“Then what?”
“Then nothing.”
“That’s not good.”
“I’m fully aware of that.”
“Let’s hope they were destroyed rather than captured. Do we know what intelligence Starfleet gathered?”
“Hig’s ship intercepted a transmission, but they weren’t able to forward it to us. All I know is their Ferengi engineer reported that they came up with a way to sabotage the gateways.”
“They have a Ferengi engineer?”
“Yes. In fact, he’s the nephew of the one negotiating on the Orions’ behalf.”
“Really? Interesting. Keep monitoring System 418, just in case. The negotiations here are taking far too long.”
“Then why bother with them? There are others.”
“Because the Orion offer is several orders of magnitude better than anyone else’s.”
“It may not be worth the risk.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. You just do as you’re told.”
Quark popped a tube grub into his mouth. Things are going well, he thought. His instincts told him that the Orions had the best offer on the table to the Iconians. Why else allow it to drag out so long? Quark knew that people all over the quadrant were clamoring for this technology. Plenty of governments would have made overtures. But no government had the resources of an underworld syndicate—or, rather, they did, but weren’t willing to part with them. Quark knew that, and so did Gaila. At this point, the negotiations had boiled down to piddling over minor points. The deal was all but done. Quark could feel it in his lobes.
Indeed, the deal might have been done already, but for Gaila’s picking at every point. While Gaila hadn’t actively tried to sabotage the negotiations, he hadn’t made it easy, either—and there was more to it than simply trying to get the best deal possible. He enjoyed making Quark squirm.
But that only went so far. Like Quark, Gaila was working on behalf of another party, and there was no getting around the quality of the Orions’ offer to his client.
They were taking another break before going into what Quark predicted would be the final session. This time, Malic had decided to lay out a buffet of Ferengi food in deference to both negotiators, with some other food for those, like Bajorans and Orions, who preferred blander fare.
Gaila approached the huge ceramic bowl of tube grubs and took a few for himself. “So Cousin Rom is the Grand Nagus now,” Gaila said in a conversational tone.
“That’s right,” Quark said, wondering where Gaila was going with this. Somehow, I can’t imagine he just wants to catch up on family gossip.
“Grand Nagus Rom. Sounds funny, doesn’t it? Aunt Ishka’s on Risa with the former Grand Nagus. And I understand Nog’s been promoted. All these changes— and yet you still own the same bar you’ve had for over fifteen years. How many different governments have controlled that station since you set up shop? Three? Yet you’ve managed to thrive.”
“More or less,” Quark said, popping another tube grub.
“You’ll probably still be running that bar long after your dear brother has been ousted.”
That got Quark’s attention. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Gaila said, pouring himself a glass of Slug-o-Cola. “Just call it—speculation on my part. Zek was able to put forward his reforms because he’s Zek. He had the weight of years and experience, and decades of prosperity behind him. What does Rom have?”
A history of being an idiot, Quark thought, but said nothing. Gaila’s expression was already saying it quite eloquently.
Gaila took a swallow of Slug-o-Cola. He smiled, wiping some of the green slime of the beverage from his upper lip. Gaila had several smiles that Quark had learned to quantify when they were kids. This was Gaila’s “I know something you don’t, and I’m not going to tell you what it is” smile. “Mark my words, cousin,” he said, leaning close enough to Quark so that the Tholian silk jacket brushed against Quark’s own suit. “You can count the years of Rom’s reign as Nagus on the fingers of one Daluvian hand.”
Daluvians didn’t have fingers. Quark grabbed another tube grub.
Not wanting to dwell on this subject, Quark asked, “So how did you wind up negotiating for a dead civilization anyhow? Last time I saw you, you only had seven bars of latinum to your name.” That had been the reward Zek had offered for the rescue of Ishka: fifty bars of latinum, which had been split evenly among the six Ferengi who participated in the rescue (after Quark skimmed off a sixteen percent finder’s fee, of course).
