5

Nog was starting to really like Shar, so when he saw the Andorian sitting at the bar by himself, Nog eagerly joined him. Shar seemed to be just as happy about it, although Nog now knew his smile to be fake; he’d told Nog only yesterday about how humor and expressions of pleasure weren’t big in Andorian society, that smiling was a learned behavior. Nog thought that was weird, but also entirely fascinating.

It felt good, to feel like Shar enjoyed his company. Nog knew that he was mostly well liked on the station, but his ability to make new friends had never been his strongest selling point. A lot of people in the universe looked down on Ferengi, for their mostly deserved reputation as a devious, swindling species, and it was nice to know that Andorians didn’t appear to be one of them. It wasn’t like hanging around with Jake, but Shar was so curious about

everything, and he seemed to cast judgment on no one. It made spending time with him kind of fun.

It was early for dinner, and the restaurant was barely half full. They took a table next to the bar, Nog noticing that Frool seemed to be working alone when he stepped back up to order drinks and food. Shar had agreed to try a root beer.

“Frool, where’s Uncle?”

Frool shrugged, turning to get the beers and mugs. “He keeps walking out in front for some reason, staring down the Promenade at something. This is the fourth time today.”

“What’s he staring at?”

“I don’t know. It’s down near the security office, whatever it is.”

Nog turned and set the drinks down on the table, shaking his head. Uncle Quark had been strangely anxious ever since the attack, but not in a way that Nog would expect If he was worried about another war, why hadn’t Uncle liquidated any assets or sold any stocks, why hadn’t he asked Nog to find him a new escape route? He seemed to be smiling too much, too, acting as though he was …

It hit him as he sat down, and he laughed out loud. Not anxious, interested.

“Why are you laughing, Nog?” Shar asked, his soft voice uncertain, as if he was afraid he’d missed a joke.

Nog leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “I think my uncle Quark might be in love.”

Shar looked at him seriously. “His love is a source of humor?”

“The way he experiences it, definitely,” Nog said. “I’m sorry, Shar, I was exaggerating. My uncle

doesn’t fall in love, exactly. It’s more like … it’s like he gets very exc ited about a possible temporary merger. He told me once that he knew he was in trouble every time he caught himself smiling for no good reason. That, or he buys flowers retail.”

Shar tilted his head to one side, frowning. “He bought flowers for Lieutenant Ro.”

“Really?” Nog laughed again, lifting his mug. “He’s farther gone than I thought.”

“You believe he wants to temporarily merge with Ro Laren,” Shar said, and Nog actually choked. Sputtering, he put his drink down and shook his head at Shar, who was perfectly deadpan.

“That’s exactly what I believe,” Nog said, and Shar nodded. Nog had no idea if Shar had made a deliberate joke or not, but decided not to pursue the conversation any further; they were about to eat. The last thing he needed was to be thinking of his uncle Quark’s romantic hopes for Ro Laren.

Shar tried the root beer, and liked it. As they waited for their food, Nog recounted a few of the minor adventures that he and Jake had gone through … although talking about his youth on the station reminded him of Jake’s and his science-project field trip. It had been the first time Nog had ever seen a Jem’Hadar.

He finished his story about the self -sealing stem bolts and fell silent, unhappy that he couldn’t seem to get away from thinking about them. He thought about Vic’s advice, to find out what other people thought about the Jem’Hadar being on the station, but he and Shar had already talked about it. Unfortunately, the mild and pleasant Shar didn’t seem to form strong opinions about much of anything. He

had commiserated with Nog about his anger, but he hadn’t expressed any of his own feelings, beyond saying that war was always unfortunate.

In fact …

“Shar, why don’t you ever talk about yourself?” Nog asked. “It seems like you’re always listening and asking a lot of questions, but you don’t talk about what you like to do, things like that.”

Shar blinked, his expression impassive. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, do you have any hobbies? Things you enjoy?”

“I enjoy learning about different cultures.”

Nog nodded; not dom-jot but it was a start, at least. “What’s your culture like?” He asked.

Shar blinked again, and although his expression didn’t change, Nog had a sudden impression that he was reluctant to answer.

