Grilka softened marginally. “Do not worry, Quark. I cannot blame you for doing business with them before you knew of their perfidy. And that is in the past now.”
“Right! Absolutely right. Our partnership began in the past. Before the circumstances changed. So ...” Quark sensed the minefield ahead, but had to make sure anyway. “So any contractual relationships carried forward from that period were made in good faith and can be continued without prejudice. Right?”
Grilka frowned. “Quark ... you have severed your ties with them, correct?”
He stared. “Grilka, I don’t think you understand. I won the exclusive marketing rights to this technology throughout the greater Ferengi trading community. Not only does that bring me a hefty profit, but it’s pivotal to my efforts to restore my good standing in the business world.”
“How can you prattle on about business and profits when there is honor at stake?” Grilka loomed over him angrily. Quark’s instinct was to recoil, but he stood his ground, locking his gaze with hers.
“This is about honor. It’s about restoring my reputation. Erasing a stain from my good name.”
She backed down, respect in her eyes, but then spoke in a calmer tone. “How can you restore your good name by associating with those lowly enough to work with D’Ghor?”
“The one has nothing to do with the other! Grilka, can you honestly tell me that D’Ghor doesn’t buy any of his food or armor or weapons from the same manufacturers you do? Come on, everyone in your whole empire wears the same suit of armor! Somebody’s got one hell of a monopoly.”
“That is a traditional design going back centuries. It is a national symbol, not a private possession. And it does not give D’Ghor an advantage over my House! These Reletek do!”
“I’m not responsible for that.”
“But you can make a statement, Quark. Defend my honor by rejecting their tainted money. Surely that will do much for your good name.”
“Not by Ferengi standards. There’s no valid business logic for doing that. And boycotts are rarely effective, especially if you’re doing them by yourself.”
“Ferengi standards,” Grilka sneered. “Why care about them? What has the ‘Ferengi trading community’ done-for you, except dismiss and ridicule that good name of yours?”
“Exactly,” Quark hissed, leaning forward. “That’s why I have to prove them wrong.”
“By fighting on their battlefield?” she countered, mirroring his motion and coming seductively close. “Why do that when you can claim a high ground of your own choosing? Then you control the battle.” She took his head in her hands. “Stand by my side, Quark. Strike a blow for the honor of my House and cleanse your hands of those who stand against it. Your name already rings with honor in my ears, Quark, son of Keldar. Stand with me and we will make that name immortal in the songs of history.” Now she was stroking his ears, and he could taste her hot breath. “You are mighty on your own—you need no Reletek or Ferengi to validate your name. Cast them aside. Cast aside everything that stands between us!”
She began to do just that, in a literal and immediate sense. “When you put it that way,” Quark gasped, helping her unfasten her national symbols, “how can I refuse?”
However ingenious D’Ghor’s latest attack on Grilka’s finances might have been, in some respects he apparently preferred to stick with the tried and true. As Quark swaggered down the corridor a couple of nights later, on his way to meet with Grilka and feeling pretty good about himself, a large hand reached out, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the bulkhead. When D’Ghor’s less-than-aesthetic face thrust itself into his, Quark experienced a strong sense of déjà vu. “Quark!” the burly Klingon growled. “We have ... business to discuss.”
“D’Ghor! What a ... pleasant surprise!” Quark gasped, struggling for air. “What brings you to DS9?”
“You have heard of my partnership with the Reletek. It is why you severed your contract with them, no doubt at Grilka’s urging.”
“That’s the Lady Grilka to you,” Quark snapped, surprised at his boldness. It seemed his intensive studies of Klingon custom were taking hold. The thought heartened him—surely Klingon custom contained plenty of insights on how to live through a confrontation like this.
But D’Ghor merely barked a curt laugh at his presumption and moved on. “What you may not have known, Ferengi, is what my end of the deal is. My House is providing ... security for the Reletek. They are a small, timid people ... they need the help of powerful warriors to ... protect their business interests.”