Smiling his “I’m more clever than you think” smile, Gaila said, “You’d be amazed what you can do with seven bars of latinum.” The smile fell. “ Unfortunately, my old contacts had dried up. Did I ever tell you how I got that purification squad off my back?”
Quark shook his head.
“I gave General Nassuc weapons—free of charge. That’s why I was destitute when you found me in that holding cell. I bankrupted myself so that mad female could complete her takeover of Palamar. I went through all my cash reserves—I even had to sell my moon before I got enough weaponry to get her to call off the squad.” Gaila now took on the “I’m moving in for the kill” smile as he leaned in even closer to Quark and whispered, “She killed ten million people before the civil war was over. The Regent had many friends, it turned out.”
The tube grub felt like ashes in Quark’s mouth. Quark had set in motion a chain of events intended to keep that very civil war from happening. The death toll was still far less than it would have been if Quark had helped Gaila and his partner Hagath obtain biological weapons for the Regent of Palamar to use against the general. But still, ten million people. Their deaths . . .
Quark stopped that train of thought. Those deaths are not on my conscience. Nassuc and the Regent were at each other’s throats long before I came along. One way or another, there would have been a war on Palamar. I just did what I could to keep the death toll down.
Now if I can just believe that, everything will be fine. He grabbed another tube grub, then put it down uneaten.
Gaila was no doubt of the opinion that Quark had let sentiment get in the way of business, but Quark simply could not bring himself to trade millions of lives for personal profit. Maybe it’s years of exposure to the Federation—or maybe that’s just the way I am.
“Sorry, cousin,” Gaila said insincerely. “But it was that or death. Not really so difficult a choice.”
“Well, it was nice chatting with you, Gaila.” Quark started to walk away.
“You know,” Gaila said, “the gateways are a lot more valuable to the Orions than they are to the other governments.”
Quark stopped. Now he’s going back to business. Interesting.
“After all, who better to take advantage of the gateways than a decentralized group? It’s tailor-made for the Orions. The Klingons, the Breen, the Romulans, the Federation—they’d have to completely readjust the way they live their lives to properly take advantage of the gateways. But the Orions wouldn’t have to change a thing. They don’t have a homeworld as such, just a network of bases—like this one.”
Smiling, Quark said, “If this is an attempt to drive the price down—”
“Merely another observation, cousin.”
“You’ve been full of observations, haven’t you?” Or full of something, anyhow.
Gaila’s shrug was as eloquent as his smile. Then he walked off.
Malic approached, gnawing on some kind of cooked poultry leg. “What was that all about?”
“Just catching up on some family gossip.”
Glowering at Quark, Malic said, “I hope that’s all it is, Quark. These negotiations have taken far too long. I was under the impression that you were good at this.”
“I am. So’s Gaila. That’s why it’s taking so long.”
“That had better be the only reason, Quark. I’m fast running out of patience.”
Only then did Quark notice that the two burly Orions had appeared behin
d Malic and were now gazing down on Quark. Is it my imagination, or are their biceps bigger than they were yesterday?
“Don’t worry,” Quark said, holding up his hands in as reassuring a manner as he could manage. “I’m confident that this will be the final session and you’ll have possession of the gateways within the hour.”
“You’d better hope that’s the case, Quark. I still have the details of your scheme on my padd, and all it takes—”
“—is a simple command, yes I remember,” Quark said with a sigh. “I’m aware of the terms of our agreement, Malic, and rest assured I’ll honor it. Seventeenth Rule of Acquisition: ‘A contract is a contract is a contract.’ ” Quark left out the subsequent clause: “But only between Ferengi.” It was generally wise to leave that clause out when quoting that Rule to non-Ferengi—it just annoyed them.
Soon, everyone was ready to resume negotiations. Malic, to Quark’s surprise, remained in the room, taking a seat in a corner of the meeting room, the two Orions on either side of him. Perhaps because of Malic’s presence, the two Iconians—whom Quark hadn’t seen since the initial session—also remained, standing behind Gaila. Malic took his personal padd out of his jacket pocket and started making notes onto it.
