Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #8: Highest Score

by Kem Antilles

  …leaving only the terrible, bright green words hanging in the air of the Arcade game booth:

  GAME OVER.

  Nog’s eyes glittered with excitement as he gave up the simulator controls and stood rubbing his clawed hands together. “Did you see that, Jake? Look at our score. That’s the highest we’ve ever gotten!”

  Jake still felt disoriented from the sudden end of the game. He looked around the blank simulator room until he saw the numerical value of the score they had achieved. It cheered him up to see how well they had done——but not well enough.

  “I still wish we could get all the way to the end of the game just once.”

  “Jake, nobody’s ever made it all the way through this simulation, not even professional pilots.”

  Jake nodded. “Yeah, but nobody’s practiced as much as we have, either. We’ve spent every free hour at this game for the last month.”

  “Next time,” Nog said with a grin. He looked at his wrist chronometer in sudden alarm. “I need to get back to Quark’s!” he said. “My uncle told me I have to work this afternoon. If I’m late, he’ll be very angry.”

  As the Ferengi boy scuttled toward the door of the Arcade, Jake followed him. “See you here tomorrow?” Jake said.

  “Okay. Let’s try to do better,” Nog answered, then dashed out into the Promenade toward his uncle’s bar and casino.

  Back in their quarters, Jake’s father, Commander Benjamin Sisko, was not so pleased to hear about his son’s highest score.

  “Jake,” Commander Sisko said, “don’t you think you’ve been spending altogether too much time in the Arcade? I can tell you’re getting very good at it, and I’m proud for your sake, but what good is all that practice going to do you? It won’t benefit you later in life.”

  Jake shrugged in exasperation. “Dad, I wasn’t thinking about what good it would do me. Nog and I have fun, and besides,” he said with a hopeful smile, “it keeps us out of trouble, doesn’t it? You told us to find something that would keep us out of trouble.”

  Sisko’s frown turned up with the slightest hint of a smile. “I’d rather you put a little variety into your free time. Something that could help you in your future career.”

  Jake sighed, “There’s nothing else to do on this station.” He sat down on his bed and folded his hands in his lap as he stared at the floor plates.

  “How about studying?” Sisko said

  “Oh Dad!” Jake said.

  “Look, Jake,” Sisko said, “I don’t want to be hard on you, because I know you didn’t want to come to Deep Space Nine in the first place. But don’t you think you’re getting old enough that you should start considering what you want to do with your life? I know you don’t necessarily want to go into Starfleet, but you should at least start considering something, some goal to work toward. Why not concentrate on your writing?”

  “I will, Dad. Don’t worry.”

  “All right, enough lecturing,” Sisko said. “But do me a favor,” he added. “From now on, let’s limit your time in that Arcade to one hour a day, all right?”

  Jake brightened. He had expected something far worse. “Okay, Dad. It’s a deal.”

  Nog’s uncle Quark was not quite so understanding.

  “Where have you been, boy?” Quark said. “Go clean off those tables. New customers can’t sit at a dirty table.” Quark’s Ferengi eyes flashed as he leaned over the young boy, who looked away in the standard gesture of respect. “And you know what it means when people can’t sit at the tables? They can’t buy drinks—and when they can’t buy drinks, we don’t make any latinum.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Nog said.

  “That’s an important rule of economics,” Quark said. “Have you been at the Arcade again?”

  Nog panicked looked from side to side. “Uh, why do you ask Uncle?”

  Quark scowled. “I can smell it on you.”

  Nog grabbed an empty tray from behind the bar. Off at one of the Dabo tables, a crowd of players squealed in delight as they won. Quark whirled and clicked his sharp teeth together. “Bah! More losses for the house,” he said.

  “Uh, Uncle,” Nog said, “I think I see some empty glasses over there and some dishes. I’ll go clean them up right away.”

  Quark waggled a clawed finger at him. “You spend too much time at that Arcade, boy. You should be here working, earning a living.”