“In other words,” Quark shot back, “you’ve hired yourself out as a thug.” D’Ghor’s hand around his throat tightened, and some Ferengi instinct reasserted itself. “Which is certainly a valid career choice. I’ve known many fine thugs myself.” If only a few of them were here now, he thought.
“Be silent and listen! You have violated your agreement with the Reletek. They are not willing to tolerate that. It sets a bad precedent if others feel they can do the same. So I am here to tell you, Quark: either resume your business with the Reletek ... or attempt to bargain your way off the Barge of the Dead before it reaches Gre’thor.”
“Ahh, don’t you think that might be a little excessive?” Quark wheedled. “I mean, it would raise questions, right? Some might even see it as an admission of guilt.” Grilka had petitioned the High Council to investigate D’Ghor and punish his House once again; but with only an elaborate hypothesis and no hard evidence that he was engaged in anything other than honorable combat, the Council was unwilling to act. Quark would’ve been glad to see D’Ghor do something that would reveal his guilt, but not if it involved killing Quark in any way.
But D’Ghor sneered at the threat. “You are aiding a sworn enemy of my House. No one would ask questions if I say I killed you in open combat. I don’t actually need to let you fight back—just say that I did. As you should know well, ‘slayer’ of Kozak!” he finished with a laugh.
“D’Ghor!” Quark had never been happier to hear that name—since it was uttered in Grilka’s voice. D’Ghor let him drop, and he turned to see his Klingon lady standing in the corridor, her disruptor leveled at her enemy’s head. “You are careless and stupid, as always. Did you not think my servants would monitor your Reletek freighter when it docked?”
“Do you think I need to hide from the likes of you?” D’Ghor snarled back.
“I would shoot you where you stand, but I will not sully my hands with the blood of such a coward. Though if you would care to come at me honorably now, I will kill you gladly.”
“You call me a coward,” D’Ghor scoffed as Quark ran to Grilka’s side (well, her rear side), “when your own consort needs a female to rescue him.” He began moving slowly back, his bluster belied by the presence of the two large, armed Klingon bodyguards who now emerged from the corridor behind him. “If you would prove the valor of your House,” he went on, “have your Ferengi stand and fight me when I come for him again. No females or politicians to hide behind—just him, me and two bat’kths. We’ll see if he can last two seconds.”
“You’d be surprised,” Grilka said with a proud toss of her head. “We accept your challenge.”
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Quark advised. “Not that I’m not up to a little friendly combat, of course, but why spill blood needlessly over a simple business dispute?”
“There is far more at stake here than business, Quark,” Grilka told him fondly but impatiently. “You wish to defend your good name? Well, D’Ghor has spat on it. You must not stand for that.”
“Make your choice, Ferengi,” D’Ghor said. “I will come for you tomorrow, and one of us will die. Unless you care to resume your business with our mutual Reletek friends.”
“Quark.” Grilka cradled his head in one hand, without lowering her disrupter in the other. “You are ready for this. You deserve better than to associate with him and his minions. He is a coward, a bully, and a cheater.” She smirked. “You may have been
a cheater yourself, but you are an honorable warrior now, with as much valor as cunning. And that means he has no advantage over you. You cannot fail. Quark,” she finished in her sultriest tones, “I know you will not fail me.”
Quark was getting that ten-times-his-size feeling again. He turned to face D’Ghor, feeling like he was on autopilot, seized by a power greater than himself, a power that could not be defeated. “You tell your Reletek friends that the deal is off for good. And if you have the lobes to face me without those walking mountains to hide behind,” he said, gesturing at the bodyguards, “then I’ll be waiting in my bar after the close of business tomorrow. BYOB—bring your own bat’kth.” As he heard himself speak, he felt terrified yet delighted, like a passenger on a thrill ride. But then, he felt the same way every time Grilka took him. For her, he would do this. And for her, he would not fail.
