by S. D. Perry
Personally, Quark thought, I’d have chosen something a bit more friendly. There’s something foreboding about oak.
Then Quark looked at the people in the room, and tried to keep his jaw from dropping.
Standing around the table were two tall, skinny bipeds with yellowish skin. Their features seemed unfinished, almost like Odo’s. They wore outfits of green satin similar to the type favored by the more well-to-do members of the Orion Syndicate—light green cape with dark green brocade, a loose-fitting tunic and tight pants the same color as the brocade.
All of that registered in Quark’s mind peripherally. Most of his attention was focused on the person sitting at the head of the table. It was a Ferengi with small beady eyes and sporting a huge sneer. He was dressed in a suit of the finest Tholian silk. The Forty-Seventh Rule of Acquisition came to mind: “Never trust a man wearing a better suit than your own.”
And this Ferengi was definitely not one to be trusted, regardless of his suit. “Gaila.” Quark said the name in a dull monotone.
“Pleasure to see you, cousin,” Gaila said. His sneer widened.
Gaila, to whom Quark had made a loan years ago to help him start his business. Gaila, whose subsequent success as an arms dealer was profitable enough to allow him to buy his own moon. Gaila, who gave Quark a ship in order to repay that loan, but sabotaged it, an incident from which Quark, his brother, and his nephew barely survived. Gaila, who brought Quark into the weapons business to help alleviate Quark’s near-destitute state after he’d been banned by the Ferengi Commerce Authority.
Gaila, whom Quark had betrayed to General Nassuc of Palamar, which had resulted in Gaila becoming a target of the general’s “purification squad.” Gaila, whom Quark had last seen on Deep Space 9 as a wreck, a shadow of his former self, aiding Quark on a lunatic mission to rescue Quark’s mother, Ishka, from Dominion forces.
“I was wondering where you’ve been keeping yourself,” Quark said.
“I’ve been busy. But we’re not here to talk about old times, cousin. Please, have a seat. Let’s get started.” Gaila smiled. “We have a lot of work to do, if we’re to hammer out any kind of deal here.”
“Of course,” Quark said agreeably, and sat at the place opposite Gaila.
He could feel in his lobes that Gaila was going to make sure that this deal would, in fact, be as much work as possible.
The preliminary negotiations were just that—nothing ever got accomplished during an initial session. Generally, it was just an opportunity for the negotiators to get a feel for each other, and for the precise nature of the deal to be spelled out. The Iconians were offering exclusive rights to, and complete instructions on how to operate, all the gateways in the galaxy. Not just the Alpha Quadrant, but the entire galaxy.
Mentally, Quark had had to rearrange the order of the list. He had not realized quite how far-flung these gateways were, and certain items would need to be moved further up the list if they were even going to have a hope of negotiating with these aliens.
Of course, the negotiator wasn’t alien at all. Quark and Gaila had known each other since they were boys cheating the younger kids out of their lunch money so they could buy the latest Marauder Mo action figures.
The question is, will Gaila take advantage of this negotiation to get some of his own back? After all, the last two times he and Quark had been together, Gaila had almost gotten himself killed, and Quark had also been more or less directly responsible for Gaila hitting absolute bottom. Ferengi generally didn’t let personal grudges get in the way of business, but Quark couldn’t really count on that.
Now they were taking a half-hour break—ostensibly for a meal, but truthfully so each side could figure out what their offer was really going to be. As soon as Quark, Tamra, and the two giants entered Malic’s private conference room, the elderly Orion said, “So he’s your cousin, is he?”
“Yes, Gaila’s my cousin. We’ve known each other since we were kids. He and I have even done a few business deals together.”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
Quark shrugged, and lied. “I don’t see why it should be. Gaila’s a businessman. I’m a businessman. We’re both going to do the best we can for our clients. And, before you ask, I won’t be able to prevail upon him to give me a break because I’m family.”