  “But I, uh”—Nog thought fast—“I’m doing research in entertainment systems.” His words picked up speed as the excuse came to him. “Isn’t that one of the Rules of Acquisition, to learn the customer’s weaknesses so you can better take advantage of him?”

  “Rule Number 87,” Quark answered automatically.

  Nog’s father, Rom, scurried behind the bar and tripped, spilling a tray full of beverage containers. Quark whirled to snap at his brother. Luckily, most of the containers were empty, or Quark would have been much more upset.

  As soon as Quark had finished yelling at him, Rom turned and glared at Nog. “And where have you been, my son?” he said. “We need your help here.”

  Quark brushed him away. “I’m taking care of this, Rom. You’ve got work to do. Get that table another selenium fizz—and don’t go so heavy on the synthehol this time.”

  “Yes, Brother,” Rom said, then scurried to the drink replicator station behind the bar.

  “Now, you listen to me, boy,” Quark said to Nog. “I think it’s admirable that you’re learning about entertainment systems. There could be a great career in it for you someday. But right now, you’re working for me, here. Playing games in that Arcade is not going to help you out as much as putting in your time here.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” Nog said. “From this point on, I will limit my time there to…” He paused. “Two hours a day.” Which was exactly the amount of time he currently spent.

  “Ten minutes,” Quark countered.

  “One hour?” Nog asked hopefully.

  “Agreed,” Quark said. “Now, go clean those tables.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The alien disembarked from a Bajoran transport shuttle, then stood alone.

  As the other passengers came off the ship onto Deep Space Nine, they chattered with companions or looked around for points of contact. The alien though, simply stopped, drinking in the details of the space station.

  He had a narrow, birdlike face that tapered to a curving point of hardened skin around a long, toothless mouth slit. Nostril slashes rippled alongside the hardened beak, membranes flickering as the alien drew in the scents of Deep Space Nine. His skin was grayish brown, but a brilliant crest of glittering emerald-green scale feathers rippled from the base of his nose to a jeweled point on the top of his head. His eyes were solid black and glinted in the light of the station.

  The alien had a purpose—and he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

  As the other passengers jostled around him, he took only a moment to gain his bearings. Then he set off for the Promenade and the Arcade.

  Once there, he disregarded the swirling electronic noises of a thousand entertainment systems. Waving half a bar of gold-pressed latinum, he bribed one of the gaming attendants to allow him access into the computer scoring records of the most difficult simulations.

  The curious attendant peered over the alien’s shoulder, trying to spy the numbers that so interested the alien—but, with a shove of his horned fist, the alien knocked the attendant away.

  “Privacy, please,” he said. “I paid you enough.”

  The attendant frowned and then went off in search of other customers.

  With a few commands expertly entered into the computer system, the alien managed to sort the numbers scrolling in front of him. His glittering black eyes narrowed.

  Two players in particular stood out well above the other contestants. They consistently had the highest scores. Good reaction times. Good ingenuity. Excellent.

  The alien’s hard beak did not permit him a smile, but he nodded his head. The emerald-green crest trembl
ed in the flickering light of the Arcade.

  Jake Sisko and Nog. He would find them, and make them an offer they couldn’t refuse.

  The next day, Jake and Nog emerged from the sealed Arcade game booth, congratulating each other. Jake held up his hand in a high five, and Nog slapped it.

  “We’re partners.” Nog said. “The best ever!”

  Jake agreed with a laugh. “No one in the history of the station has ever successfully completed the ‘Escape Through the Wormhole’ simulation.”

  “Until now.” Nog said, rubbing his clawed hands together. “We’re the best.”

  “Do you think your uncle will get us something to celebrate—like an Antarian shake?” Jake asked hopefully.

  Nog lowered his gaze. “We can ask,” he said. Then his voice became quieter. “But I doubt it. There’s no profit in celebrating.”

  They turned and glanced up to see a strange, tall alien step forward to block their way. He wore a padded tunic of some kind of dark green leather, polished to a bright glossiness. It reminded Jake of the shell of a scarab beetle.

