At last his perplexed audience drifted away. As his thoughts returned to the present, he pushed an unfinished martini aside.
Then he turned to Fred and ordered a large cup of raktajino, extra strong.
Chapter 20
Inside Quark’s Public House, Café, Gaming Emporium, Holosuite Arcade, and Ferengi Embassy, the lights were low and the gaming tables silent. There was, however, the smell of Ferengi home cooking in the air.
With the bar temporarily closed, Ishka felt that it was the perfect location for a family meal before her dear little family scattered to the winds . . . or went to the Vault of Eternal Destitution. Wherever fate ultimately sent each individual.
With the help of the repaired replicator (Rom still had the hands of an engineer), and a few supplies she managed to purchase from a friendly Bajoran produce vendor in the Plaza, Ishka created a repast that she was certain would tempt the Prophets (assuming they ate in that strange wormhole of theirs). Unfortunately, with the exception of the eternally hungry Zek, no one seemed to have much of an appetite.
“Come on, come on,” she said, herding Zek, Leeta, Rom, and Bena from their guest quarters to the bar. Quark, of course, was already there, sitting alone in his office, checking the balance in his personal vault account at the Bank of Bolias and estimating how far it might take him . . . “just in case.” At Ishka’s insistent knock-knock-knocking at his door, he left the office and joined the family at the large tongo table where she’d set up the meal.
Quark’s mood wavered somewhere between “damn depressed” and “on the verge of catatonia.” He normally wouldn’t have taken kindly to his mother serving hot food on his expensive tongo table, but in his present state of mind he had to admit that her transformation of the tongo wheel into a big Lazy Susan was inspired.
If I get to keep the bar after this is all over, he thought, maybe I’ll keep the table this way. Turn it into a revolving buffet.
But while you can lead a Ferengi to puree of beetle, you can’t always make him slurp it up.
Everyone sat down. Ishka spun the wheel, hoping to entice them. Zek immediately helped himself to a wedge of fungi-loaded spore pie. The rest of the group just sat, staring blankly at the wheel.
“Come on, come on—you have to keep up your strength,” Ishka chided as she ladled marzonion buds in krasie juice onto her plate.
Leeta politely reached for a piece of moba fruit and placed it on her otherwise empty plate. Then she stared at the wheel.
Seated next to her, Bena spotted something she definitely liked. “Moogie, may I have a slice of tuwaly pie?”
“That’s dessert, honey,” Ishka started to say. “Wouldn’t you like some—”
“Oh, what difference does it make?” said Leeta, and she served a large helping of the sweet dish to her daughter with a loving smile.
Rom let out a deep sigh. “How could this have happened? And on my watch?”
Bena gave her father an encouraging smile between bites of pie. “Maybe no one back home will find out,” she suggested.
Quark helped himself to a glass of the Calaman sherry his mother had thoughtfully placed on the table. “They already know,” he grunted. “I saw an FNS newsbreak while I was in my office. They’ve told everyone the scroll is a fake.”
Rom groaned.
“And whose fault is that?” said Ishka with a scowl. “You were the one who brought in that . . . that . . . reporter to cover the dedication. And she’s been reporting everything that’s happened here ever since.”
Quark took a large swig of the sherry. She was right. No point in denying it.
Leeta frowned. “Has it occurred to anyone that the scroll might always have been a fake?”
This time, Quark opted to respond. “The real scroll is over ten thousand years old. Gint wrote it that long ago. It’s part of recorded history from that era. But the latinum on this scroll is less than twenty years old.”
Rom groaned again. “What’s going to happen when I get home? I’m in so much trouble.”
Bena dropped her fork. “But, Daddy, it’s not your fault. You thought it was real too!”
“That won’t matter,” Rom went on. “They won’t care about that. The Ferengi Council will probably . . . probably have me sold into indentured servitude.”
“No, Daddy!” Bena cried out, and she ran to her father to hug him tightly. “I won’t let them! I’ll buy you instead! I’ve got a lot in my portfolio!”
