syndicate in general didn’t have money, and Malic in particular was obviously a wealthy man, so Quark wasn’t terribly concerned on that score. The syndicate had, in fact, turned down Quark’s long-ago overtures for membership, so the fact that they were coming to him with a business proposition was enough to get Quark’s lobes tingling.
Then came the kicker. Malic explained in very plain, simple terms why this was an offer Quark couldn’t refuse. Then Malic departed, promising to return “soon.”
Now Quark was scared. He hated being scared—so much so that it rather irritated him how often he wound up feeling that emotion.
In the past, he’d have no one to turn to. His brother had never been the most useful person in a crisis—though even Quark had to admit that Rom occasionally had his moments, for an idiot—and Odo was as likely to toss him into a holding cell as help him out.
But there was a new constable in town, so to speak, and Quark felt confident that he’d be able to appeal to her better nature. As opposed, he thought, to Odo who, let’s face it, doesn’t have a better nature. Besides, when the renegade Jem’Hadar attacked the station a few weeks back, Quark had saved Ro’s life. It’s time I collected on that debt.
“A problem, huh?” Ro said with her toothy smile. “This ought to be good.” She stood at the rear wall monitors, looking over the current inhabitants of the holding cells. Quark saw the usual bunch of criminals, deadbeats, losers, ne’er-do-wells, and regular patrons of his bar in the screens. Ro turned off the surveillance and the screens went blank.
As she did, Quark started, “There’s this Orion—”
“Malic.” Ro sat back in her chair and touched the control that closed the door to the security office. “He came to you a few days ago to extort your cooperation in a business venture, and you’re expecting him to return at any moment so you can get started.”
Quark sighed. He hated when security people did that. They never understood the importance of not letting the person on the other side know that you know more than they think you know.
“Right. And that’s my problem.”
“Don’t want to work for the Orions?”
“Don’t want to work for this Orion.” Quark finally sat down in the guest chair. “You see, I have this friend on Cardassia named Deru. He used to be a glinn in the military, and he was assigned to the station back when the Cardassians ran it. He retired about eight or nine years ago to go into private enterprise. The two of us entered into a business deal about two months ago. We’ve been arranging to get supplies to people who need it in Cardassian territory.”
“Very noble of you.” Ro sounded almost sincere. “Or it would be if I didn’t know you better than to think you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I am doing it out of the goodness of my heart!” Quark said indignantly. “What is it about Bajorans that you think that doing a good deed and turning a profit are mutually exclusive?”
“So what’s in it for you?”
“Land. See, we divert shipments of relief supplies to certain individuals in return for their land.”
Ro’s face d
istorted into a frown. “You kick people out of their homes?”
Quark rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not doing this to anyone who can’t afford it. No, we’re getting supplies to the people with excess land. Nobody’s being kicked out of their home. Besides, most of this property was damaged during the war. It’ll only be useful again with a lot of work—which, I’m sure, some entrepreneuring buyer would be willing to invest in.”
“And a Cardassian landowner who’s starving to death wouldn’t be willing to invest in it, but he might be willing to sell it to somebody like Deru, in order to stay alive,” Ro said, showing a keen grasp of the economics.
“Exactly!” Quark said, grateful that she understood. “I knew you had the lobes for this sort of thing.”
“Keep my ears out of this, Quark. So let me get this straight. A bunch of Cardassians, who used to be rich, now find themselves stuck with a ton of land, but no way to make use of it. They’re also starving to death because the Cardassian economy is in a shambles, or maybe they’re sick or injured from the devastation because relief hasn’t reached them yet. Along comes Quark—”
“Actually, it’s my associate who approaches them.”
“Along comes Deru,” Ro said obligingly, “who goes to these people, who are used to feeling like they belong to the greatest civilization in the galaxy, and now can’t even get a working replicator. And Deru tells them he can get them black-market food and supplies, courtesy of his anonymous, big-lobed accessory—”
“Hey!”
“—and all they have to do is give up all this extra land that they can’t do anything with anyhow.”
“You make it sound like I’ve committed a crime,” Quark said.
Ro laughed. “If you didn’t know you’d committed a crime, Quark, you wouldn’t be here right now. Because you know damn well that if Malic informed Starfleet or the Cardassian authorities about this, they’d rip your ears off.”
“It isn’t Starfleet or the Cardassians I’m worried about,” Quark snapped. He looked over his shoulder as if he expected someone else to be listening, then turned back to Ro. “It’s Garak.”
Ro shrugged. “So?”
Quark threw up his hands. “You ever met Garak?”
Ro shook her head. “I know he’s very involved in the rebuilding of Cardassia Prime. I also know him by reputation, and I honestly don’t think we’d ever find your body.”
“You see the problem.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you got mixed up with Deru.”
“How was I supposed to know that some old Orion would come along and blackmail me with it?”
“Isn’t there a Rule of Acquisition about knowing your customers before they walk in the door?”
Quark rolled his eyes. “I come to you for help, and you quote the Hundred and Ninety-Fourth Rule at me. Some friend you are.”
Ro leaned forward and got serious. “What exactly does Malic want you to do?”
Sighing, Quark said, “He wants me to negotiate a purchase on behalf of the syndicate. I don’t know what for.”
“I’ve heard of worse deals,” Ro observed. “Maybe you should just take it.”
“You don’t understand—this is the Orion Syndicate!”
“I know who they are, Quark. I went through Starfleet tactical training, remember? We spent a week just on the syndicate.” Ro picked up a padd and started fiddling with it—constantly turning it ninety degrees with her hands without actually looking at it. “You’re worried that once the Orions get what they want, they’ll tell Garak anyway.”
