Part 7 (1/2)
”I don't appreciate all your insults, Kira,” Corda said.
”I shouldn't have to tell you about the benefits of a quick and dirty surprise operation. We may not have big, powerful s.h.i.+ps like the Carda.s.sians, but we can slip in and out of any place, and with the right plan, we could get workers off Terok Nor.”
Corda's smile was cruel. ”Just don't pick Kira to relieve me, Javi,” she said. ”Kira has no idea about the realities of war.” ”You don't know-”
”Ladies!” Javi said tiredly. ”We fight Carda.s.sians, not each other.” He ran that thin hand along the side of his face, tugging at his earring. ”Maybe that wouldn't be a bad mission, Nerys. Going to Terok Nor. You could find out if the Carda.s.sians were ill, and if they were you could report back. But bring Kellec home.” ”If he wants to come.”
Javi nodded. ”One more thing. I've been studying the information we've received. It's only a matter of time before everyone on Bajor gets ill if this is as bad as it seems. And so far, whoever has gotten ill has died.”
Even in the heat, Kira couldn't suppress a s.h.i.+ver.
Chapter Ten
NOG WAS SITTING on the bar, his feet dangling over the edge. He was kicking the front with one heel, then the other, with no apparent rhythm at all. Quark didn't know what was worse, the boy's idleness, his disregard for the bar's rules, or the constant bang, bang, bang echoing in his ears.
”Do something useful,” Quark said, shoving Nog as he pa.s.sed. ”And get off my bar.” ”There's nothing useful to do, uncle,” Nog said. ”There's always something useful.” Quark picked up a dirty gla.s.s off one of the empty tables. Three groups of Carda.s.sians sat at various tables, but they certainly didn't look as if they were celebrating. They were at least drinking-to excess, always a problem with Carda.s.sians. Not that Quark could blame them. If there was really a disease going around that was going to make him turn green (which was only one step down from that hideous Carda.s.sian gray), he'd probably start drinking too.
Or leave. Sneak off. Find somewhere else where the threat of death wasn't hanging over everything. He might do that anyway. He'd hardly had any customers in the last few days. ”But what, uncle?” Nog asked, still on the bar. ”For one thing,” Quark said, ”you can get off my bar. Then you can polish it from top to bottom with an ear brush.”
”You're not serious.”
”I've never been more serious,” Quark said. ”And remember, you'll do that every time you sit on my bar.”
”You could have told him that sitting on the bar wasn't allowed, brother.” Rom had apparently come out of their quarters. He wore a hat the Volian dressmaker had made him. It was made of some stretchy black material and molded itself to Rom's skull. It made his head look smaller, but at least it hid his ears.
”I would have thought sitting on the bar would be an obvious mistake, wouldn't you?” Quark asked.
”Actually, no,” Rom said. ”Rules are easier to follow if they're clear.” ”Like not spilling things on the customers?” ”Are you ever going to forget that?” Rom asked. ”Not as long as you wear that silly hat.” Quark brought the gla.s.s around back and set it beside Nog. ”And wash this too, while you're at it.”
Nog jumped off the bar, picked up the gla.s.s and started for their quarters.
”I want that bar s.h.i.+ny within the hour!” Quark called after him.
Nog didn't respond. He disappeared into the darkness as if he hadn't heard.
”I mean it, Rom,” Quark said. ”I want that bar cleaned in the next hour-” ”I'll do it,” Rom said.
”-by Nog. He has to learn too.” Quark sighed and surveyed the bar. He hated this quiet. The Carda.s.sians were panicked and Gul Dukat had ordered that no more s.h.i.+ps of any type could dock on Terok Nor. So not only were the Carda.s.sians dwindling, thanks to disease and general fear, but the others who came through here, the suppliers, traders, and shadier types weren't appearing either. Quark's supply of Saurian brandy was getting low, and so were some of his more popular but hard-to-find items.
Rom scratched the top of his head. ”Brother, do I have to wear this hat? It itches.”
”Yes, you have to wear the hat,” Quark snapped. Then he lowered his voice. ”I can't have you serving customers with that blister on your ear.”
Rom's hand went involuntarily to his right ear and Quark turned away in disgust. Nothing, ever, would get the memory of that out of his brain. Rom said it didn't hurt, but it was the ugliest thing Quark had ever seen. It served Rom right for the mistakes he had made earlier-and for not telling Quark that he was allergic to Jibetian beer.
Who knew what that horrible mixture of fluids had done to Rom's ears, anyway? The ears of Ferengi were their most sensitive spot. If an allergic reaction was going to start, it would start there. And Rom's allergy to Jibetian beer was bad enough, apparently, to have put him in sickbay on a freighter when he was a young man. Of course, Quark had been long gone by then and hadn't known about it. And Rom, typically, hadn't bothered to tell him, even when he knew he'd be working around the stuff.
