7

Trust is the biggest liability of all.

—RULE OF ACQUISITION #99

Brunt stepped out of his favorite tongo parlor, having just left the table three bricks richer than when he came in. Of course, his fellow players thought he was five bricks ahead, but they didn’t know about the two-brick bribe to the dealer that guaranteed his continuous victory. The owner turned a blind eye to Brunt’s actions, mainly because he got a good percentage of the two bricks. That was why it was Brunt’s favorite parlor.

It was only melnering today, so Brunt didn’t feel the need to hire an aircar to take him to the Tower of Commerce. Instead, he walked, the refreshing drizzle cascading on his face.

It won’t be long now, he thought with glee. That idiot will be ousted and I at last will attain the nagushood—permanently this time. He’d dreamed of the day when he took his rightful place as nagus, a dream that had only become more intense since he had oh-so-maddeningly-briefly held the title of Acting Grand Nagus. Zek was on the way out for his ludicrous reforms—but Ishka and her loathsome family had managed to weasel out of that, convincing Nilva to back Zek, leaving Brunt in ruin.

But Brunt was never one to let defeat keep him down. He fought his way back to prominence, putting aside his distaste in order to aid Quark in his rescue of Ishka from the Dominion, for which Zek—the fool—was so grateful that he restored Brunt to his old position of FCA liquidator, thus setting in motion the chain of events that now put him only a step away from the nagal staff’s being in his grasp once again.

He entered the Tower of Commerce just as a familiar form was exiting.

“Well well well,” Brunt said with a wide grin. “If it isn’t Quark.”

Quark looked up absentmindedly, then, upon recognizing the congressman, stopped in his tracks. “Brunt.”

“That’s right.” Brunt continued into the Tower’s massive, latinum-walled lobby. Quark followed him. “It’s been a long time.”

“Only about a year—about three centuries less than I’d have preferred, to be honest.”

“I have to admit to being surprised to see you here, Quark. When Chek told me he was recruiting you, I warned him that you would probably be recalcitrant.”

Quark had been holding a padd, but he put it in his inner jacket pocket as he replied. “You told him that, did you? Based on your close personal relationship with me?”

Brunt sneered. “What a disgusting notion. No, I simply told him that you were all talk and no action.”

As expected, that brought Quark up short. “What’re you talking about?”

“Please—I remember that grand speech you gave when Zek handed the nagal staff over to your idiot brother. You called that dreary bar of yours the last outpost of what made Ferenginar great—a declaration that lasted right up until Bajor entered the Federation. Filed your tax returns on time this quarter?” And he meant that last question to sting.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Brunt.”

Shrugging, Brunt said, “Maybe not. But you know what the best part is?”

“I’ll give you five strips of latinum if you don’t tell me.”

Brunt hesitated at the offer, then decided that, as nice as the five strips would’ve been, the gloating was just more fun. “The best part, Quark, is that no matter what happens, you lose. Either you help Chek and me destroy your brother completely—or you help him maintain a Ferenginar you hate.” He leaned in close to Quark and whispered, “And a day when you lose is a good day for me.”

With that, Brunt laughed loudly in Quark’s ear, causing the latter to wince in pain, then straightened, turned on his heel, and continued through the Tower lobby. He didn’t bother to look behind him to see what Quark would do.

It’s a good day to be me, Brunt thought with glee.

“Nagus?”

Zek squinted at the Ferengi sitting perpendicular to him in the—Where am I, anyhow? Then he remembered—the beach house on Risa.

So who is this guy, anyhow? He definitely isn’t Ishka, and he’s certainly not Maihar’du. He decided to take the direct approach. “Who are you, again?”

The Ferengi, who had small, beady eyes, a bulbous nose, and a round mouth, said, “For the fourth time, I’m Gaila—Ishka’s nephew.”

“Ishka? She’s not here. She went back to Ferenginar.” He frowned. Why did she go back, again? “I think it was to help out my no-good son. No, wait! My no-good son is helping her. But I know she’s got a son somewhere….”

“You mean Rom.”

“Right! Rom! Nice boy. He’s doing well for himself on that space station.”