“Something like that.”
Now she looked genuinely amused. “You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?”
“For Gint’s sake, Laren, he used to be in the Obsidian Order! Didn’t you spend a week on them in Starfleet tactical training?”
“No,” she said gravely, “it was two weeks.” She set down the padd. “All right, Quark, I’ll help you. But you have to help me in return.”
Quark’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How?”
“By going through with Malic’s negotiations, and helping me to infiltrate the syndicate.”
Quark felt his ears shrivel. “Infiltrate? Are you insane?”
Ro keyed a file on her padd and held it up so Quark could see the display. “Look at this—Malic is on about a dozen wanted lists. Getting close to him—”
Quark stood up abruptly. “I’m not going to infiltrate the Orion Syndicate, Laren!”
Ro rose and glowered down at him across the security desk. “Oh yes you are. Because if you don’t—I’m going to tell Starfleet and Garak you’ve been exploiting Cardassian citizens.”
Falling more than sitting back into the chair, Quark said, “I don’t believe this. I save your life, and this is how you pay me back? You help me get out of being blackmailed by Malic by blackmailing me with the same thing?”
“Yes, I know, the injustice of it all.” Ro smiled. “Don’t look so glum, Quark. Think of the points you’ll score with Kira and Vaughn when I tell them that you helped me bring down a major player in the syndicate and turned in a Cardassian who is illegally diverting relief supplies to wealthy patrons.”
Quark put his hand over his heart. “Are you telling me I have to turn in Deru? Betray my comrade and business partner in order to save my own skin?”
Ro nodded.
“He’ll turn me in!”
“Let me worry about that.”
Quark knew then that it was over. He had no bargaining position this time. Ro had him by the lobes. Not the worst position to be in, when you think about it, but still…
“All right, fine. What do I have to do?”
“Exactly what Malic wants you to do. The only difference is, you’ll have a dabo girl with you.”
Aghast, Quark said, “You want me to expose one of my dabo girls to those Orion lunatics?”
Ro glowered. “Don’t be an idiot, Quark. I’ll be disguised as a dabo girl.”
Suddenly getting a very pleasant mental picture, Quark smiled. His right hand brushed across his lobe. “Really?” From the moment he’d met her, Quark had wondered how Ro would look in a dabo girl’s outfit. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
When his glazed eyes refocused on Ro, she was scowling at him. “Get your mind out of the waste extractor, Quark. This is business. I’ll be by your side at all times. The Orions won’t care—their attitude toward women is even worse than the Ferengi’s, so they won’t see me as anything more than decoration. If things go well, you’ll be out of there with no problems, I’ll have some useful dirt on Malic, and I’ll make sure Starfleet and Garak don’t give you any grief over your little land scheme.”
“You’re not exactly giving me much of a choice,” Quark said pointedly. “All right, it’s a deal.”
“Good.”
“But I think this is insane.”
Farius Prime (the present)
“I still think this is insane.”
Quark ran after Ro through the corridors of the Orion ship. Alarms blared loud enough to hurt Quark’s sensitive ears.
Two Orions came around a corner. Ro took them out with two well-placed shots before they had the chance to fire their weapons.
“Nice shooting,” Quark said. He noticed that they were headed farther away from both the ship’s transporter and the hangar bay. “Where are we going?”
“We need to be near an outer bulkhead. The inner sections of the ship are shielded against transporters.”
“Why not just go to the ship’s transporter?”
“Because then there’ll be a record, and they’ll know where we went.”
“Oh.”
Ro bent over and took the Orions’ disruptors. She stuck one in the waistband of her slitted pants and handed the other to Quark.
The Ferengi looked at it as if it were someone asking for a handout. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Take a guess.”
Reluctantly, Qu
ark took it. Since it was of Klingon design, it didn’t have a safety, so Quark handled it as if he feared the slightest touch would trigger it.
While Quark weighed the risk of putting the weapon in his jacket against holding it and accidentally blasting a hole in the bulkhead, Ro took a moment to admonish him. “Oh, and by the way, the reason it took me a minute to throw the flare is because I frankly didn’t expect you to cave in so easily.”
“What’re you talking about? I was following the terms of Malic’s oral agreement. Malic said to tell the truth or die, so I told the truth.”
Ro shot him a dubious look.
Quark sighed. “Fifteenth Rule of Acquisition, Laren: ‘Dead men close no deals.’ It’s not my fault that Malic changed the terms of the deal at the last minute and decided to kill me anyhow.”
They turned a corner. A turbolift door opened on an Orion male, escorting a scantily clad Orion female. The female—who was a full head taller than the male—was practically draped all over him. She wore what appeared to be rags, but Quark recognized the custom tailoring at work. Obviously the male has a thing for women in dirty rags and she’s dressing for the part.
At the sight of Ro’s disruptor, the male screamed, which surprised Quark—he’d expected the scream from the female.
“Back inside,” Ro snarled.
The female quickly backed into the turbolift. The male just stood there, screaming. He was worse than the alarms.
“Stop,” Ro said, putting the disruptor to the Orion’s head, “screaming.”
The male fell silent and went into the turbolift. He did blubber a bit, though.
Once the doors closed, Ro said, “Take us to deck seventy-one.”
Quark frowned, confused—then he remembered that the ship’s computer would probably only accept commands from certain Orion males. No female, and no Ferengi—not even one working for the Orions—would have access.
At first, the male didn’t reply, busy as he was with his blubbering. Ro again put the disruptor to his head. “D-d-d-d-d-deck seventy-one,” he finally said.