Rom smiled and hugged her back. “Spoken like a true Ferengi,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes. Overcome with emotion, Leeta rushed over to hug him from the other side.
Suddenly Quark stiffened as he saw movement over by the entrance. Then he recognized Odo walking toward them, and he relaxed. A little. The Changeling studied the curious tableau before him, shrugged, and said what he’d come to say. “In case any of you care, the Dopterians are in Blackmer’s hands now. He’s putting them and one of his security officers on a shuttle to Ferenginar.”
When no one responded, he went on to his next point. “And traffic to and from the station has been resumed. You may as well reopen the bar.”
“Embassy,” corrected Quark.
“Whatever,” said Odo.
Curious, Ishka looked at Odo and inquired, “Did the Dopterians tell you how they got in?”
“Actually, they did,” Odo responded. “Apparently the servers’ entrance was left unlocked. They were prepared to pick the lock, but, as it turned out, they didn’t need to.”
Leeta and Ishka stared meaningfully at Quark, who suddenly remembered how easy it had been for his family to get in the day before. “Okay, yes—I forgot to look into that. And while we’re at it, yes—I was the one who decided to cut the security feed to the lounge. Not that it makes any difference at this point. We’re all ruined.”
“Listen to me,” Leeta objected. “Bena is right. It’s not Rom’s fault. All he did was reveal a crime that already had been committed. The scroll he took from the Vaults of Opulence was a phony. Who knows how long it’s been in there?”
“Not longer than twenty years,” said Quark. He frowned as something occurred to him. “That,” he said slowly, “would have been during Zek’s term as Nagus.”
And suddenly all eyes turned toward Zek, who was helping himself to the remainder of the tuwaly pie. Looking up, he realized that everyone was staring at him. Uncertain what infraction he might have committed, he opted to play it safe and returned a small portion of the pie to the tongo wheel.
Ishka was aghast. “What are you saying, Quark? Surely you’re not blaming Zek!”
“I put it back,” Zek confessed, pointing to the pie. But that didn’t seem to resolve the problem. They were still staring at him. “Uh . . . what are we talking about?”
Ishka took his hand lovingly. “Oh, Zekkie, it’s okay. We’re talking about that scroll that Rom borrowed from the Vaults of Opulence. We’ve discovered that . . . that it’s a fake.”
Zek blinked and then nodded. “Well, of COURSE it’s a fake,” he said in a brief moment of clarity. “I put the thing in there fourteen years ago.”
Chapter 21
“YOU put it there, Zekkie?” gasped Ishka.
The former Nagus nodded. “Yes, I did,” he said. “Gint’s scroll is very valuable, you know. I was afraid that someday a clever businessman would calculate the odds and decide that stealing the original . . .” He paused, looking into the distance, and his voice became wistful. “Knowing that it was his alone,” he continued, getting to his feet, “and that he could look at it every day, could touch it, hold it, and feel the fire within that comes from knowing that he . . .” Again he paused, his fingers tightening around his drinking glass, which would have shattered if he’d been younger and stronger. “That he owns the most valuable item on the planet!”
Almost vibrating with fervor, Zek totte
red backward and flopped into his chair. He took several deep breaths, then continued. “Where was I? Oh! Yes. Well, he might decide that an act of larceny is worth the horrible disgrace he would face if he got caught! Think what a terrible blow that would be for Ferengi civilization!
“So fourteen years ago I had a copy made,” the old man said. “I put that one in the Vault, and I moved the real one to the safest place I know.”
For a moment, the room was silent—and then the silence gave way to an explosion of emotion. Ishka sobbed with happiness. Leeta and Bena joined hands and danced in a circle around Rom, screaming with laughter. Rom simply stood there, face tilted upward, swearing silently that he would never, ever, ever remove anything from the Vaults of Opulence again. Particularly not if it was something Quark wanted.
Quark leaned against the tongo table, so relieved that he actually felt light-headed. He could feel his knees shaking, but when he noticed Odo studying him, a faint smile creasing his normally smooth face, Quark straightened at once and gave the shapeshifter a nod that said “You see—everything turned out fine, the way it always does.”
