Chapter 9

“Eisla—Eisla, wait!” Quark shouted.

The reporter ignored him, walking swiftly toward the Plaza, her FNS entourage at her classy heels.

Shmenge suddenly appeared at Quark’s elbow. “Boy, she looked mad,” the youth observed unnecessarily.

“Hack,” muttered Quark under his breath. Then he noticed Shmenge. “What are you doing out here?” he snapped.

“Just thought I should let you know that it’s 1900 hours, Boss.”

“So?”

“So . . . uh . . . can we open?”

Quark studied the crowd and did a quick head count. It looked like most of the invitees were there. There was no point in making them wait any longer out here—there was money to be made inside.

“Might as well,” he said.

Shmenge sprinted into the bar to deliver the message. A few seconds later, the force field dropped, and a flood of Ferengi-kind and a few other species flowed toward the opening, where Treir stood at her station.

“SINGLE FILE,” she announced in an authoritative “I’ll brook no crap” tone. “Be prepared to show your RSVP receipt. If you do not have an RSVP receipt, be prepared to tender tonight’s special admission fee.” She pointed to the large sign behind her station. Only two things were on the sign: a very large number and a list of the types of currency the bar accepted.

Sensing Treir’s sincerity—and her ability to kick the tulaberries out of every one of them—the flood became an obedient stream.

Quark watched the queue file in, a tiny smile on his face as he envisioned the guests as walking strips of latinum. Such a beautiful sight . . .

“Wow! Look at them all!”

The awe-filled voice came from behind his elbow: Shmenge.

“What are you doing out here now?” Quark hissed softly from the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t there enough to do inside?”

“I . . . I just wanted to watch them all come in. These are the movers and shakers of Ferengi society! All gathered in one place! It’s so . . . so . . . aspirational!”

“I think you mean inspirational,” responded Quark. “I’ll admit, it is a pretty impressive sight.”

“No,” Shmenge said. “I mean aspirational. I aspire to be just like them someday.”

“Fat chance!” chortled Quark.

“Especially that one. I mean, he’s a legend. He made being a liquidator seem so exciting!”

Shmenge was pointing to a Ferengi who’d just joined the other guests in line. Quark followed the trajectory of Shmenge’s digit to focus on the man’s face.

It was the face of the last person in the quadrant that he would have invited to the dedication.

In a flash, Quark was in front of the newcomer, blocking his path toward the entrance. “Hold it right there,” he snarled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The Ferengi gave him a quizzical look. “I’m attempting to gain admission to your establishment, Quark. This event is open to the public, right? The paying public, that is.”

“Not your kind of public, Brunt,” Quark spat. “Not after all the trouble you’ve created for me over the years!”

Brunt smiled calmly. “It was nothing personal, Quark. I was just doing my job. The fact that I enjoyed doing it is neither here nor there.”

Quark glared. “Yes, well, you don’t have that job anymore, do you?”

Brunt shrugged. “It’s true that I am no longer employed by the Ferengi Commerce Authority, but I’ve come to think of my separation from the FCA as a kind of blessing in disguise. Why, just look at me, Quark.” He gestured toward his conspicuously chic attire, accented, as always, by the large bar of latinum that he wore around his neck on a golden chain. “Does it look as if I’ve fallen upon hard times?”

Quark continued to stare into Brunt’s eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of noticing his apparent affluence. “Oh, I’ve heard how you’re making your latinum these days, Mister Bounty Hunter. I’m surprised no one’s shot you in the back. Yet.”

Brunt chuckled. “You’re so behind the times, Quark—but I know this hinterland station doesn’t get much in the way of current financial news reports. That was ages ago. You’re looking at a Magnus-level Entrepreneur.”

Quark’s eyes briefly widened. “You’re a member of the Entrepreneurs’ Club?”

Brunt cheerfully pulled out his membership card and held it in front of Quark’s nose. “A Magnus-level member,” he emphasized. “I take it you know what an exclusive club it is, and how difficult it is to gain admission at all, let alone rise to its higher ranks.”

Quark’s head was spinning. What kind of universe was this when a reprehensible toad like Brunt could gain admission to the Ferengi Entrepreneurs’ Club? It was the most sought-after financial fellowship on Ferenginar.

“Now, if you’ll just accept my payment—”

Quark snapped out of his stupor. “I don’t care about any of that. I’m the proprietor of this bar and the Nagus-appointed ambassador to this embassy—and I don’t need to admit anyone whose presence, in my opinion, would have a toxic effect on the other guests.”

“Toxic?” Brunt burst out laughing. “You really are out of touch, aren’t you?” He glanced into the bar, where several Ferengi who’d already gained admission were waving at Brunt.

“Hurry up, Brunt—we’ve got a seat for you at our table!” shouted one.

Quark felt a wave of nausea as he realized that it was Nilva, the chairman of Slug-o-Cola.

That two-timing louse! After all I meant to him! He gave me a ring—well, he gave Lumba a ring, but a ring’s a ring. And now he’s all palsy-walsy with Brunt??

Quark considered tossing Nilva out of the bar, but he knew what a stupid financial move that would be. He couldn’t afford to alienate Nilva and his buddies. And now that Brunt was one of them . . .

“Well?” said Brunt, holding out the exorbitant, sign-specified entrance fee. “Do I get in?”

“Yeah,” said Quark. Ignoring the proffered handful of strips, he grabbed the chain around Brunt’s neck and gave it a yank. The gold-pressed bar slid into his hand. “Special Entrepreneur’s fee,” he said, returning the broken chain—sans bar—to its startled owner.

Then he turned and walked into the embassy, wordlessly handing the bar to Treir as he passed her.

Shmenge, horrified at his boss’s behavior, raced over to Brunt. “I’m so sorry about that, Liquidator Brunt,” he groveled.

“Former Liquidator Brunt,” Brunt corrected, staring down at the chain in his hand. “That was the first bar I ever confiscated,” he murmured. Suddenly he straightened and tossed the chain away. “Oh well. Plenty more where that came from.”

“Can I . . . can I show you to your table?” Shmenge asked. “I just wanted to let you know how much I’ve admired you.”

Brunt seemed to see Shmenge for the first time. “Have you, now? Well, I’m glad that Quark finally hired someone with common sense. Lead on.”