Chapter 4
Quark stared at the space Ro had occupied a few seconds earlier. He hadn’t asked her to come see him. She’d come on her own. Sure, she’d only wanted to know how much security to add, but she could have sent Blackmer for that. Or just commed him. But she hadn’t. She’d come in person. Thinking about Ro thinking about him made him feel better.
And there was something else: She’d made a suggestion that he never would have thought of on his own. It might even work. And if it doesn’t, I can always blame it on her.
Stepping over a tumble of padds, he exited the room. Out in the bar, he saw that Frool was busy with several customers, among them Miles O’Brien, who was ordering a beverage—an after-dinner beverage, judging by the small gravy stain on his uniform jacket. In contrast, the dabo tables were idle, meaning Hetik, the dabo boy, was idle as well. “Hetik,” Quark called out, “come over here. And Frool too. I need to talk to you both.”
Frool handed the drink he’d just mixed to a customer and made his way over to Quark just as Hetik arrived. “Listen, you two,” Quark began. “I need some help.”
Both employees groaned in anticipation of whatever mindless task he was about to ask them to perform. But the boss surprised them. “You know about the embassy dedication I’m planning,” he said. “Well, RSVPs are coming in way too slow. I need to devise an incentive that will make them fly in.”
Silence. The two bar workers stared at him vacantly. Quark sighed. “I want you to help me think of an incentive,” he clarified. “Can either of you—”
A customer approached the counter and waved an empty glass at the group. Frool said, “Hang on, Boss,” and he hurried over to refill the man’s drink. Quark waited patiently until he returned. “So what I need is—”
A somewhat inebriated female tottered over to the bar, seated herself on a stool, and looked around quizzically. This time Hetik, happy to help, answered the call.
This isn’t working, Quark thought in annoyance. Then, just beyond Hetik and his customer, he saw Shmenge, dressed in his finest street clothing, standing on the wrong side of the bar. The youth nodded pleasantly at Miles O’Brien. “Chief,” he said, by way of greeting.
“Shmenge,” responded O’Brien. “And where are you headed, all gussied up?”
“I just stopped in for a small beverage before I catch the shuttle to Bajor,” he said. “There’s a poetry reading at—”
“Poetry reading’s canceled,” Quark interrupted. “Surprised you haven’t heard.”
Shmenge stared at him in bewilderment. “What? Since when?”
“Since now,” Quark said sharply. “They ran out of words that rhyme. Now get behind the bar and wait on the customers while I talk to Hetik and Frool.”
“But—I’m off duty,” Shmenge protested. “I’m on the morning shift.”
“And now you’re on the evening shift. Which is what you wanted, right?”
“Well, y-yes, but I’m all dressed up—”
“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.”