Odo couldn’t believe what he saw when he entered the holosuite: Quark, in full Klingon regalia, locked in combat with a holographic Klingon twice his size and actually appearing to hold his own. When Rom had told him, Odo had assumed the idiot-savant engineer had gotten confused on the details, as he so often did on matters not related to electroplasma systems and anodyne relays. But here was the evidence, plain as day. There was only one explanation. “You’ve gone mad,” the changeling scoffed. Startled, Quark stumbled, and his programmed opponent waited patiently for him to regain his footing. Odo harrumphed at the absurdity of it. “That’s the only explanation. After all these years of my relentless scrutiny, you’ve finally snapped under the pressure.”
Quark glared at him for a moment before resuming his sparring. “Don’t try to talk me out of this, Odo. This is a matter of honor.”
“Oh, please. You may have deluded yourself into thinking you’ve mastered Klingon ways, but you can’t fool me. Even when you’re preparing to fight for your life, you still cheat! You think D’Ghor is going to wait politely if you stumble?”
“I wouldn’t have stumbled if you hadn’t distracted me!”
“If you really had sufficient training for combat, you wouldn’t have been distracted.” As though taking him at his word, Quark chose to ignore him. “Quark ... just file an assault charge against D’Ghor. I’ll arrest him. That will give me time to investigate him further and ...”
“And how would that make me look to Grilka?” Quark hissed between panting breaths. “Like a coward! Like a ... a ...”
“Like a Ferengi? Quark, that’s what you are! Or have you forgotten? Just last week you were telling me how hard you strove to live up to the Rules of Acquisition. Well, how about Rule Fifteen, ‘Dead men close no deals’? Or while we’re at it, Number 125, ‘You can’t make a deal when you’re dead’? Apparently it’s an important enough principle to mention twice.”
“And you just assume that I’m going to lose this fight, is that it?” Quark demanded. “What makes you think D’Ghor is such a tough fighter, huh? A Klingon who’d rather use deceit and dirty tricks to get ahead, who needs bodyguards to protect him? You’ll see—he’s all bluster. Besides—he’s not inspired by love like I am. He doesn’t have a prayer.”
Odo crossed his arms. “I see. So you intend to kill him? Are you actually willing to commit homicide to impress Grilka?”
“He made the challenge, Odo, so it’s self-defense. Anyway,” he allowed, “I’ll spare him if I can. That will disgrace him worse than death.”
Something about this seemed familiar to Odo. He grasped at the possibility. “Wait—is this some kind of scheme, Quark? That’s it, isn’t it—this is all just an act to impress Grilka, or draw in business for the bar. You’ve got some last-minute cheat or escape up that armored sleeve.”
“You’re wrong, Odo,” Quark said so simply that Odo knew it to be true. “There’s been enough deception already. If I’m to move forward with Grilka, I have to prove myself—for real this time.” He paused, along with his obliging opponent, to meet Odo’s eyes intently. “She believes in me, Odo. I have to be worthy of that belief.”
Odo shook his head in dismay. “I was right the first time—you are mad. Or maybe you’re just a fool. Can’t you see how she’s exploiting your infatuation, seducing you into serving her purposes? How can you believe she truly loves you when she’s willing to talk you into killing yourself in her name?”
“You don’t know a thing!” Quark cried, channeling his vehemence into a renewed attack on the holo-Klingon. “You’re just jealous because the woman I love actually knows I exist!”
That did it. Odo strode forward and got right up into Quark’s face, ignoring the bat’leths flailing about. “Kira knows I exist!” he shouted. “And she values me for what I am. She respects my opinions, my values, my desire to explore my culture, even when she doesn’t share in them.”
“Try not to get so close, Odo,” Quark advised with sincere concern, stepping around him to continue sparring. “These things can be dangerous.” But Odo interposed himself again, determined to be heard.
“Grilka only values you for your pliability—your willingness to let her mold you into something you’re not. To abandon everything you believe in if it makes her happy. Think about it, Quark—has she made any effort at all to learn Ferengi culture? Has she treated your values with anything other than contempt?”