“Actually,” Gaila said slowly, “Rom is the Grand Nagus now—and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Talk to me? What for? I’m not Grand Nagus anymore. I gave it to that son of Ishka’s—what’s his name? Rom!”

“I have to say, Nagus—”

“I’m not the nagus anymore,” Zek said irritably. He hated people who didn’t keep up with current events. “I retired. Call me Zek.”

Gaila smiled, an expression that, in Zek’s opinion, his face was ill suited toward and that he rather wished he’d stop. “Very well—Zek. I have to say, I find your generosity quite surprising.”

“Generosity?” Zek had trouble even saying the word. “I didn’t let you into my house so you could insult me!”

Holding up his hands, Gaila said, “No insult was intended, Zek. I simply wanted to express how impressed I am at the sacrifices you’re willing to make for Ferenginar.”

“Sacrifices? What sacrifices? What’re you talking about? Ferengi don’t make sacrifices. There’s a Rule about that, I’m sure of it.” Zek racked his brain, but the only Rule he could remember was the one about money.

Even as Zek thought, Gaila continued nattering on. “I’m talking about the way you’re willing to let Ishka go for so long in order for her to help Rom with his nagal duties. That you’re willing to give up the happiness and bliss of your retirement for the betterment of Ferenginar…” Gaila shook his head. “I’m in awe, Zek. I truly am in awe.”

“Awe? Of what? Who are you, anyhow? Why did Maihar’du let you in here?”

The person in the chair perpendicular to Zek’s couch said, “I’m Gaila—Ishka’s nephew.”

It came back to Zek. “Right, right, of course. What brings you to the nagal residence?”

“This isn’t the nagal residence, Zek, it’s—”

Pointing a gnarled finger at Gaila, Zek barked, “Hah! Thought the old man was losing it, didn’t you? Well, I fooled you! There’s nothing wrong with these lobes, let me tell you—I’m as sharp as I ever was!”

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Zek.”

“Good.” Zek paused, then stared at the man. “Who are you, again?”

“I’m—”

Then it came back to him. “Gaila! You’re Ishka’s nephew.” He frowned. “Where is Ishka, anyhow?”

“On Ferenginar, Zek, remember? She’s helping Grand Nagus Rom. And I was telling you how noble it was for you to make this sacrifice—being away from Ishka for so long, just so she can assist my cousin Rom in his endeavor to be a decent Grand Nagus.”

“Decent?” Zek didn’t like the sound of that. Rom was Zek’s handpicked successor, after all. “He’s better than decent!”

Gaila winced a bit. “Not much better, I’m afraid, Zek.” Leaning forward, Gaila whispered, “Between you and me, my cousin isn’t doing such a good job of it.”

Zek leaned forward also. “Why are we whispering? There’s no one else here.”

“The walls have ears, Zek—you can’t be too careful.”

That phrase sounded familiar to Zek. He’d heard it somewhere before….

Gaila continued. “And with this latest revelation…”

“What revelation?” Zek hadn’t heard anything about a revelation. If there had been a revelation, then by Gint, he should have heard about it.

“Well, nothing’s proven, of course, but there’s an accusation against him of violating his marriage contract to his first wife when he married that Bajoran woman.”

Zek smiled. “I met a Bajoran woman once. She had lovely red hair. I’m trying to remember her name—she was on that space station near the wormhole….”

“The point is, Zek, that Rom is having trouble. It’s not like it was in the good old days when you ran things.”

“Trouble?” Zek didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of trouble?”

Gaila leaned forward again. “He’s accused of violating his marriage contract. It’s why Ishka’s still on Ferenginar when she should be here with you. It’s why he’s destroying your legacy at the same time as he’s ruining your retirement.”

Zek was outraged. In fact, he was so outraged that he stood up. “How dare he! Nobody ruins my retirement and gets away with it!”

Also standing up, Gaila asked, “What do you intend to do, Zek?”

“Do? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do!” Then he realized he had no idea. Looking blankly at Gaila he asked, “What am I going to do?”

Putting up his hands, Gaila said, “Well, I wouldn’t presume to give you advice.”

“Presume!” Zek said. “My Ishka’s been taken from me, and I need to know what to do about it!”

Gaila rubbed his chin. “Well, if it were me, I would go back to Ferenginar and do everything in my power to get Ishka back.”