“The Andorian cult ure is complex,” Shar said, after a few beats. Then he fell silent again, as if considering how to proceed. Or maybe if he should at all. “Andorians have a genetic predisposition toward violent behavior, but socially, within our own communities, we’re extr emely structured. I would say we are a serious people, and adaptable. Compared to many other species, Andorians excel under difficult circumstances; like the human fight-or-flight response to danger, our biochemical reaction is to either fight or to increase our sensory input levels, which lends greater power to our analytical and reasoning skills.”

So it was true. “That’s very interesting.”

Shar nodded. “All cultures are interesting,” he said. “Your own, for example … you were telling

me about your rules of monetary acquisition last night. Do all Ferengi know them, or just the males?”

Nog was deep into explaining the feminist revolution on Ferenginar before he realized that Shar had neatly sidestepped being asked any more personal questions. It was a common enough business tactic, a safe answer before turning the questions back on the customer, getting him to talk about himself. People loved to talk about themselves, there was a whole subset of rules on it. But why Shar felt he needed to divert him …

Maybe he’s not all that thrilled about his roots, either. Nog was proud to be a Ferengi, but that didn’t mean he was proud of everything the Ferengi people had ever done, and that definitely included plenty of his relatives. If Shar didn’t want to ta lk about himself, that was fine by Nog.

Shar excused himself to get a drink he wanted Nog to try, and Nog sipped his root beer, his mind wandering. Thinking about troubled pasts, and wondering if Jake was having a good trip. He carefully avoided thinking about the station’s uninvited visitor, or wondering what he would actually do if the Jem’Hadar’s story was accepted as truth … and when Shar brought back two Andorian citrus drinks, Nog found that he had managed to keep himself in an optimistic mood. They both had hours of work to return to, hours of having to face the aftermath of tragedy in many of its dispiriting forms; a few minutes of not talking about how bad things were … well, that wasn’t a bad thing.

Nog sipped from his new drink and thought he did a pretty good job of keeping a straight face, although the beverage tasted like a clear, fizzy version of a

smell he’d once experienced, at an animal preserve on Earth. Goat, he thought it was called. In some kind of lemon oil.

Nog decided that they’d had enough cultural exchange for one day, reminding himself to discreetly ask Frool to clear the bar before bringing their meals. Maybe Shar wouldn’t notice.

Quark tripped into the bar, imagining Ro’s sweet breath in his ear once more. Only not threatening him this time, of course.

Well, maybe just a little, Quark thought dreamily, thinking of how she frowned when she was concentrating, that dangerous curl to her lips. Thank the River for transparent aluminum office fronts.

It was both exciting and disturbing, the way he was feeling, like an awestruck, passionate youth, like he was playing the market with his own money. Oh, there had been brief affairs over the years, what he believed to be mutually beneficial exchanges-no one had complained, anyway-but his serious infatuations were fewer and farther between than most people thought. He flirted with a lot of females, true, but actually thinking about them was a different kind of commitment altogether.

There had been Natima Lang back during the Occupation, and once briefly after the withdrawal, the first woman he’d purchased a gift for at retail. The Lady Grilka, now, she had been something; one of his closed deals, and he had the scars to prove it. There had been the magnificent Jadzia, of course, and by extension, Ezri-although his feelings were very different for the two incarnations of Dax. Ezri

had a youthful quality that encouraged protective feelings, in addition to the occasional less-than- noble ones; but Jadzia … even getting shot down by Jadzia had been a pleasure, because she smiled and batted her lashes throughout, inspiring continued dreams of winning the lottery.

Ro Laren, now, she had Natima’s passion, but Jadzia’s sense of humor, she had Grilka’s fire, plus a very appealing, haughty defensiveness that was all her own. She had a rebellious streak that could be profitable, considering her position. She was independent, headstrong, and antisocial, her inclinations didn’t seem too expensive, and she had a shady past-not to mention, the kind of hands that men paid for. Ferengi men, anyway. She was exquisite.

To work on his growing mental file of her tastes and habits-research for expanding negotiations-he’d been randomly stepping out of the bar to observe her in her office. He noted what she was doing, collecting any information on her preferences that might work to his advantage. It was business, of a sort, but he was finding that it was a pleasure, as well. Her ironic smiles, her long legs, her habit of scowling to herself when she was deep in thought. Not only did he now know her preference for a hot beverage late in the day, information he could capitalize on, he’d had the extra enjoyment of watching her curse violently when she spilled it across her desk, leaping from her seat like a lithe but delicate jungle creature, mouthing words that would embarrass a Vicarian razorback wrangler.

