Ro made a show of considering the question, the ridges at the top of her nose wrinkling together. Then she asked, “What else have you got?”

Quark turned and set the empty glass down in an area he reserved for discards, of which there were pathetically few right now; later, one of his employees would recycle the used bottles and glasses, utilizing the replicator. Then he examined the shelves at the back of the bar, and the bottles that lined them in various shapes, sizes, and colors. What can I give Laren?he asked himself, searching for something with a bit of flavor and character. Not finding anything to his liking, he checked the stock below the bar, finally pulling out an amber bottle with a distinctively curved, tapered neck. “Saurian brandy?” he asked, offering the label for Ro to inspect.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

Quark bent behind the bar again and retrieved a crystal snifter. He set it down in front of Ro and removed the leather hood from the top of the bottle, letting it dangle from the cord that was attached to a strip surrounding the base of the neck. “Captain Sisko never used to come in here much,” he said as he poured out two fingers of the brandy, “but this was his favorite drink, so I used to keep it around for functions.”

“Functions?” Ro asked. She slid her upturned palm beneath the bowl of the glass, her middle and fourth fingers on either side of the stem, and lifted the brandy to her lips.

“Starfleet conferences, political meetings, the occasional party,” Quark explained. “I’ll say this for the man: for a Starfleet type, he sure knew the value of quality catering.”

“Hmmm, this is excellent,” Ro said after she had taken a sip of the brandy.

“Have you ever had it before?” Quark asked.

“I have, just not in a very long time,” Ro told him before raising the snifter to her lips again. She took a second sip, then lowered the glass to the bar. “So, you’re not all that fond of ‘Starfleet types,’ huh?”

“Well, you have to admit, they’re not always all that much fun.” He grabbed the hood and replaced it atop the brandy bottle.

“No,” Ro agreed. “But they do keep the peace.”

“Sometimes,” Quark said, the tone of his voice falling to convey his cynicism. He recalled the incident a few years ago when the Bajorans had barred all Ferengi from their system and from the wormhole, and how the Federation had refused to involve itself. He refused to dwell on the memory—some of what had happened back then remained too painful for him to think about, even now—but his estimation of the Federation and Starfleet still lingered. “When it’s in their own interests to do so,” he added.

“You know, Quark,” Ro said, her mischievous smile returning, “I was a Starfleet type.”

“Oh, you may have been in Starfleet,” Quark said, discounting the idea with a wave of his hand, “but I’m sure you were never the Starfleet type.”He bent and placed the Saurian brandy bottle back below the bar.

Ro took another sip of her drink. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one thing, that’s a Bajoran Militia uniform you’re wearing, not a Starfleet one, which means you didn’t stay in Starfleet. And for another, just look around.” Quark gestured to include the rest of the bar. “You’re here, but I don’t see any Starfleet types. And the Gryphon’s been docked at the station off and on for three days now, in between trips to Europa Nova, so we’ve got another few hundred of them wandering about.” Quark shook his head and rolled his eyes. “They’re probably all down in Morn’s quarters listening to him spout poetry.”

Ro laughed so hard that she nearly choked on her drink. A lilt Quark had not heard before emerged at the upper reaches of her chortles. The sound delighted him.

“What’s so amusing?” somebody asked. Quark looked away from Ro to see that Commander Vaughn—still clad in his uniform despite the lateness of the hour—had entered the bar. Quark’s attention had been so focused on Ro that he had not even heard the commander approach. Normally, Quark would have been concerned by the lapse— Ears open, eyes wide,went an old Ferengi saying to which he had always subscribed—but the truth was that his ears had been open and his eyes had been wide; they had simply been filled with the intoxicating sound and sight of Ro Laren.

“Good evening, Commander,” Quark said. “Just the old joke about a hew-mon,a Klingon, and a Romulan walking into a Vulcan embassy.”

“I know that one,” Vaughn said, and Quark recognized the commander’s graciousness in allowing him to avoid honestly answering the question. “It’s not that funny.”

“Ah, well, I guess humor is in the ear of the beholder,” Quark said, intentionally paraphrasing an old hew-monexpression.

“I guess it is,” Vaughn said. “Lieutenant, how are you this evening?” he asked, addressing Ro.

“I’m fine, Commander, thank you,” she said, and Quark noticed a sudden stiffness in her manner.

“You know, we never did get a chance to talk about your experiences in Advanced Tactical training,” Vaughn said. “I’d still like to do that.” For a horrible moment, Quark thought that the commander would sit down. He actually liked the old man—Vaughn had so far treated him with respect, even asking for his opinions about the Gamma Quadrant—but Quark did not want any intrusions into this unexpected time with Ro. Fortunately, Vaughn did not take a seat, nor did he even burden Ro with having to answer his question. “Of course,” he told her, “it’ll probably have to wait a few months until I return from Defiant’s mission.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Ro said, and while her voice and the expression on her face seemed genuine, Quark thought he detected an aspect of discomfort in her response. She raised her glass and drank more of the brandy.

“Very good,” Vaughn said. “So, Quark, did you procure that item I ordered?”

“Oh, yes,” Quark said, suddenly remembering that he had received the item earlier today. He had been paying such close attention to Ro that it had not occurred to him when Vaughn had come in. “Just a second,” he said, moving down the bar in search of the bottle. He found it quickly and hoisted it up by its neck onto the bar. “Here you are, Commander.”

Vaughn reached forward and slid his hand around the bulbous bottom of the dark-green bottle, then spun it around so that he could read the label. Apparently satisfied, he said, “That’s the stuff.”

“Glad to be of service,” Quark said. “Now, how will you be paying for that?”

Vaughn smiled, and Quark smiled back, knowing what the old man would say. “Obviously it’s slipped your mind that you asked for payment in full when I ordered it.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Quark said, putting on his expression of sudden remembrance, though he knew it would not fool Vaughn. “My mistake, Commander.”

“Thank you, Quark,” Vaughn said, hefting the bottle into the crook of his arm. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have an old holosuite program set on Earth, would you?”

“Actually, I do, Commander,” Quark said, pleased that this intrusion might at least lead to more business. He reached below the bar and pulled out a small metal box, flipping open its lid to reveal the orange tips of several dozen isolinear rods.

“I’m actually looking for something specific,” Vaughn said. “Do you have anything from North America in the twentieth or twenty-first centuries relating to space travel?”

“Earth space travel in the twentieth century?” Quark said, mulling over the request. “Had hew-monseven left their planet back then?” Quark had not intended the question as an insult, but he realized as soon as he had said it that it might have sounded that way. Before he could rephrase it, though, Vaughn answered.

“Just barely,” the commander said with a smile, clearly not offended.

Quark considered the request, knowing he had nothing exactly like what Vaughn had asked for, but trying to think of any other holosuite programs that might satisfy the commander’s needs. “I’m afraid I don’t have that,” Quark said hurriedly, “but I do have several other twentieth-century Earth programs: Paris, New York, Las Vegas—that’s an amazing program—”