“Look who’s talking.” Quark kept trying to get around him, with little success. “I’m warning you, Odo, step aside before you get sliced in half!” he said, his solicitousness becoming tinged with frustration.
But Odo stayed in his face, singularly unconcerned, and continued to goad the Ferengi. “Some ‘man of principle’ you turned out to be. True to your own ethical code? Hah! You’ve tossed it all aside in record time. What happened to the deal, Quark? What happened to the give and take, the pursuit of profit?” His voice grew harder, more contemptuous, eagerly feeding Quark’s slow burn. “Tell me, Quark, what is Grilka giving you in exchange for your devotion? What has she risked or lost or given up for you? Not her profits. Not her culture. Not her safety. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re giving away your soul for free! At least Rom can make more money. You’re an even bigger sucker than he is!”
“All right, you asked for it!” Quark cried. Dropping the bat’leth, he lunged at Odo and tried to toss him out of the way with a mok’bara throw.
Odo didn’t budge.
Quark glared, and tried another throw.
And another. Odo crossed his arms and waited.
Quark tried kicking his legs out from under him, and only knocked himself on his butt. He leapt bodily onto Odo, trying to knock him down, but ended up clinging to his torso and pulling ineffectually at his shoulders and elbows. Even the holographic Klingon seemed to have a touch of pity in his eyes.
Odo morphed his face out the back of his head and said, “Are you finished?” The sight startled Quark into losing his grip. To his credit, he tried to turn the fall into a backward roll, but came down badly on his right ear and banged his knee, and ended up lying on his side, gasping in pain.
Restoring his features to their normal place, Odo moved to stand over Quark, gazing pityingly down on him. “You know what the sad part is? I wasn’t even trying that hard to stay in place.”
“You’re just—saying that to rub it in,” Quark gasped.
“Can you be sure of that?” Odo reached down to help him to his feet. “Are you really willing to gamble your life on that?”
“No,” Quark admitted, wincing in pain.
“Are you all right?”
“I think you’d better get me to the infirmary.” Odo could tell it was a hard admission for Quark. There was much more than physical pain in his eyes. “I’ve been fooling myself,” Quark said as Odo helped him limp toward the exit.” D’Ghor’s gonna kill me.”
“If you fight him.”
“If I don’t, Grilka will kill me. Or at least she’ll never talk to me again.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Quark paused in the doorway,
resting his weight against it. “Oh, don’t blame her, Odo. She’s just being a Klingon. I’m the one who was stupid enough to think I could be one too.”
“So do you want to file that assault charge against D’Ghor now?”
Quark pondered. “Hmm, maybe I could blame him for these injuries, demand compensation, huh?”
“Back to your old Ferengi self already, I see,” Odo snarled, privately pleased. “But it wouldn’t work, since I’d be the investigating officer and I know what really happened.”
“And you’re annoyingly immune to bribery. Well, it would only delay the inevitable anyhow.” Quark sighed. “It wouldn’t solve the fundamental problem.” Steeling himself, he strode forward again. “No, Odo ... there’s only one way to resolve this now.”
Quark was waiting behind the bar, cleaning glasses, when D’Ghor stormed through the entrance. Although the place was closed, empty and dark, Quark greeted him with routine good cheer as the doors slid shut behind him. “Welcome to Quark’s! Finest tavern and gaming establishment this side of the wormhole. And what can I get you this fine evening?”
D’Ghor glared suspiciously. “What is this, Ferengi? Do you intend to fight me, or just stand there while I chop your head off? Take a look around—there’s no one to save you this time.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Or is there?”
“The bar is closed.” Quark shrugged. “No one here but the two of us.” Luckily, Morn was off on a cargo run, or that would’ve been harder to arrange. Quark met D’Ghor’s eyes unflinchingly and said, “I swear it on my honor.”
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