Rules of Accusation

by Paula M. Block

  “Yes, I noticed you were out of uniform. I’ll forgive it this time. Don’t let it happen again.”

  Frool and Hetik flashed sympathetic looks at the slack-jawed Shmenge, then dutifully turned back to Quark, who relaunched the topic at hand.

  “Incentive!” he reiterated. “It seems that just holding a ceremony isn’t enough to get people to come,” he said. “So what would be better than an almost free party?”

  “A really free party?” Hetik offered.

  Quark scowled at the handsome Bajoran. “Get serious!” He glanced at Frool. “What would make you come?”

  “Um,” said Frool, unused to using the creative part of his brain. “I . . . uh . . .”

  Shmenge hustled past the trio to fill a mug with steaming raktajino. “How about—”

  But Quark cut him off. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he snapped.

  Shmenge glared at Quark but said nothing as he began to back away with the drink. As he passed Frool, he paused to whisper something into his co-worker’s ear. Then he scurried away.

  “Oh!” Frool said, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, right! How about asking that Vulcan Love Slave lady—that T’lana—to come by and sign autographs for the guests?”

  Remembering the extremely attractive star of Quark’s most profitable holosuite program, Hetik nodded enthusiastically. It clearly hadn’t come from Frool’s limited imagination, but a good idea was a good idea.

  Quark frowned. “I already thought of that. She’s otherwise engaged.”

  In fact, T’lana—or whatever her real name was—and her writing partner, Pel, were both extremely busy, commissioned to create a musical production of Vulcan Love Slave for the new entertainment dome being constructed as part of the massive Federation revitalization project on Risa. Quark couldn’t stand the thought of how much profit they stood to gain if the endeavor was a success.

  Which, knowing how deliciously devious the two fe-males were, it probably would be.

  “How about a raffle?” Hetik submitted. “You could send a raffle ticket to each of the people on your list and tell them they have a chance to win something—but only if they show up in person.”

  “Free raffle tickets?” Quark sputtered. “Are you insane? And besides, what could I possibly offer that they don’t already have?”

  Hetik had his answer ready: “There’s a really nice spa that’s opened on the Plaza’s second level. You could give away some day passes to the place. They have a package called ‘Glorious Rebirth’ that offers customers the opportunity to be immersed ‘in an atmosphere of sanctuary and peace that rejuvenates both the mind and the body.’ ”

  Everyone within earshot turned to stare at Hetik. “You go to a spa?” Frool said.

  “I have to look good for my dabo players, don’t I?” Hetik replied defensively. “And they carry some truly wonderful hair care products up there.”

  Frool idly extended a hand toward Hetik’s admittedly silky locks, but dropped it when Quark squawked, “Ferengi don’t have hair, you idiot!”

  “Oh yeah?” retorted the Bajoran. “Then what’s that in your ears?”

  In the heavy, fuming silence that followed, O’Brien took the opportunity to speak up. “Am I allowed to participate here?” he asked, then went on before anyone could raise an objection. “It seems to me that I’d come if there was something in the embassy that I couldn’t possibly see anywhere else.”

  Quark, Frool, and Hetik turned to look at him.

  “I once took a shuttle all the way to the Nua Éire colony to see a traveling exhibition from Trinity College Library,” the chief said. “They had some amazing books—original manuscripts by Swift and Wilde, hundreds of years old, and—”

  Quark was stunned. “Books!” he bellowed. “You left the quadrant to see books? No one in his right mind would go somewhere to look at a book!”

  Frool chuckled. “And old books at that!”

  “Well, pardon me,” O’Brien said, visibly stung. “It was only a suggestion. I forgot that I was dealing with a species that doesn’t read.”

  “Of course we read,” growled Quark. “But the only book that matters is the Rules of Acquisition, and every schoolkid has a copy of that.”

  “But not the original scroll,” Shmenge piped up from the far end of the counter. “I’d go to see that! I’d even pay to see that. My father told me about how he saw the scroll at a special exhibition on Ferenginar when he was just a lobling. He said it was so beautiful, written on delicate parchment, and decorated with dried liquid latinum. It looked just the way it did when Gint created it over ten thousand years ago!”