  “Excuse me,” the alien said. His words had a warbling tone that made his voice sound musical and exotic. “You are the great gamers?” He indicated the glowing champions’ score on the outer door of the Arcade, the highest score ever recorded there. “You are the skilled human Jake Sisko and the Ferengi Nog?”

  “Yeah, that’s us,” Jake said.

  “Allow me to congratulate you. My name is Kwiltek. Would you allow me to buy you something to commemorate your achievement?” he asked. “An Antarian shake for each of you, perhaps?”

  Jake and Nog looked at each other, their eyes lighting up. “But what do you want?” Nog asked skeptically.

  The alien’s bobbing nod was like a bird pecking for insects. “I have a matter I wish to discuss with you … in more comfortable surroundings,” Kwiltek trilled.

  “Let’s go to my uncle’s place,” Nog said, and they hurried off down the Promenade to Quark’s.

  Nog’s father, Rom, was working behind the bar while Quark himself negotiated some sort of deal in the back room. The bar crowd was sparse in the mid-afternoon slow hours, and Rom eyed the boys suspiciously as they came in with the stranger and ordered two Antarian shakes.

  “And how do you expect to pay for these luxuries,” Rom said, looking sidelong at Kwiltek. The birdlike alien reached a slender horned hand into his glossy green jerkin and withdrew several glittering pieces of metal.

  “Ah, very well,” Rom said, his face brightening. “Welcome to Quark’s Place, sir.” The older Ferengi flashed a look at his son. “You’re welcome to bring friends like these in any time you like, boy. Can I get you anything, sir? Anything to drink?”

  “Yes,” Kwiltek answered. “I would like water. A glass of water.”

  Rom frowned. “Would You like anything in that?”

  “Yes,” Kwiltek answered. “I would like … ice.”

  Rom shuffled his feet, uncertain what to do. There’s a charge for that, you know. We don’t give away free drinks.”

  “That is acceptable,” Kwiltek answered.

  Rom bustled away to get their orders as Jake and Nog followed the birdlike alien to a small table in the corner, far from other patrons.

  Rom brought their drinks and then backed away, hesitating just within Ferengi earshot, and waited. He performed distracting duties as he clumsily tried to eavesdrop, but Kwiltek said nothing until Rom gave up in disgust and stomped back to the bar.

  Kwiltek leaned closer to the boys and spoke quietly. “Allow me to explain myself,” he said. “I am the administrator of an automated mining consortium. That probably sounds boring to great gamers like yourselves. But, trust me, your skills are exactly what I am looking for. I would like to offer you both a job—working for me.”

  “A job?” Nog sat up, grinning broadly and showing his sharp Ferengi teeth. “To earn real latinum?”

  “Yes, real latinum,” Kwiltek said.

  Jake was more suspicious. He folded and unfolded his hands on the tabletop, then took a sip of his shake. “But what would you want us to do?” he said. “What skills do we have that a … a mining company could want?”

  “Ah!” Kwiltek said, then made a fluting whistle. “Our mining company operates by telepresence. We send large excavating machines, ore haulers, and mineral extractors to hostile, uninhabitable planets. On these planets, fiery environments or terrible storms, earthquakes or poisonous atmospheres make it too dangerous to send in live workers.”

  He drew a musical breath through his nostril slits. He stared down at them, his close-set eyes glittering. “So, instead, we park a mining station in orbit around one of these planets. Then we use simulators—very much like the ones in your Arcade game booths—with talented operators such as yourselves behind the controls, to direct the mining operations from long distance, in perfect safety. We get our ore. You get paid to play simulation games. And everyone is happy.”

  “Sounds good!” Nog said.

  “What’s the catch?” Jake asked. Already, he was wondering what his father would say.

  “Ah,” Kwiltek said with another fluting sound. “Because these mining operations are on very hazardous planets, we lose a good deal of machinery. That is why we need people with fast reaction speeds, with a genuine feel for how the machines work. We need good operators. Otherwise, we lose so much equipment through clumsy accidents that the value is barely offset by the precious minerals we mine.