Zek nodded. “That’s what I’d do if I were me, too.”

“You are you, Zek, I think—”

Then, finally, he remembered. “Kira!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The redhead on Deep Space 9,” Zek said, wondering why Gaila was being so obtuse.

“Of course, Zek. My apologies.”

“Well, you should apologize. Honestly, what are the youth of today coming to, anyhow?”

“I couldn’t say, Zek.”

“Of course you can’t. It’s pitiful, that’s what it is.” Then he looked at the other Ferengi in confusion. “What were we talking about?”

“Your return to Ferenginar to bring Ishka back and stop Rom from destroying the entire Fererngi Alliance.”

“Right!” Zek couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that. He’d thought of little else besides bringing Rom home and stopping Ishka—or, rather, the other way around—for weeks now. “So what’re we standing around here for? Let’s get back to Ferenginar!”

“As it happens, I have a ship waiting.” The younger Ferengi gestured toward the door. “If you’ll come this way, Zek, we can be under way within half an hour.”

“Excellent!” Zek liked this young Ferengi—he was efficient. “I’ll just get Maihar’du to pack a few things.”

“Already taken care of, Zek.”

Even more efficient than I thought. That’s what I like about the youth of today, they’re on the ball.

“All right, then,” Zek said, “just one more thing, then.”

“What’s that?”

“Who are you, again?”

Nog sat in the common room of the nagal residence. He had FCN on—he always found that it made excellent background noise. Ever since Father ascended to the nagushood, Nog had been able to get FCN broadcast in his quarters on Deep Space 9 for free, which had been a great boon. Prior to that, the fee for subscribing to the news network was far more than he could afford, given his limited profit-making opportunities as a Starfleet officer.

I wonder if I’ll still have that privilege by the time I’m back on DS9.

In the two days since the emergency session of the congress, the market had gone down two hundred and fifty points. Sales of chances in the birth raffle had slowed to a trickle—though that endeavor was already in the black, so it would be profitable no matter what. If we’re not careful, the raffle will be the only profit Father has left.

On top of that, Brunt’s face was now everywhere. Eelwasser had unleashed a massive ad campaign with Brunt as their spokesperson. Sales of Eelwasser were up, sales of Slug-O-Cola were flattening out for the first time in years, and Brunt’s public profile was almost as high as Quoop’s, and Quoop had just released his most popular recording six months ago.

Grandmother and Krax had been working to put out ads of their own, with sponsorship from Lakwa Clothiers. They were more than happy to support Rom, as the new reforms had turned Lakwa from a minor emporium to the most popular place to buy clothes in the Alliance, all thanks to the legalization of clad females.

Speaking of which, Nog thought as he looked up at the newsfeed to see that they had gone to a commercial. The screen showed the image of a female, naked and looking depressed. “Females of Ferenginar—do you miss the ‘good old days’?” The female sneezed. “Always getting colds…” The female started to talk, but then a male appeared next to her and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Never being allowed to speak…” The male handed the female some tube grubs, which the female proceeded to chew dolefully. “Having to chew men’s food for them…” A bar of latinum appeared in the female’s hand, only to have the male yank it away from her and put it in his pocket. “Not being permitted to earn profit…” Now a close-up of the female, with a deep frown on her face. “Of course you don’t! Why should you? Why should you be denied the warmth of clothing?” The female now wore a very fashionable dress. “The right to speak?” The female was now in the middle of a conversation with several Ferengi of both genders. “And most important, the right to earn profit.” Another bar of latinum appeared in her hands, but this time she put it in her own pocket. “And for you males out there, why would you want to keep half your household from earning profit for your entire family? Sure, you may think you earn enough now, but doesn’t the Ninety-Seventh Rule of Acquisition state that enough is never enough?” Now the male and the female were seated at a table, jointly counting their latinum. “The new Ferenginar—giving all Ferengi a chance to be true Ferengi. Sponsored by Lakwa Clothiers, on behalf of Grand Nagus Rom and his supporters.”

“Not bad,” said a voice from behind Nog. He turned to see Ro standing in the doorway. “Certainly better than looking at Brunt’s smile for the ninety-third time.”