  “And how would your father know how it looked ten thousand years ago?” Quark muttered under his breath.

  But the other people at the bar seemed quite taken with Shmenge’s passionate recollection.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, Quark,” said O’Brien. “But personally, I’d love to see that.”

  “Me too!” Hetik said, with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm.

  “Wow! That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Frool said to the inebriated woman on the barstool.

  She nodded. “I don’t even know what it is, but it’s got you guys so worked up that I’m dying to get a look at it.”

  “But would you pay to look at it?” Quark asked skeptically.

  “Why not?” she responded. “I’m paying just to sit here and look at Pretty Boy. Speaking of which . . .” She glanced over at Hetik. “Hey, Pretty Boy, can I have another Black Hole?”

  As Hetik rustled up the beverage for her, Quark scanned the faces of the people sitting at the bar. Every customer down the line was yammering about the ancient scroll. Considering the only Ferengi in the place were behind the counter, Quark thought this might be a good sign.

  “No one on Ferenginar has seen the original scroll for years,” he murmured, the wheels in his head spinning. “Zek put it into protective storage after the attempted break-in at the Vaults of Opulence.”

  Shmenge studied him quizzically. “An attempted break-in at the Vaults? I never heard about that.”

  “Before your time,” Quark said dismissively.

  “Yes, but I took a class in Ferenginar’s historic heirlooms. Wouldn’t that have been mentioned?”

  “No, Mister Smarty Lobes, it wouldn’t. No one wanted to start a panic, thinking our most important relic was nearly snatched. It was covered up.”

  Shmenge narrowed his eyes. “Then how do you know about it?”

  “Because my cousin Kono was the one who tried to break in. He was permanently exiled from Ferenginar for it. Family tragedy.”

  “Oh!” Shmenge responded, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

  Quark shrugged. “I never liked him anyway. When we were growing up, he tried to steal Rom’s collection of lichens. Rom had been saving them for years—putting the samples in this little case, all individually labeled. It was worthless and a stupid waste of time, but Rom loved them. I got them back for him.”

  “You’re a good brother,” Shmenge said, briefly impressed.

  “Well, it was either that or listen to him whimpering every night for the next three months. We shared a room back then.”

  Shmenge nodded absently. “So I guess there’s no way to get the scroll out of protective storage.”

  Quark looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t say that. In fact, I think I’ll take care of that right now.”

  And he walked cheerfully toward his office. “The Sacred Scroll of the Rules of Acquisition,” he said, just loud enough for Shmenge to hear him. “Great idea. Glad I thought of it.”

  Chapter 5

  Rom rubbed his eyes sleepily as he stumbled down the hallway from the bedroom to his study. He’d been awakened from a pleasant dream by the piercingly loud waah-waah-waah of an incoming message on the special comm dedicated e
xclusively to Extraordinary Pecuniary Prospects. Since Leeta had given Rom’s staff specific directions never to put through anything but an urgent communication to the nagal residence after 2300 hours, Rom couldn’t help but feel a tad anxious. Seating himself at his desk, he pushed a button on the gold-pressed latinum–plated computer and found himself addressing the image of Krax, his First Clerk. “Wh-what is it?”

  “Your brother says he must speak with you immediately,” the former Nagus’s son reported sourly.

  “Quark? Why would he be calling now? Doesn’t he know what time it is?”

  “I don’t think he cares,” Krax responded. “He says it’s a life or”—Krax yawned loudly—“life or death situation.”

  Rom broke into a cold sweat. “Life or death,” he repeated nervously. “Whose life or death?”

  “Knowing Quark, probably his own,” Krax said. “Can I put him through so I can go back to bed?”

  It was only then that Rom realized that Krax was wearing a nightshirt. “Um, okay. Put him through.”

  A second later, he found himself staring at the grinning visage of his older brother.

  “I have wonderful news, Rom!” Quark said cheerfully. “You’re going to be the most popular VIF on Ferenginar!”