Tamra took up her position behind Quark, running her hand seductively across the outline of Quark’s left ear. Not now, he thought, I don’t need the distraction.
Another Iconian came in and handed a padd to Gaila, then went to stand with the other two.
Unbidden, the image of Rom standing in the bar came into Quark’s head. Leeta by his side, Rom was holding the staff of the Nagus. Quark had publicly railed against the Zek reforms that Rom intended to continue. Maybe that will be enough to keep me from going down with him when . . .
He cut the thought off and glowered at his cousin, who was reading something on the padd. I can’t believe I fell for that, he thought, admonishing himself. I don’t know what’s worse, that Gaila stooped to try it, or that I almost succumbed to it.
Aloud, he said, “So, shall we bring this negotiation to a close?”
“Just a moment, Quark,” Gaila said without looking up from the padd. Then he finally set the padd down, folded his fingers together, and smiled.
It was the “I’m moving in for the kill” smile again. Quark folded his arms in an attempt at impatience and defiance—but mainly to cover his trepidation. I don’t like this one bit.
“Tell me, Quark,” Gaila said, “how long have you been working for Starfleet?”
Quark burst out laughing. “Working for Starfleet? Me? That’s ridiculous!”
“Really? Then why is your nephew—an officer in Starfleet—working to sabotage the gateways?”
Quark frowned, genuinely confused. “What’re you talking about?”
“We’ve intercepted a message from a Starfleet vessel called the Sungari,” Gaila said, holding up the padd. “Lieutenant Nog in command. The message claims to include the specifications for something that will disrupt the gateways.” Looking up at Malic, Gaila said, “Nog is Quark’s nephew. Quark is also a known collaborator with Starfleet.”
“What?” Quark couldn’t believe his ears.
“Three years ago, he worked with Starfleet on a sting operation to bring down a weapons dealer named Hagath. Two years ago, he bartered a prisoner exchange on Starfleet’s behalf involving a Vorta named Keevan.”
“Those are lies,” Quark said to Malic. Starfleet had nothing to do with either instance, and Gaila knew it—he was there for both incidents, after all.
“Are they?” Malic said quietly. Quark felt his blood freeze. “It would explain why you’ve been dragging out these negotiations—it allows your friends on Deep Space 9 to find a way to destroy the merchandise.”
“They’re not my friends,” Quark said. His lobes started to ache. This was not going in the direction he’d hoped.
“Really?” Gaila’s smile widened, which was never a good sign. “These are the people who kept your bar going when the Ferengi Commerce Authority banned you.”
Quark sighed. Technically, of course, that was true—Captain Sisko and the others on the station, even Odo, had provided him with the resources to keep the bar going even when he was forbidden from doing business with any Ferengi.
Malic made notes onto his own padd, then stood up and moved toward the table. “I’ve been growing more and more suspicious of you, Quark. I have been unhappy with the length of these negotiations—and I was unaware of all these connections you have with Starfleet.”
“The negotiations are almost complete,” Quark said.
Gaila’s smile changed to one of pure viciousness. “I wouldn’t presume that if I were you, Quark.”
Ignoring Gaila, Quark continued, “And I don’t have ‘connections’ with Starfleet. Yes, my bar is on a station that is jointly operated by the Bajoran Militia and Starfleet, and yes, my nephew is an officer in Starfleet—a career path I strenuously objected to, I might add, and which I have never, ever supported. If Nog remained working for me, he’d be making more money and still have the left leg he was born with.”
Malic looked at Gaila. “Let me see this transmission.”
“Of course.” Gaila got up and, smiling his “you’re doomed” smile at Quark the entire time, handed the padd to Malic.
Putting his own padd back in the jacket pocket, Malic took the padd from Gaila and examined it. “This is definitely Starfleet, and definitely from one of the runabouts assigned to DS9.”
Malic nodded to his bodyguards, and they moved forward and removed sidearms from holsters inside their jackets. Quark recognized the weapons as modified Klingon disruptors, each pointed directly at his head.
Tamra made a squeaking noise.