Nog chuckled. “You’re lucky—you’ve never had to deal with him in person.”

“Weren’t you going to the hospital?” Ro asked.

Sighing, Nog said, “Unfortunately, Dr. Orpax called. He said Leeta is too weak to have visitors. She’s getting worse.”

“Damn.” Ro shook her head. “I hope this Orpax guy is as good as you all say he is.”

“He couldn’t get away with charging as much as he does without being as good as he is. If he wasn’t worth the money, there are enough other doctors on Ferenginar who would get his business. But they don’t, because Dr. Orpax provides results, which leads to good word-of-mouth.”

“I guess so.”

From years of practice, Nog knew he had to be patient with non-Ferengi—especially ones like Ro who had lived most of their lives in the Federation, and therefore had been insulated from the realities of finance. To help seal the deal for her, Nog said, “Leeta will be fine. I’m as confident in him as I would be if she were in the infirmary with Dr. Bashir.”

Ro blew out a breath and walked over to the replicator. “I hope you’re right.” She dropped a slip of latinum into the slot and said, “Tarkalian tea, iced, and a jumja stick.”

Nog was about to point out that a Ferengi replicator wasn’t likely to be able to fulfill such a request, when the requested items appeared with a small glow.

Then he remembered—a Bajoran lived in this house, so of course the replicator would have been reprogrammed to accommodate Bajoran tastes.

Taking a sip of her tea, Ro moved over to join Nog on the couch. “I just finished talking with Kira.”

“How’re things on the station?”

“Pretty quiet, actually.”

“That’s a change.”

“Yeah.” Ro took a bite of jumja.

Nog hesitated briefly. He didn’t want to ask the question, in part because he could guess the answer based on the fact that Ro hadn’t said anything about it, but he still wanted confirmation as to the status of DS9’s science officer. “Has there been any word from Shar?”

Ro shook her head. “Not since we left the station. He’s still on Andor, and no clue as to when he’s coming back.”

Sighing, Nog said, “I hope he’s all right. Prynn told me he’s doing what he wants to be doing, but—well, I miss him.”

“Me, too.” Ro took a sip of her tea. “I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.”

A voice from behind Nog said, “Do you know how ridiculous the two of you sound?”

Turning around, Nog saw Uncle Quark enter the sitting room. “We’re worried about Shar, Uncle,” Nog said in an annoyed voice.

“Fine, worry about him. Nothing wrong with that. I like the guy, too—gotta love someone who’s always looking to try new and expensive drinks. But don’t talk like he’s going through something unimaginably bizarre. Nog, you were less than three years out of your Attainment Ceremony when you went into combat—which eventually led to your leg being blown off. Laren, you watched Cardassians torture and kill your father when you were a kid.” At those words, Nog shot a look at Ro. He hadn’t known that about the security chief. Uncle Quark continued: “You’re trying to tell me that, with all that, you can’t imagine what Shar’s going through?” Before Nog could say anything, his uncle went on: “Have you proven that the contract’s a fake, yet?”

Ro shook her head. “No. I think we’re going to have to check it against the archive.”

Nog frowned. “I read the report from Investigator Rwogo. She verified it against the archive.”

At that, Ro smiled. “Did she?” Setting down her jumja stick and tea on the side table, she pulled out a padd. “I’ve been doing a little checking into this Rwogo woman.”

Uncle Quark’s eyes widened. “She’s a female?”

Giving him a withering look, Ro asked, “You have a problem with female investigators, Quark?”

Opening his mouth, then closing it, Uncle Quark then said, “There’s no way I can answer that question without getting in trouble, is there?”

“Not really, no,” Ro said with a grin. “In any case, Rwogo’s financial portfolio turned up some interesting transactions. She’s come into possession of about two dozen shares in Chek Pharmaceuticals. Prior to being hired as an investigator, she was doing odd jobs for the past year and a half, and hadn’t saved up enough to pay for this—and she’s only been an investigator for a week, and payday isn’t for another three weeks.”

Uncle Quark frowned. “So how’d she pay for the shares?”

“That’s a really good question. I haven’t been able to track that down.”

Nog leaned forward on the couch. “Chek is the company sponsoring all those Eelwasser ads with Brunt. This is starting to look like a conspiracy.”