Quark was snapped from his reverie when he realized that Nog and Shar were sitting next to the bar,

eating. Love was something, but free labor was a lot harder to come by. Quark swept up to them, putting a big smile on for the Andorian’s benefit. The boy had alerted them to a shrouded Jem’Hadar, after all, a talent too handy to frighten away … and he was a friend of Ro Laren’s.

Quark had learned long ago that getting Nog to lend a hand was easiest to do with guilt, no raised voices or angry accusations, no threats. The fault was entirely Rom’s, as usual, for refusing to discourage Nog’s conscience when he was younger, but it was certainly too late to fix; anyway, until it stopped working, the guilt card saved the most time.

“Nog, Shar, how nice to see you,” Quark said, turning his attention toward Nog, manufacturing a hopeful tone. “Say, Nephew … I know that you’re busy making everything look nice for when the Federation shows up, but do you think you might take a look at replicator three for me while you’re here? It’s malfunctioning again, and I wouldn’t ask except that I can’t afford to hire anyone, not after the beating I took on your best friend’s party yesterday.”

Quark shifted his smile to Shar. “I probably lost thousands of strips in inventory alone, but Jake Sisko means so much to my nephew, I knew it was the right thing to do. I just couldn’t turn away from family. Now that his father’s gone, we only have each other.”

Shar smiled back at him, his bright gray eyes sort of dazed. Andorians were a strange bunch, although

Shar seemed mostly okay. He didn’t gamble but he liked imported ale, which wasn’t cheap.

Nog sighed dramatically, as if he’d been asked to shovel dung. “Uncle, my team has to rebuild the

Defiant’s

venting conduit system tonight, and finish inspecting the lower core shield emitters.”

Quark slumped his shoulders. “With all I do for you … that you could refuse me a scant moment of your time, just to offer an opinion on a simple replicator …”

Nog rolled his eyes, and Quark gave up. Threats rarely worked, but sometimes a flat demand did the trick. “Nog, just look at it, would you? I’m your uncle.”

“Fine,” Nog said, sighing again. “I’ll look at it before I go back to work. Can we finish eating now?”

Finally. “You’re too kind,” Quark said, not working too hard to keep the sarcasm out of it. He turned to move back behind the bar, when Shar’s combadge bleeped.

“Ensign ch’Thane, this is Ensign Selzner, in ops. You have a call waiting.”

Selzner, the Starfleet communications officer with the overbite; she sounded very excited. Quark moved a few steps away but kept his head turned to catch the conversation, interested in what could make the intense, toothy Selzner sound like a teenager.

“Put it through,” Shar said.

“It’s straight from the offices of the Federation Council, on a directed channel,” Selzner said. “And it’s authorized for immediate uplink. Where do you want to take it?”

Quark forgot that he was pretending not to listen and turned, wide -eyed. Nog was also staring at the expressionless Shar, who answered calmly-but with a lifetime of experience staring into the faces of

gamblers to back him up, Quark would hav e bet the bar that the Andorian was bluffing.

He’s rattled, and he’s not all that good at hiding it.

“I see. Would you send it to my quarters, please? I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Ah, right. Affirmative.”

Even as Selzner fumbled off, Quark was back at their table. “Why is someone at the Federation

Council calling you, Ensign?”

Shar took a last drink from his glass and stood up, dabbing at the comers of his mouth with his napkin. Definitely anxious. “My … ah, mother works for the Council.”

Quar k nodded, starting to feel hopeful. “Oh, really? That’s very interesting. What does she do? Secretarial work? Chef? Consultant?”

Shar shook his head, then smiled at Nog. “I apologize for having to leave, Nog, but I’ve been expecting this call …”

Thir ishar ch’Thane, Andorians have … four distinct sexes, surname prefix denotes gender, “Thane, that seems familiar …

Nog was standing up, too. “Hey, that’s all right. I always take my father’s calls, and-“

“Your mother is Charivretha zh’Thane?”

