“Better customers,” Quark said at once. “The Federation and the Bajorans make better customers than the Dominion and the Cardassians.” But even Quark did not believe that excuse for what he had done.

A young woman with long red hair and a short skirt appeared at the table, carrying a tray with two bottles on it. “Here ya are, boss,” she said, setting the tray down. She poured first from the champagne bottle, and then from the clear, squarish bottle of orange liquid. Vic sipped at the drink while she loaded his empty bowl onto the tray.

“Thanks, doll,” Vic said. After she had gone, he looked back over at Quark. “What about all those stories about you runnin’ food and medicine to the Bajorans back when the bad guys ran the show?”

Quark felt an unpleasant chill buzz through the ridges along the tops of his ears. “That was at cost,” he protested, perhaps a bit too loudly. Trying to settle himself back down, he said in a quieter tone, “That was also a business decision.” He repeated his contention that Bajorans made better customers than Cardassians.

Vic seemed to consider him for a moment, and then he leaned forward across the table. In a low voice, the singer said, “I know that’s what you say, pallie, but you probably don’t realize that there are still some facts and figures from way back when rootin’ around inside these walls.”

“What?” Quark said. The idea that the station’s computer system still retained records of his Occupation-era transactions made his lobes go completely cold. “That’s all speculation,” Quark insisted, understanding that Vic knew otherwise. “I don’t want to hear that outside of this room.”

Vic raised his hands up in front of him, palms toward Quark. “Hey, nobody’ll hear it from me.”

Quark looked away, uncomfortable with where this conversation had gone, but at the same time wanting to hear the rest of what this hologram had to say. “What’s your point, anyway?” he asked.

“My point is, you’re always in here claimin’ to have this ideal of the Ferengi businessman that you wanna live up to, and yet you’re always doin’ somethin’ to mess that up.”

“Exactly,” Quark said. “So I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Vic said. “Or maybe this image they gave you as a kid and that you’re always tryin’ to fulfill, maybe that’s not really what you want out of life.”

Quark reached up with both hands and rubbed at the bottoms of his lobes. His ears had gone numb. Me, not wanting to be a businessman?he thought, incredulous at the suggestion. Not wanting to be aFerengi businessman?The idea seemed preposterous on its face.

“Or maybe you just don’t know how to deal with gettin’ what you want,” Vic went on. “I knew a guy once who wanted more than anything to be a Major League baseball player.”

Baseball,Quark thought. Sisko’s game.

“This guy didn’t have all that much natural ability,” Vic continued, “but he worked his tail off to get through the farm system and make it to the bigs.” Quark had no idea what farms had to do with baseball, but then he had always been mystified by the sport. “So what does he do when he gets there? Drinks like a fish, carouses till dawn, stuff he’d never done before in his life.”

“Why?” Quark asked.

“Who knows why,” Vic said. “But he makes it to the Majors, and he’s only there for a cup of coffee before they ship him back down. Never makes it back up. So he got what he said he really wanted, and he threw it away as soon as he got it. So maybe he didn’t really want it, or maybe he didn’t know what to do with it once he did get it.”

Quark sat quietly for a moment, taking in what Vic had said. The words bothered him, and not because they were untrue. But he also did not know if he had the strength to face them. Finally, he said, “So what’s all that got to do with me?”

Vic tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Mr. Quark,” he said, “you’re not an idiot.” He paused, and then said, “You want to know what I think? I think business isn’t the only thing you’re worried about messin’ up these days.”

“What do you mean?” Quark asked, although he supposed he already knew the answer.

“What do I mean,” Vic said. “Black hair, nice figure, wrinkled nose…”

“Laren,” Quark said, his heart changing its beat at just the thought of her.

“Laren,” Vic agreed.

“I messed that up.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Vic grabbed his drink and drained it in one quick pull.

Quark grunted. “She probably wasn’t interested anyway.”

“I got news for you, pallie,” Vic said. He put his empty glass back on the table, then stood up. “The dame digs you.”

“You spoke to her?” Quark asked.

“Didn’t need to,” Vic said. He dug into his pocket and came out with a handful of green bills. He selected several and dropped them onto the table. “I heard her voice when she called you in here a couple nights ago. She’s got it for you.”

Quark’s heart pounded wildly in his chest. He stared up at Vic, unable to say anything.

“Look, Mr. Quark,” Vic said. “I hate to eat ’n’ run, but I gotta interview some comics this morning. I still haven’t found that opening act I’ve been lookin’ for.”

“That’s all right,” Quark said.

Vic smiled again. “Catch you on the flip side, pallie.” He walked across the room and climbed the stairs to the stage, then disappeared behind the curtain.

“Catch you on the flip side,” Quark muttered, having no idea what the words meant. But he understood the rest of what Vic had tried to tell him.

59

Vaughn’s footsteps echoed loudly in the dark corridor. The air here tasted stale, as though it had lain dormant in these buildings for centuries. He did not smell death here, though, only abandonment.

He marched along, his boots kicking up the thick layer of dust that coated the floor. Little galaxies of particles spun through the beam of his beacon. He consulted his tricorder as he walked. This near the site of the pulse and its massive energy, the reach of the tricorder had dwindled to less than two hundred meters, but as Vaughn had hoped, the sensors did function well within that limited range. Now all he had to do was get close enough to the center of the complex to scan the area, then somehow use that information to determine a means of stopping the pulse.

Yeah,Vaughn thought, that’s all.He laughed, the sound briefly joining his footfalls as they reverberated through the corridor. A doorway stood open in the left wall, and he shined his beacon through it as he passed, interested only in confirming that it was a room, not another corridor.

Vaughn had moved through the complex for almost an hour now, steadily making his way toward its center. Doors had lined most of the corridors through which he had walked, some of them closed, some of them—like the last one—wide open. He had earlier searched some of the rooms, looking for information or tools or anything else that might ultimately aid him in completing his mission here. But all he had found had been more of what he had seen yesterday back in the city: computers, communications equipment, and circuitry junctions. Scans had revealed that the machinery populated many of the rooms here, but also traveled through the walls and beneath the floors. None of it remained active.

Vaughn reached an intersection. A corridor extended to both his left and right, and the one he was in continued ahead. He shined his beacon in all three directions and saw nothing. He performed another scan, making sure that the center of the complex still lay ahead, then strode forward.