The away team moved on, with several of the cloaked Ferengi following not far behind. Gomez was scanning ahead with her tricorder.

“You said we’re in trouble, Commander,” Corsi whispered testily, not wanting their pursuers to overhear. “I’d appreciate some details.”

“The power source seems to come from this direction,” Gomez said. “Of course, we’ve thought that about six times in the past few hours.”

“Commander—”

“Give me a minute, Domenica,” Gomez said while still considering the readout on the tricorder. She indicated a narrow corridor to their left. Here, some very young-looking Ferengi had set up stalls. The goods didn’t seem to have any theme to them, unlike other similar setups they’d seen on the Debenture.

“What is this?” Hawkins asked.

Abramowitz smiled. “What we have here is the Ferengi version of a coming-of-age ritual. When Ferengi boys first go into business for themselves, they sell off their childhood possessions to give them a starting stake in business.”

The ambient noise in this area was even louder than it was in other commerce areas, so it suited Gomez just fine. Even taking into account the fact that Ferengi had superior eavesdropping abilities, she was pretty sure they could have a private conversation here.

“So what’s going on, Commander?” Corsi asked irritably.

As if on cue, a blaring alarm sounded out across the halls of the Debenture.

“Dammit,” Gomez muttered.

The Ferengi started shrieking and screaming, upturning stalls, shattering earthenware, ripping at drapes. Several turned from their wanton destruction and looked in the away team’s direction. They were grinning. It was beyond any lascivious leer Gomez had seen on the face of a Ferengi, which was saying a considerable amount.

“Let’s move, people,” Gomez said. “Corsi, take point.”

They moved almost as a single unit, Corsi in the lead as instructed, Gomez and Abramowitz in the middle, Hawkins taking up the rear. They turned the corner into a narrow alley, and watched as the rampaging mob shot past them. Gomez gave out a low gasp of relief, which was suddenly choked off by the figure that stepped from the shadows from among the detritus in the alley. It was one of the hooded Ferengi.

From the diminutive frame came a deep booming voice.

“Why are you not engaged in the Bacchanal? It is the Way of Milia.”

“What, you’re not calling it the Red Hour anymore?” Gomez asked.

“Huh?” Corsi asked.

Before Gomez could explain, the Ferengi raised the conduit pipe with the open end pointing at the away team.

“You are not of Milia. You must become.”

Both Corsi and Hawkins raised their weapons to fire—and nothing happened.

The Ferengi’s empty pipe welled up with energy that smoked and sparked, firing a charge at Hawkins.

“Agggh!”

As Hawkins slumped to the floor, Corsi leapt over his prone body, swinging her phaser rifle like a baseball bat, knocking down the hooded Ferengi.

Abramowitz crouched by Hawkins. The security guard had been in charge of the portable medikit. She took it from his prone form, opened the tricorder, and ran it over him.

“Okay, a medic I’m not, but his heart rate shouldn’t be accelerated, should it?”

“Get away from him, Carol, now!” Gomez called out.

Abramowitz got up just as Hawkins’s eyes snapped open, showing an almost glassy blankness. His lips pulled back into a rictus grin.

“Bacchanal!” he shrieked in a voice obviously not his own measured tones. He grabbed at the cultural specialist.

Before either Corsi or Gomez could react, the expression on Hawkins’s face turned to one of surprise and then he slumped to the side, unconscious but with eyes still wide.

They looked into the darkness of the alley behind Hawkins. Another Ferengi stood there, a block of gold-pressed latinum in his hands. He was panting heavily at the effort required to club Hawkins in the head with it.

Corsi was about to return the favor when Gomez stopped her. “No wait, look! He’s not like the others.”

The Ferengi gave her a withering look. “Oh, you think?”

He slumped against the wall. Gomez noticed his outfit: unlike the other Ferengi they had seen, he was positively scruffy, as though he’d been buried among all this detritus.

“Thank you,” she said. “We’re indebted to you.”

“And I’m already calculating the interest, you can be certain of that. We’ve got to get you off the streets while this madness goes on. You females are not safe.”

Corsi looked suspicious. “What does it profit you to help us?”

He shrugged. “This ship is full of Ferengi all acting…polite.” He practically sneered the word. “They’re completely failing to take advantage of each other. It’s a direct violation of the Eighteenth Rule.”

Corsi nodded. “‘A Ferengi without profit is no Ferengi at all.’”

He looked at Corsi with surprise and respect on his face. “That’s right. Anyhow, when I saw you wandering around, I realized that you were an opportunity to resolve this sad, sick situation.”

“And looking for a way to gain advantage for yourself?”

He smiled. “Is that so bad?”

Corsi narrowed her gaze. “Ninth Rule: ‘Opportunity plus instinct equals profit.’ You certainly aren’t under this controlling intelligence.”

“No, I’m not. C’mon, we need to get out of here.” He removed the grille he was leaning against from the wall. “I have a safe area through here.”

Corsi looked to Gomez, who nodded. The first officer was grateful that they had found someone not under the influence of this force that hadn’t been heard of in almost a century. “Let’s go.”

“What about Hawkins?” Corsi asked.

Gomez sighed. “If we take him with us, it’ll make it all the easier for them to find us. Believe me, as part of the Way of Milia, he’ll be okay until we can sort all this out.”

They made the security guard as comfortable as possible among the discarded displays and goods in the alleyway, then crawled into the conduit. Corsi sealed the vent behind them as the Ferengi led them through the thin space.

The passageway led into a deep room, where the Ferengi had obviously been hiding for a few days. He gestured for them to sit on cushions he had scattered about the floor.

“Make yourselves as comfortable as you can,” the Ferengi said. “My name is Forg.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Forg,” Gomez said. “So when did DaiMon Phug acquire the Landru computer?”