Quark blurted it out louder than he’d intended, amazed that this had slipped past him. A few arriving customers turned to look, to see Shar’s obvious discomfort and Quark’s elated shock. Zh’Thane held the Andorian seat in the Federation Council, very bright and very sharp, a woman who spoke her mind about everything. She was so influential, in fact, that her speeches and stands were often cited as voteswingers, and thus influenced a vast number of possibilities-from election outcome pools all the way up to interplanetary resource contracts, the real big time.

This could bring whole new dimension to the concept of inside information … the blue kid science officer is zh ‘Thane’s son.

Shar was already walking away, acting almost as if he was embarrassed that his mother was one of the

Alpha Quadrant’s top political figures. A big part of Beta, too.

He probably thinks people will treat him different, if they know. If they were smart, they would. Quark certainly planned to; the lovely Laren still pulled at his heart, not to mention his lobes, but Thirishar ch’Thane had his feet in the Great Material Continuum, and he probably didn’t even know it.

Quark was definitely going to have to find out more about his nephew’s new friend. The son of the Emissary, now the son of Charivretha zh’Thane; Nog apparently had an instinct for choosing powerful friends …

… and if he doesn’t want to exploit it himself, why shouldn’t somebody else benefit?

All this and the task force would be arriving soon, fresh blood for his dabo girls and many a merry Klingon getting roaring drunk on bloodwine. It seemed he’d been mistaken about something he’d said, only a day or two ago; the Federation really did care about the small-business man, after all.

The conversation went well until the very end. Shar had expected the call, although he had

hoped that his zhavey would have remembered to contact him directly. Charivretha didn’t fear the stain of nepotism, reminding him time and again that he had achieved everything on his own, but he knew that; it was the look on Nog’s uncle’s face that he’d been trying to avoid, a look that said he had changed in Quark’s estimation because of his parentage. Shar wanted to be valued or ignored on his

own merits, and now he would have to wonder; he had little doubt that the word was being passed along already.

Zhavey expressed concern over the attack and asked how his assignment was working out, listening with interest to his responses. By mutual agreement they didn’t discuss politics, because there were too many facets of it that Zhavey couldn’t talk about. They briefly touched on contacts with his other parents, leading up to what Shar had dreaded, to the inevitable topic of his future.

Shar listened calmly, looking into Charivretha’s wide, lovely face, agreeing appropriately with tilts of his head. As his zhavey, she was his closest relative biologically and socially, and it shamed him to see the concern he had caused, the seeds of worry beginning to take root in Zhavey’s deep gray eyes.

Just as he thought he might get away without having to talk about it, Charivretha stopped her now by -rote speech, gazing at him with love and the thing that he feared most, the threat of losing it.

“Thirishar, you are our only child. We didn’t bear and raise y ou to have doubts about your obligations.”

“No, Zhavey.”

“You are part of a whole. The covenant broken by one is lost by all.”

“Yes, Zhavey.”

Zhavey studied him another moment, searching his face for something that didn’t seem to be there.

“There’s nothing for you to resolve,” Charivretha said, and Shar couldn’t disagree, he couldn’t, not in the face of his zhavey’s unspoken anxiety-that he would disgrace all of them for the sake of his own selfish pursuits.

“I know, Zhavey.”

Zhavey looked away from him, and he could see the struggle for control. Charivretha zh’Thane was a person of great character and control, but she was also deeply unhappy.

Because of me.

“You’ll call very soon,” she half -asked, turning to look at him again.

“As is my duty and privilege, Zhavey,” Shar said, recognizing that she was letting him go, finished for now. It was both a relief and a sorrow. “Until then, I find you whole in my thoughts.”

“As you are in mine.”

The transmission ended and Shar’s mind went blank for a moment, feeling something coming, his blood like a hot river crashing into his body.

With a low, primal hiss, Shar leapt to his feet and snapped a powerful kick at the logoed screen, boot heel cracking into the thick support post, the impact shuddering back through his body. The monitor burst into sparks, pieces of clear glass and dusky casing material shattering outward, clattering against the desk and floor. The fierce sense of triumph that

accompanied his decisive action lasted only until he realized what he’d done.

Seconds later, when the computer asked if he needed assistance, Shar was able to answer in a mostly even tone, deeply remorseful and very much alone.