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Malic said sourly. “I’ve done my research on you, Quark. The last person I would expect to give you a break is someone who’s known you since you were a child.”
Nodding, Quark said, “It’s possible that Gaila’s presence will slow the negotiations down a bit. After all, Gaila and I know each other’s tricks—it just means we’ll each have to come up with new tricks, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. As a matter of fact—”
“Quark, the more you try to convince me that there won’t be any problems, the more convinced I am that there will be. So kindly shut up, and take a look at this.” He indicated a padd on the table, and one of the Orions picked it up and handed it to Quark.
The display showed a report from a Starfleet vessel called the T’Kumbra. Quark remembered that as Captain Solok’s ship—the ones who defeated us in that silly human bays-ball game of Captain Sisko’s. The report was incomplete, but one of the items in it was that there were no gateways at all in the Bajoran system—a twenty-light-year-diameter hole in the gateway lattice, in fact.
Smiling, Quark said, “Interesting that the Iconians didn’t mention this when they were carrying on about how there were gateways all over the galaxy.”
“Very interesting. I think it’s worth mentioning at the next session, don’t you?”
Quark nodded.
A half an hour later, Quark didn’t even sit down before he said, “You told us that these gateways were in every sector of the galaxy.”
Frowning, Gaila said, “They are.”
“Really?” Quark stood next to his chair and looked down at Gaila on the other side. “Then why is it that there isn’t a single gateway within ten light-years of Bajor?”
Gaila, to his credit, barely missed a beat. “What need is there for one? You have the wormhole, after all.”
“Which was discovered less than a decade ago.” Quark finally sat down. “Whereas the Iconian gateways were—apparently—built around it long before anyone knew it was there. Seems to me that this should have been mentioned at some point.”
Gaila leaned back. “We’re under no obligation to explain ourselves to you, Quark.”
“No, but it does make me wonder what other little facts you’ve managed to leave out.”
“We’ve left nothing out, Quark.”
Quark regarded his cousin with what he hoped was a penetrating gaze. “You’ve said that before.”
“It should be pointed out,” Gaila said, “that the Breen, the Romulan Empire, and the Klingon Empire don’t much care if there aren’t any gateways around Bajor. After all, with the gateways reactivated, the strategic value of the wormhole will plunge to nothing. And they’ve all made very competitive offers.”
“You forget, cousin, that I’m not here on my behalf, but as a representative of the Orions. They don’t care about Bajor, either—they do care about being lied to in a good-faith negotiation.”
Smiling, Gaila said, “Quark, you’re always working on your own behalf—one way or the other.”
Quark swallowed, but said nothing.
“Hig.”
“Hig here. What is it, Kam?”
“There’s a problem.”
“Another one?”
“This is serious, Hig.”
“I’m always serious. What’s the problem?”
“There’s apparently some kind of flaw in the gateway network. There aren’t any gateways within ten light-years of System 418—the natives call it Bajor.”
“That’s where that stable wormhole is, yes?”
“Yes. I want you to head over there right away.”
“Why?”
“Two reason
s. One, see if you can figure out why there aren’t any gateways there. Two, see if the Bajorans or Starfleet or anyone else is trying to figure out why there aren’t any gateways there.”
“What if they do find out?”
“Do whatever’s necessary to stop them. We can’t let anything slow these negotiations down. We’re going to have enough problems as it is—the Orions have already complicated things by bringing a Ferengi of their own in. Those two will likely go at it for days. The longer this takes, the harder it will be to maintain the illusion.”
“Fine. I’ll take the gateway to System 429 and head to System 418 from there. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Good.”
Chapter Five
The Wormhole
“Nog, can I ask you a question?”
At Shar’s words, Nog turned to look at the Andorian sitting in the Sungari’s copilot seat. Shar had waited until they had come to a relative stop near the mouth of the wormhole before posing his query.
“Sure.”