  “Of course, mining simulations can be rather dry and tedious, so we have embellished them—enhanced the telepresence machines so that you actually feel as if you are playing a game—by creating fake adversaries to fight.” He spread his horned hands on the table next to Jake’s. “We think you might enjoy it.”

  Jake listened to Kwiltek’s words, but already possibilities rang through his mind. It would be fantastic to show his father that the skills he had developed by playing so many Arcade games had actually proven valuable, making him a prime candidate for an important job.

  “We’ll have to ask our parents,” Jake said, “but there’s a school vacation coming up soon. Maybe we could work during the break, on a trial basis?”

  Kwiltek bobbed his head in a jerky nod again. “That would be acceptable,” he said. “I will wait.”

  Commander Benjamin Sisko leaned across the bar, staring at Quark. Rom stood behind his brother, kneading his clawed hands together and letting Quark do the talking.

  “So what do you think about all this, Quark?” Sisko said. “Does it sound too good to be true?”

  “I think it’s an intelligent business proposition,” Quark answered quickly. “While it will be a great burden to lose the valuable assistance the boy has given me in the bar, Mr. Kwiltek has adequately compensated me for my inconvenience.”

  “And the pay is good, too,” Rom interrupted.

  “I believe it’s the boys’ pay,” Sisko said.

  “Yes, of course,” Rom said. “We will place it in trust to be used for the betterment of the boy’s later years.”

  “I see,” Sisko said, not believing it for a minute. “I have to say that while I’m leery about letting Jake and Nog go off with this stranger, I have checked against Federation records and found that Kwiltek’s mining company seems to be legitimate. They operate just the way he says, telepresent mining operations on uninhabitable worlds. They’ve just started operations in the Gamma Quadrant on the other side of the Wormhole.”

  Jake and Nog sat at one of the front tables, watching the conversation. Jake’s eyes were bright. “Please, Dad!” he said.

  Sisko continued, “Jake and Nog do have the capabilities necessary for this particular job. Besides I’m inclined to think it’ll be a good credit for them, in their employment files. It’ll teach both boys some responsibility and give them job experience. And, provided we’re allowed to keep contact with them and receive regular progress reports”—he turned slowly to look at his son’s beaming face—“I
see no harm in letting them go off for a trial stint during the school break next week.”

  Jake and Nog jumped up and slapped each other’s hands in congratulations.

  “You’re excited now,” Sisko said, looking at them sternly, but you may find that working a tough job isn’t as fun as you think it’ll be.”

  “Oh, Dad!” Jake said.

  In the end, Quark did buy the boys an Antarian shake—a small one, to split—as a celebration gesture.

  CHAPTER 3

  I should be going, Uncle,” Nog said anxiously. “I’d better not keep Kwiltek waiting.”

  “You don’t meet him for another half hour,” Quark said. “Plenty of time to finish setting up these tables for lunch. You’re not trying to get out of finishing your work here, are you?”

  Nog shook his head emphatically, hunching down. “No, Uncle! Of course not. How could you think such a thing?”

  Quark flashed pointy teeth. “I thought not.”

  Nog’s father, Rom, hustled up. “If he’s late, Brother. I’m going to bill you for his lost pay.”

  Quark sneered. “Spending his latinum already, are you?”

  Rom scowled, suddenly uncertain. “I am not! I just want to make sure the boy takes full advantage of this opportunity.”

  “So do I,” Quark said. “Believe me, so do I. And the sooner he gets these tables set up, the sooner he can start earning latinum for you.”

  Rom sputtered, then hurried off to attend to a table of rowdy Klingons clamoring for drinks.

  Quark pulled Nog aside. “Listen. Nog, I want you to do me a little favor.”

  Nog eyed his uncle suspiciously. “What kind of favor?”

  Quark leaned closer. “I want you find out everything you can about this mining operation and report back to me. What kind of ore they mine and how much. Who they’re selling it to and at what price—that kind of thing. This could be a great business opportunity.”

  Nog crossed his thin arms over his chest. “Rule Number 29. What’s in it for me?”

  Quark rubbed his hands together. “A small pay raise when you get back.”