  Rom blinked. “Uhh, what do you mean, Brother?”

  “You know how I was just a little concerned about how slowly the RSVPs for the dedication were coming in? Well, I just happened to mention it in passing to your very good friend Chief O’Brien, and the chief came up with a brilliant—well, brilliant for a hew-mon, anyway—suggestion about how to get everyone on the invitation list—all those other VIFs—to respond immediately! It’ll make you a hero, and you owe it all to your old friend!”

  “The chief?” Rom said, confused. “What did the chief say?”

  “He suggested that when you come to the station, you bring along the original scroll of the Rules of Acquisition. No one has seen it in years. We’ll put it on display, courtesy of the exalted Grand Nagus Rom.”

  “Wait—what?” Rom’s bewilderment solidified into horror. “The original scroll? Brother, that’s locked away in the Vaults of Opulence. I can’t just go in there and take it. It’s priceless!”

  Quark made a tsk-tsk sound. “Rom, Rom, Rom. You’re the Nagus, aren’t you? Everything is within your power. Frool—you remember Frool—was standing right next to me when O’Brien suggested it. He thought it was a sensational idea. Everyone in the bar thought it was a sensational idea.”

  “Everyone in the bar?” Rom squeaked, his alarm growing. “Everyone heard about this?”

  “Everyone,” Quark emphasized firmly. “And you wouldn’t want them to think that you’d pass up on a glorious opportunity like this, would you? You wouldn’t want the chief to think you felt it was beneath you to take the advice of your old mentor on the station. You wouldn’t want any of them to think that you were unable to exert the influence of your office. Or that you didn’t have the nerve. I mean, if you can’t make this kind of bold executive decision, what’s the point of even being the Nagus—let alone the Grand Nagus?”

  “I—I—I don’t know. I should talk to Leeta about it.” As a rule, Rom never made any important decision without seeking Leeta’s advice.

  Quark’s grin wavered. “Rom, I know that you love Leeta and that you . . . respect her opinion on domestic matters. But the simple fact is—she’s not a Ferengi. She can’t possibly understand how important this opportunity will be to other Ferengi. And to the embassy. Only you can make this decision.” He paused, providing a chance for that to sink in, then added, “And by the way—you need to make that decision right away. I have new and improved invitations to send out.”

  It took a while longer, but when Rom at last signed off, Quark was smiling. Rom wasn’t sure what the look on his own face was, but that didn’t matter.

  What mattered was how he was going to tell Leeta in the morning.

  Chapter 6

  You are invited to a Gala Event, on the 5th day of Ha’mara @ 1900 hours

  Dedication of the new and extremely costly

  Ferengi Embassy on Space Station Deep Space 9

  Officiated by Grand Nagus Rom

  Hosted by Quark, the Esteemed Ferengi Ambassador to Bajor

  (and Owner/Operator of Quark’s Public House, Café, Gaming Emporium, Holosuite Arcade & Ferengi Embassy)

  Conceivable guests include:

  Nilva, Chairman, Slug-o-Cola,

  Former Grand Nagus Zek,

  Ferenginar’s Top Ten Business Magnates,

  The Ferengi Congress of Economic Advisors,

  Sluggo (if alive),

  And a host of others too important to name at this time!

  Special Showing of the Ancient Original Scroll of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition!!!!!!!*

  (*Additional viewing fee required)

  Free Appetizers! Half-Priced Drinks! Clothed Fe-males!

  Limited Space! Contact Ambassador Quark @ DS9 Today!!!

  Comp/Amb. Q.

  RSVP: 10055500037895

  “Enter,” Ro said absently. Her office door slid open, and she glanced up to see a young Ferengi waiter hovering near the threshold. Other than a nervous jitter, however, he didn’t seem to be moving. “May I help you?” she prompted.

  “Um, sorry to bother you, sir. I have a special delivery for you.” Stepping forward, he handed Ro a small envelope composed of what appeared to be replicated antique vellum. “It’s an invitation,” the youth said, and he began to back away.