Shar was still working his console as he spoke. “Why haven’t you asked me about my zhavey?”
Nog broke into a smile. Shar’s zhavey—apparently, the Andorian equivalent of a moogie—was a Federation Councillor, a fact that had come to light around the same time as that mess with the Jem’Hadar.
“To be honest, I’ve gotten so sick of people asking me what my father is like, I didn’t think you’d appreciate being pestered with the same question.”
“Sensors are calibrated—beginning sweep.” Once that was done, Shar finally looked up at Nog. “Interesting. So people ask you about your father?”
“All the time. Well, mostly asking how he’s changed. See, that’s the thing, Father lived on the station for ten years before he became Grand Nagus, so everyone knew him.”
“Interesting,” Shar repeated. Then he looked back down at his readouts. “I’ve done a full scan of the wormhole. Everything’s within established norms. So far I’m not detecting anything that would explain the lack of gateways in this sector.”
“So it’s probably something natural to the wormhole?”
Shar’s antennae quivered. “We don’t even know for sure that the wormhole is connected—it’s a vague hypothesis based on circumstantial evidence. I’ve read the data from Starfleet on the Iconian technology and programmed the Sungari computer to compare that to what we receive from these scans to see if there’s any correlation. So far, there’s nothing showing up on sensors that would prevent the gateways from functioning.”
Nog shot Shar a look. “You went over all the data?”
“No, I read all the data. Twice. Commander Vaughn did ask us to be familiar with it.”
Nog blinked. “You read fast.”
Shar shrugged.
Nog tried not to let his frustration show. He’d barely had time to look at the data, what with replicating and installing the Shelliak shield modulators, though the latter, at least, he had been able to delegate to other engineers on his staff. Of course, Ezri had to remind him that he had a staff to delegate it to. I’m still thinking like a cadet….
“With your permission, Nog, I’d like to try a few more specialized scans,” Shar said.
It took Nog a second to remember that he needed to actually give the order. “Okay,” he said. That didn’t sound like an officer, so he quickly added, “Ensign.”
Yup, definitely still thinking like a cadet.
After a few moments, Nog asked, “Actually, I do have a question. What’s it like?”
“My zhavey, you mean?”
“Not exactly. What’s it like for you?” When Shar hesitated, Nog added, “It’s just that, all my life, Father’s just been a regular Ferengi—not even that, really. Now he’s the most important Ferengi in the galaxy. It’s kind of—well, daunting.”
“That is a very good word for it,” Shar said. “The magnetron scan is negative. Trying a positron scan now.”
“Okay,” Nog said. “It’s funny, but part of the reason I joined Starfleet was so I wouldn’t turn out like my father.”
That got Shar’s attention. “How so?”
“Well, at the time, my father was working for Uncle Quark. He was the assistant manager of policy and clientele.”
Shar looked as befuddled as everyone else did whenever they heard that particular title. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Chuckling, Nog said, “In practical terms, it meant that Father did whatever Uncle Quark told him to do.” He turned and looked at Shar. “My father is an engineering genius. And he was trapped under my uncle—I didn’t want to be like that. I knew I could do better.”
“So you did. In fact, I’d say you probably did better than your father.”
Nog frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I spoke out of turn.” Shar turned back to his console.
“It’s okay, Shar, please—tell me what you meant.”
Shar hesitated. “I’ve seen what your father accomplished once he joined the engineering staff on the station. Those self-replicating mines of his that they put in front of the wormhole probably kept the war from ending badly two years sooner. I just don’t see why he would abandon that to go into politics.”
Nog adjusted the runabout’s position as it started to drift away from the wormhole. “My father has a chance to change the face of Ferengi culture!”
Shar looked back up. “Really?”
“Yes. My father was entrusted with the nagushood and a mandate from former Grand Nagus Zek to bring about major reforms in Ferengi business practices.”