Then Quark turned to Zek and said, “That was very clever of you.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Zek replied. He looked very proud of himself, like the crafty Zek of old.
Rom approached and smiled tentatively. “Um, Zek, you know I’m, uh, accountable for that scroll, and I’ll probably have to show it to the Congress of Economic Advisors when I get home. So . . . will you tell me where that very safe place is?”
Zek began to answer . . . but then he stopped, bewildered. “I . . . I . . . don’t know.”
Quark uttered an expletive. Loudly.
“Mind your mouth,” said Ishka. Turning back to Zek, she said, “Listen to me, baby. You need to concentrate, and I’m sure it will come to you.”
Zek frowned. “No, no—you don’t understand. I didn’t forget. I don’t know where it is because I never knew. I asked Maihar’du to look after it. Maihar’du never forgets anything. He has it somewhere, and he brings it out and shows it to me every now and then. It’s very pretty,” the frail old Ferengi said with a sigh. “And then he puts it back . . . somewhere safe.”
Odo looked around the room. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Maihar’du on the station during the former Grand Nagus’s entire visit. “Where is Maihar’du?” the Changeling asked. “I thought he never left Zek’s side.”
“He doesn’t,” confirmed Ishka, “and I can’t tell you how much he wanted to come along for the ceremony. But he’s sick. The poor man is suffering from a bad bout of Hupyrian quinsy.” She gestured at her throat. “It’s very painful. He can barely make a sound.”
“How could you tell?” interjected Quark. “He never talks anyway, with that stupid vow of silence.”
“He talks to me,” snapped Zek, shaking a finger at Quark. “That’s all that counts.” He looked around the room. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Back on Ferenginar, sweetie. Remember how we put him to bed with that poultice of dried Matopin rock fungi, mahko root, Mayak Swamp mud, Yigrish yogurt, and a pinch of salt?”
“It was delicious,” Zek noted, smiling at Ishka. “Thank you for letting me lick the bowl.”
Quark’s mind had already moved on to the next stage. “We need to have Zek contact Maihar’du on Ferenginar right away,” he said, “and tell him to get out here with that scroll.”
“I’m telling you he’s too sick to travel!” Ishka argued. “You’ll have to go to him.”
Rom cast a worried look at his brother. “But if any of us show up on Ferenginar right now—”
Quark nodded. “They’ll arrest us on sight. Thank you, Eisla!” he growled.
“Maybe I could go,” suggested Leeta.
“The Bajoran First Lady of Ferenginar? Yeah. Right—nobody knows your face,” Quark intoned sarcastically.
“Then who?” challenged Leeta.
And then, as the shapeshifter had known they ultimately would, all eyes turned to him. Odo sighed. “All right. I’ll go. I can fly there faster on my own than one of you could in a shuttle anyway. Let him know that I’m coming and what I’ll need.”
He turned to leave—only to be waylaid by Zek, who had a request. “Could you ask him to send me my slippers?”
“Your slippers are here, honey,” Ishka said softly.
“I mean my special slippers,” Zek whispered. “I miss them.”
Odo glanced at Ishka quizzically.
“Oh—he must mean his tribble slippers,” she explained.
“Made from real tribbles!” Zek bragged. “They make my feet feel happy.”
Odo headed for the nearest airlock.
Chapter 22
“Mooooo-gie,” Bena sang sweetly in her silliest voice. “Mooooo-gie,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around Leeta’s waist and leaning her head against her beautiful Bajoran mother’s midriff.
Leeta grinned at her daughter. “What is it, Beeeeeeee-na?” she replied.
Bena giggled. “I was just thinking that there’s nothing to do right now, soooo—maybe we can go see that recreation park? You said that it has a playground. Please, Moogie?”
“I have to help your grandmoogie clear this tongo table. But then—” Leeta paused, just long enough to nudge up her daughter’s excitement. “Then I think it sounds like a great idea! In fact, we can all go. We certainly deserve a little recreation, right?”
“Right!” shouted Bena, her eyes sparkling.