  “Wait,” the captain said. “I may send a response.” Lifting the flap, she pulled out a card and studied the embossed wording with a raised eyebrow, in particular the handwritten notation at the bottom, indicating that Ambassador Quark personally had comped the invitation.

  Does this mean he thinks of me as family? she wondered, feeling just a modicum of amusement. Then she noticed that the waiter still held a small stack of envelopes.

  “Are you delivering a number of these, um—what is your name, by the way?”

  “Shmenge, ma’am. I mean, sir. Uh, I mean . . .”

  “Just call me Captain, Shmenge,” Ro said. “I see that Quark has you making rounds.”

  “Yes . . . Captain. He asked me to deliver these to a small group of residents. He seemed very selective about who . . .” The youth stopped, sensing that he was babbling. Ro reached out toward the envelopes, and after a moment of hesitation, he handed them over.

  “Chief O’Brien, Odo, Captain Sisko . . .” she recited as she read the names on the envelopes. She smiled at the jittery youth and returned the envelopes. “Sounds like fun. Please tell Ambassador Quark that Captain Ro will be happy to attend.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Shmenge said, once again backing toward the door. This time she didn’t stop him.

  As he delivered the remaining envelopes, Shmenge felt relief each time a recipient did not ask him to wait. Rather than dawdle in anticipation of a response, he rushed away just as they began to open the invitation.

  Miles O’Brien, spotting the line about the ancient scroll, handed the card to his wife and remarked, “Well, I’ll be damned. For once Quark actually paid attention to something I said.”

  Keiko, former schoolteacher that she was, read it carefully and asked, “What does ‘conceivable guests’ mean, Miles? I can conceive of just about anyone as a guest, but it doesn’t mean that they’ll be there.”

  “Exactly,” her husband responded with a knowing smile.

  On the outer docking ring, Captain Benjamin Sisko, prepping to take the U.S.S. Robinson out on a priority mission, picked up a padd and distractedly sent his regrets.

  And in his guest quarters, former head of security Odo, station-bound until Starfleet allocated time for Sisko to transport him to the secure facility where a possible Changeling artifact was located, read thro
ugh the invitation carefully. Then he uttered his traditional one-syllable response to anything conceived by Quark: “HAWW!”

  Quark popped out of his office, clutching a padd in his left hand. He circled the bar, turned—and disappeared back into the office. Broik and Hetik watched the door close behind him. It was the third time they’d seen him repeat this little demonstration. Something, they both sensed, was making their boss tense—and that, in turn, made them tense. A moment passed before the Ferengi popped out and circled the bar once more. Broik considered saying something, although he wasn’t sure what that would be, then dropped the idea as Quark abruptly swerved and headed toward the big dabo table.

  Standing on the far side of the table, Hetik stiffened in anticipation of . . . well, he couldn’t begin to guess. But before Quark reached him, the padd in the barkeep’s hand emitted a beep. And then a second beep. And a third. Quark halted to look down at the screen. “Well, finally,” he said, and his face broke into a self-congratulatory smile. “It’s working!”

  And he quickly returned to his office, this time to remain within.

  The opportunity for a rare glimpse at Gint’s original scroll was eliciting just the reaction Quark wanted. As RSVPs continued to roll in, and the balance in his personal account at the Bank of Bolias increased, Ambassador Quark’s happy smile expanded into a rapacious grin.

  Now, he thought, just one more thing. I need to make sure that everyone in the quadrant hears about this soiree, so that potential customers who weren’t invited will want to attend—and pay through the nose to get in. Resistance, he chuckled to himself, is futile. As the 284th Rule says, “Deep inside, everyone’s a Ferengi.”

  Seating himself, Quark activated his desk comm. Now, what was that frequency again?

  Remembering, he keyed in the number. With a flash, a logo filled his screen, an interlocking cluster of polygons encircled by the name: FEDERATION NEWS SERVICE. Quark cleared his throat and addressed the site’s voice-recognition component.

  “I need to speak to Eisla Darvis.”