At that, Nog thought he saw Shar’s antennae move back slightly. Nog wondered if it was an expression of surprise. Shar said, “Well, my zhavey was elected to the position of Councillor with a mandate from the Andorian people to improve our trading positions with non-Federation worlds. It hasn’t happened yet, and she was elected eight years ago. May your father have better luck.” And then Shar smiled.
“I hope so,” Nog said in all seriousness. “I think he has the potential to make our society even greater.”
“How so?”
Shar seemed genuinely curious, so Nog checked the Sungari’s position, and then began to go into a lengthy explanation of the reforms that Grandmother Ishka and Zek had devised and that Father was supposed to put into action.
They spent the better part of the day working and talking about it, interrupted by the occasional monitoring of short-range sensors and Shar’s reports of his scans—none of which were of any help regarding the gateways. They paused for lunch—Nog convinced Shar to try a tube grub, which the Andorian didn’t like any more than Prynn Tenmei had—and Shar asked more questions about the reforms.
“So women are allowed to wear clothes now?”
“Allowed, yes,” Nog said as he washed a tube grub down with a swig of root beer. “Not all of them do, particularly once you get out of the capital city. But more and more are. If nothing else, it’s cut down on illnesses—which has the doctors in an uproar.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nog smiled. “Ferenginar in general and the capital city in particular have a very damp climate. Women got all kinds of bronchial infections and things regularly when they’d go out. With more women wearing clothes, they don’t get sick as often, so the doctors do less business.”
Shar took a bite of his jumja stick. The Andorian had made a point of trying other worlds’ cuisines—which was why he’d been willing to sample the tube grub—and he had developed a particular taste for jumja, much to Nog’s abject confusion. “I have to confess, I never would have thought of the economic implications of women wearing clothes on the medical profession.”
Laughing, Nog said, “Unfortunately, Father has to. According to his last letter, he’s had to sign off on all kinds of concessions to the medical association.”
Once they finished eating, they went through the wormhole and ran a few more scans inside, then the same ones on the Gamma Quadran
t side. The end result was more of the same.
It took a while for Nog to notice that Shar had never actually answered his question. That’s the second time he’s danced around it, Nog thought. He considered trying again, then decided that, if his friend didn’t want to talk about it, Nog would respect that.
As Nog piloted the runabout back into the wormhole, Shar said, “Wait a moment. Computer, is the Kar-telos system within ten light-years of the Gamma Quadrant mouth of the wormhole?”
“Affirmative.”
“We are fools. All of us. It cannot be the wormhole that is causing that gap. The Halloran fell through a gateway in the Kar-telos system.”
Nog blinked. “You’re right. It’s got to be something else. Well, wait a minute, it could be an unscientific reason.” As Nog spoke, the Sungari came out the Alpha Quadrant side.
Shar looked at the Ferengi. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t know what this area of space was like when the Iconians were around. For all we know, there was some kind of treaty with the people who lived here to keep out any gateways.”
Shar nodded. “Good point. Still, I hope they’re not putting too much hope in this. The chance that we’ll find the one thing—”
“It’s not our place to assume anything, Ensign,” Nog said sharply. “We just do what we’re told.”
“I know, and we’re doing it. But it’s getting us nowhere. I’ve done every scan the Sungari is capable of.”
Nog couldn’t help but agree. They’d spent too long at this as it was. “I’m setting course back to DS9. We can look at the data just as easily there—this way we’ll free up the runabout for Europa Nova if we need it.”
“Wait.”
Frowning, Nog said, “What?”
Shar was touching his left antenna. “The Denorios Belt. It’s full of tachyon eddies, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“That might be it, then.” Shar called up a record on the viewscreen. It was a Starfleet data record—with, Nog noticed, some information removed. “This is the declassified portion of Commander Vaughn’s mission to Alexandra’s Planet. Tricorder readings showed that for a fraction of a second, there was a disruptive effect on the gateway right around the time they were trying to detect a cloaked Romulan ship.”