“Well, don’t count me in for recreation,” Quark huffed as he picked up several trays and headed for the kitchen. “Odo’s right. There’s no sense losing any more business right now. I’m going to reopen the bar—and the embassy.”
“Don’t count me in either,” Rom said softly. Then he looked at Leeta. “I’m so nervous. I think I’m going to stay until we hear back from Odo. I wouldn’t be good company at the park.” Turning to Bena, he asked, “Will you mind if I stay here?”
“Of course not, Daddy,” Bena said, and she smiled while her mother kissed him on the top of his head, in the little indentation where the front quarter spheres of his brain met.
“Come on, Zekkie,” Ishka said to the ex-Nagus. “We’re going on an outing to the recreation park. We can sit on the grass and watch Bena play.”
As they walked out the exit, Rom heard the former Nagus saying, “I hope the grass isn’t scratchy. I don’t like scratchy.” Then the current Nagus trudged over to the bar, where Quark was setting up glasses. He reached for a bar rag, intending to help polish the glassware, but he bumped one and it dropped to the floor with a crash.
“Oh, great,” his brother commented grumpily. “Now you can make me nervous.”
With the force field down and the lights turned up, the bar began to feel normal for the first time in days. Quark’s regular customers wandered in, relieved to discover that most of the visiting Ferengi were gone. Quark quickly fell into work mode, mixing beverages as fast as people could order them. There was just one problem.
“Where are all my waiters? Where’s my dabo attendant?” he yelled at Frool. “You’re the only one who’s shown up to work.”
Placing several drink orders on a tray, Frool rattled off an inventory of the missing personnel: “M’Pella went to Bajor to help out Treir—there’s some sorta sports event, so they’re busy; Broik overindulged in the slug liver canapés last night—he’s in the hospital with some kinda ‘digestive’ thing; Issa quit after the replicator threw up on him; you fired Shmenge—”
“Where’s Hetik?” Quark interrupted. “I need someone on that dabo table—it doesn’t play itself, you know!”
“Oh—uh, well, Hetik didn’t know how long you’d be closed down, so he went to see if he could get a part-time job at the spa.”
“Is he up there now?”
Frool nodded nervou
sly.
“Well, go tell him that if he doesn’t get in here right away, he’s going to need one of those special spa skin creams to get my bootprint off his behind!” Quark shouted.
“But—”
“NOW!”
Rom quickly stepped forward and took the tray that Frool was holding. The waiter tossed him a grateful look and raced out the door. “And when you get back,” Quark shouted after him, “remind me to charge Broik for eating appetizers that were meant for the customers.”
Then, turning to Rom, he said, “You can put that down. I’ll get to them myself in a minute.”
“I’ll do it, Brother,” Rom said, sounding rather doleful. “I still remember how.”
Quark looked at him. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rom,” he said sincerely. “It wouldn’t look right for the Grand Nagus to be slinging drinks.”
“I don’t care,” Rom asserted. “Besides, I’m not sure that I’ll still be the Nagus when this whole mess is over.”
Rom delivered the drinks on the tray and approached new customers as they seated themselves. “What’ll you have?” he asked, and they ordered just as if the guy with the tray wasn’t the highest-placed Ferengi in the galaxy.
“Black hole, iced millipede juice with an Acamarian brandy chaser, a synthale, and a Til’amin Froth,” he reported to Quark, then hustled away to take more orders.
“Bolian tonic water, Maraltian seev-ale, and a shot of tranya, straight up,” he recited as he picked up the previous order.
“One raktajino, a Finagle’s Folly, and a Warp Core Breach.”
And on and on, into the afternoon. As quickly as Quark could mix drinks, Rom delivered them. In no time at all, they fell into their old rhythm of working together, just as they’d done for years. As if they’d been doing it every day, without a hiatus.
As he stepped down from retrieving a bottle of kanar on the top shelf, Quark turned and found himself face-to-face with Rom, who’d jumped behind the bar to grab a bottle of Trixian bubble juice from the cooler. “Excuse me,” the two Ferengi said in perfect unison before each stepped back and moved off to serve his respective beverage.
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