”There aren't that many customers, brother,” Rom said. ”Perhaps it would be better if you waited on them yourself.”
”You're right,” Quark said. ”Perhaps it would be better. Then I wouldn't have to pay you.” ”But brother, how will Nog and I live?”
”Good question,” Quark said. ”And the answer is not very well if you refuse to do the work you're a.s.signed. Now, go see if those tables need refills.”
Rom tugged the hat. Quark could see the blister as an added lump on Rom's ear. Quark grimaced in distaste. How the Volian had managed to make a hat while looking at that ear was beyond Quark. And of course, Quark had had to pay for it. Rom didn't have any latinum yet; Quark was keeping track of all of these expenses in his ledger, but he had no idea how expensive the whole proposition was going to be. Rom had arrived with Nog and then the bar's business had dropped off. Who knew how much an eleven-year-old would eat? And constantly. It was as if he was going to grow as tall as a Carda.s.sian. Or more likely, as if Rom hadn't fed him well before.
Rom reached the first table. Three Carda.s.sians sat there, bent over their gla.s.ses as if their posture would protect them from the virus floating around the station. One of the Carda.s.sians shook his head as Rom spoke to him. Rom smiled and bobbed a little, then backed away.
He stopped at the second table. There the Carda.s.sian, one of the pilots who had poured liquor on Rom, said in a loud voice, ”If you're trying to protect your skull from getting drenched, you'd better make sure that hat is waterproof.”
”No, actually,” Rom said. ”I'm allergic to Jibetian beer and-” ”Rom!” Quark shouted. ”-I break out-” ”Rom!” ”-so I'm wearing this hat-” ”Rom!”
Rom looked up. ”Brother, I-”
”One more word,” Quark said, ”and I will fire you.”
Rom put a hand to his mouth. The Carda.s.sian laughed. Rom made his way through the tables and leaned across the bar.
”I'm sorry, brother,” he whispered. ”But if I can't talk, how can I take orders?”
”One more word about the ear,” Quark said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. ”Make up a story about the stupid hat. A story that doesn't involve pus.” ”Sorry, brother,” Rom said.
Nog came out of the quarters, clutching an earbrush in his left hand. Quark's earbrush. His best earbrush, the one with the real scagsteeth bristles.
”Nice try,” Quark said, ”but you use your own brush.” ”He doesn't have one, brother.” ”Then he can use yours,” Quark said. ”He does anyway.”
That was it. That was all it took. Quark's stomach actually somersaulted. ”Or I did,” Nog said, ”until Dad got that-” ”Enough? Quark shouted. ”Enough! No one is ever going to mention that again. Do you hear me? No one!”
All of the Carda.s.sians stared at him as if he had gone crazy. The second group, the one that included the pilot that had been hara.s.sing Rom, seemed a bit bleary-eyed, and Quark realized they were drunker than he had initially thought they were. Getting them out of the bar would be difficult. Not that it mattered. He hardly had anyone in the bar as it was. ”I heard you, brother,” Rom said.
That brought Quark back to himself. He turned toward Nog. ”You, young man, you put my earbrush back and never touch it again. I don't share earbrushes with anyone, and I don't let just anyone touch them.” Then he glared at Rom. ”How could you? Not buying your own son an earbrush.”
”He had one,” Rom said. ”He forgot it when we left Ferenginar, and I-”
”Didn't have enough latinum to buy him a new one, I know,” Quark said. ”Believe me, I know.”
He shook his head. How did it always end up that he was the one who paid for everything? He sighed.
”Get yourself an earbrush, Nog, but for now, use your Dad's.” Then Quark thought of that blister, and all the germs it carried. ”Never mind. Don't after all. Get a cleaning cloth. But I still want the bar spit-polished. You understand?” ”You want me to spit on it?” Nog asked. , ”No,” Quark said. ”It's a military term. I just want it so polished that it s.h.i.+nes. Is that clear?”
Nog nodded. Why did everything become an impossible task with these two? Running the bar was suddenly three times harder.
The first group of Carda.s.sians got up and left their tables, mumbling something about sleep. The second group was still huddled over their drinks. He could barely see the third group, but they seemed to be deep in conversation.
Customers leaving and none entering. Things couldn't get any worse.
Quark took a padd. He would inventory his alcohol one last time, and hope it lasted-of course, with this drop in business, it would last easily. He glanced at Rom. ”Just go away,” he said.
”But brother, I haven't asked the other table if they wanted more to drink.” ”Ask them, and then go away.” ”Where are the cleaning cloths, uncle?” Nog asked. Five times more work, Quark thought. At least. Rom walked over to the last table. The drunken Carrda.s.sians at the second table cat-called him in soft tones. Quark didn't pay attention to what they were saying. He told Nog where the cloths were and was about to get back to his inventory when a Carda.s.sian at the third table stood up.