“You’ll either tell the truth, Quark, or you’ll die.”
As a general rule, Quark found it best to keep negotiations as complicated as possible. It made it easier to find loopholes and get a better deal for himself. This negotiation, however, had just gotten depressingly simple: either tell Malic the truth, or be killed.
For Quark, that was no choice at all.
“All right, all right—I’m working for DS9 security. They sent me here to drag out the negotiations for as long as possible.”
Malic shook his head. “And I thought having leverage over you meant I could trust you. I should’ve known better than to trust a Ferengi.”
An Orion pirate is talking to me about trustworthiness? Quark thought, but wisely did not say aloud. At this point, saying anything else could prove fatal.
After making a few more notes on his padd, Malic said, “Kill him anyway.”
10
EUROPA NOVA
“IBELIEVE YOU’VE mistaken me for someone else, Colonel.”
Now that Kira had a moment to take a good look at the Cardassian on the viewscreen, she had to agree. The face and voice were frighteningly similar to Dukat’s, but there was a slightly less arrogant timbre to the voice, and his facial ridges, while similar, were arranged a bit differently. Most distinctively, this Cardassian had facial hair, something Kira couldn’t remember seeing on any member of the Cardassian military. Two dark tufts extended from the corners of his mouth to his chin in small crescents.
“I am Gul Macet,” he continued. “Skrain Dukat was my cousin, and I can assure you, the family resemblance is not something that’s done me any favors.”
“Surprised to hear a Cardassian say that,” Kira muttered.
“I suppose you would be. But my relationship to Dukat has not been a beneficial one—especially of late. It seems that our resemblance has become more pronounced over the last few years. The more famous—or infamous—he became, the more people mistook me for him.” He leaned forward. “I know you have a history with Dukat, Colonel. I would ask only that you no more hold it against me than you would hold it against his daughter.”
Ziyal. “I wouldn’t go there if I were you, Macet. What do you want?”
“Simply stated . . . I want to hel
p, Colonel. The Trager is at your disposal to aid in the evacuation of Europa Nova.”
Letting out a bark of derisive laughter, Kira said, “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“You’ve been willing to make use of my services in the past, Colonel—though, come to think of it, you wouldn’t be aware of it.” Macet’s face formed a smirk that was eerily similar to that of his cousin. “The Trager is the ship that destroyed the cloning facilities on Rondac III.”
Blinking, Kira said, “You were part of Damar’s resistance.”
Macet smiled. Unlike Dukat’s smile, which always carried an air of superiority and arrogance, Macet’s smile seemed genuine, even warm. “Why do you think the Trager looks like this?”
Taran’atar finally spoke. “You were one of those who betrayed the Dominion.”
The smile fell. “That would be your view. You must be Taran’atar, the so-called observer from the Dominion I’ve heard about. I admire your courage in allowing that creature on your station, Colonel, if not your common sense.”
Ignoring the gibe, Taran’atar said, “Treachery is a poor foundation for trust.”
“The traitors were the Cardassians who subsumed our empire to—”
“That’s enough!” Kira snapped.
“My apologies, Colonel.”
Taran’atar said nothing.
Kira considered Macet’s offer. Every instinct told her not to trust him. He was part of Dukat’s family. He was a Cardassian gul. And he had to bring up Ziyal, the bastard.
That, in turn, was precisely why she couldn’t let Macet’s accidental relationship—and unsettling resemblance—to Dukat influence her now. She remembered her thoughts upon arriving at Europa Nova the day before, regarding Taran’atar and her feelings toward Cardassians.
She knew the size of a Galor -class ship, and had a good idea about the number of evacuees it could probably take on, even one as damaged as the Trager. And she thought about the rising levels of theta radiation, the extra time it was taking to get the refugees off-planet, and the scores of people in the rural areas who had proven harder to locate than originally anticipated. Europa Nova apparently had a good-sized contingent of “back-to-nature” types among its population, who were apparently ignoring the orders to abandon their homes, despite the danger, and were proving difficult to find.
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