“Why would Chek want to bring Rom down?” Ro asked.

“I don’t know,” Uncle Quark said, “but he does. Trust me.”

Nog shot his uncle a look. As far as he knew, Uncle Quark didn’t have any connections with Chek—pharmaceuticals weren’t really his line. “How do you know that?”

“I hear things.”

Ro stood up. “Where did you hear this?”

“What difference does it make?” Uncle Quark now sounded defensive.

He started to say something else, but Ro grabbed her jumja off the side table and said, “So help me, Quark, if you quote the Seventh Rule at me, I’m going to shove this jumja stick in your ear.”

“Hey, look, I do keep my ears open.” As Uncle Quark said the words, he backed slowly away from Ro. “The point is, we need to check the archive ourselves.”

“I don’t see how,” Nog said. “Only authorized personnel are allowed into the archive.”

“Who’s authorized?” Ro asked.

“Only two people,” Nog said. “Glat, the owner of the company that provides the computer that houses the archive, and Torf, the programmer who maintains it. It’s got the best security of any place in the Alliance.”

“State-of-the-art systems?” Ro asked.

Nog nodded. “That’s part of it, yes.”

Uncle Quark added, “Glat is also one of the three or four richest Ferengi in the galaxy, and he pays Torf an obscene salary. Nobody can afford to bribe either of them.”

“Not that anyone really would,” Nog said. “That archive is the ultimate preservation of the Seventeenth Rule.”

“Of course somebody would,” Uncle Quark said in a derogatory tone. “Don’t be so naive.”

Before Nog could reply to the slander, Ro said, “Is there any way we can get access to it?”

Shaking his head, Nog said, “Only the FCA and the investigators can check the archives, and they have to do it by special request to Glat. If anyone else wants to, they have to submit an application and token bribe to Glat and then expect at least a two-month wait.”

“We don’t have two months,” Ro said dolefully.

Uncle Quark then got the wide-eyed, openmouthed look on his face that usually meant he had an idea that he, at least, thought was brilliant. “No, but we have something better. I’ll need to make a call.”

Nog hadn’t really been paying close attention to the FCN broadcast on the wall viewer, but the words “former Grand Nagus Zek” caught his attention, and he turned toward the screen.

What he saw made his lobes shrivel. “What’s Gaila doing here?”

Ro and Uncle Quark followed Nog’s gaze to the screen. It showed Zek slowly walking through the corridors of the spaceport, Maihar’du keeping the crowds at bay. Walking behind Zek was the unmistakably smarmy face of Nog’s second cousin.

Nog said, “Computer, raise volume.”

“—ival at Fram Memorial Spaceport this morning in the company of his Hupyrian servant and another Ferengi described as ‘an old family friend,’ but whom the FCN has identified as Gaila, a weapons merchant. When asked why he had returned to Ferenginar from his retirement on Risa, Zek had this to say.”

The image switched to a close-up of Zek’s wrinkled face. “I’m here because the Ferengi Alliance is in trouble. Throughout my reign as Grand Nagus, I always made sure that Ferenginar was a beacon of hope to entrepreneurs across the galaxy. What I see now is a Ferenginar that shines a dim light indeed. I’m here to support Chek Pharmaceuticals’ efforts to bring glory back to Ferenginar—and to stop Grand Nagus Rom before he ruins this great alliance!”

Zek was then replaced by the image of the newscaster. “We’ll return for an analysis of Zek’s statement after these advertisements.”

As soon as Nog heard the first note of the Eelwasser jingle, he cried, “Computer, disengage FCN!”

The screen went blank.

The three of them stood and looked at each other for several seconds.

Then, finally, Ro spoke. “This may be a problem.”

“Understatement number nine hundred and twelve,” Uncle Quark muttered. “Someone has to tell Mother.”

Nog looked at his uncle. So did Ro.

Putting his hands to his chest, Uncle Quark asked, “Why are you looking at me?”

“She’s your mother,” Ro said.

“How is that my fault?”

Before his uncle could whine further, Nog said, “It’s all right—I’ll tell her.”

“Good. Besides, like I said, I have a call to make.” He looked at the now-blank viewer. “And it looks like I need to make it sooner instead of later.”