38

Quark strode out of the turbolift and onto the Promenade, his mood as dark as a Jem’Hadar’s hearts. He listened and could tell immediately, even before he reached the bar, that his fortunes had not improved much. If the proverbial wise man could hear profit in the wind, Quark wondered what sort of a man that made him. Besides poor,he thought. As he walked toward the bar, his ears told him the approximate number of customers there—too few—and the number of those playing at the dabo table—several more than at any time during the past couple of weeks, but still not enough.

I should have stayed in my quarters,he thought. Except that even an afternoon spent foraging through the quadrant’s financial and commodities exchanges had not held any fascination for him. It vexed Quark to see his idiot brother’s so-called reforms being implemented on Ferenginar, crippling so many of the markets. But even Quark’s anger at Rom could not keep his mind occupied for very long.

Quark only glanced at the floor as he slipped behind the bar; the last thing he needed to see right now was just how close his employees came to outnumbering his customers. He looked at the mess Frool and Grimp had managed to leave—remarkable, really, considering the dearth of business—and grabbed a rag. He began to swab the surface of the bar, wanting to occupy himself. But as he concentrated on the simple task, with his eyes cast down, his ears still remained open. And he did not hear her.

Again.

Quark had neither heard nor seen Ro Laren since she had chased the Jem’Hadar soldier from the bar two nights ago. She had talked about coming back later that night, but not only had she not returned since then, she had also been conspicuously absent from the Promenade. Quark had not even seen her in her office.

Females and finances don’t mix,he reminded himself. He never seemed to remember that when he needed to. And he had been fool enough to believe that she had actually begun returning his flirtations.

Quark grumbled, lifting a V-shaped glass half-filled with a lightgreen liquid. He wiped the condensation from its base and from the place it had rested, then set it back down. The Boslic woman sitting on the other side of the bar, whose drink this seemed to be, was not even paying attention. She sat turned away, peering in the direction of the dabo table. Quark thought about suggesting to her that she go play, but then a voice reached his ears.

“Pass five, pass five,” the voice said. “Sorry, no winners this time.” Quark had no problem with the outcome—it was about time that the dabo wheel began spinning again according to the advantages of the house—but the voice should have belonged to Treir. It did not; it belonged to a man.

Quark shifted to his left and looked past the Boslic woman. Around the dabo table sat a couple of men and a half-dozen women. Treir, who should have been operating the game, was nowhere in sight. Instead, the young, scantily dressed Bajoran man she had brought in earlier today stood in her place. As Quark watched, the man—Hetik, was it?—held the rondure up before the gamblers, his hand dancing dramatically through the air, and then, with a flourish, he placed it in the wheel and sent it spinning around.

The edges of Quark’s lobes warmed as anger rose within him. Not only had Treir—an employee—had the audacity to hire somebody, and not only had she concocted the position of dabo boy,but he had ordered her to get rid of Hetik by the time he returned to the bar. And yet there the man stood, with Quark’s latinum spread out on the table before him.

Quark flung the rag down behind the bar, furious. He would fire Hetik, and then, when he found Treir, he would dispatch her as well. Sensuous or not, green or not, Treir had overstepped her bounds more than once, and by more than just a bit. Quark had had enough. He turned—

—and almost ran into Treir. Quark pulled up quickly, surprised not only to see her there, but that she had approached without him hearing her. Am I that distracted,he asked himself, or is she that good?He thought his ears had been open, but now he realized that he had only been listening for the sound of Laren’s voice. As he looked up at Treir, though, he knew that none of that mattered at the moment; what mattered was him regaining control of his bar.

“I told you to get rid of him,” Quark said without preamble, pointing over at Hetik. He spoke loudly, not caring who heard him. This was his business, and he would—

“I have a proposition for you,” Treir said, interrupting his thoughts. She spoke in soft tones, but her eyes stared down hard at him. Her manner seemed to imply that there would be no subterfuge here, no use of wiles—feminine or otherwise—only business dealings.

“Why would you want to get rid of him?”somebody asked to Quark’s right. He looked in that direction and saw that the Boslic woman had turned in her seat toward the bar. The triangular slope of her forehead, and her dark hair and eyes, reminded him of Rionoj, a freighter captain with whom he occasionally dealt. This woman was shorter and heavier than Rionoj, though, and clearly did not have the sense to tend to her own business; she had evidently heard Quark and seen him gesture toward Hetik. “He’s beautiful,” she said. “In fact, I may go play a little dabo myself.”

Quark resisted the impulse to tell the woman to go. Instead, he simply smiled and nodded. Then he turned back to Treir, who had not moved a millimeter. “A proposition?” Quark said, sidling away from the bar and over toward the shelves behind it, putting a little distance between himself and the Boslic woman. Treir glided over with him.

“Yes, a proposition,” she said. “Let Hetik work here for a week before you make a decision about whether to keep him on or not. If you decide to let him go at that point, then I’ll pay his wages.”

Quark felt the ridge of his brow rise, surprised at Treir’s promise of actual latinum. She obviously wanted very much for Hetik to work here. Quark did not know why—although considering the amount of clothing these two wore in public, he thought he could guess easily enough—but he did see an opportunity for a small profit. “What sort of wages did you agree to pay him?” he asked. Treir told him, and actually, the amount was fairly low, only a fraction of what Quark currently paid her. “I’ll tell you what,” Quark said. “I’ll keep him on for a week, and then I’ll pay him. But if I decide to fire him, I won’t pay youfor the week.”

Treir said, “No, that’s not fair,” but her shoulders slumped, and Quark knew that he would get what he had demanded. He took a step past Treir, heading toward Hetik, but she stopped him. “All right,” she said.

Quark gazed up at her curiously. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“If I tell you,” Treir said, shaking her head, “you won’t believe me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Because I think it’s good business,” she said. “I mean, look.” She nodded her head in the direction of the dabo table, and Quark looked over there. “I know it’s only eight people,” she went on, “but he’s only been here a few hours, and that’s the most people we’ve had playing dabo in weeks.”

Quark shrugged and looked back at her. “Coincidence,” he said. “And even if it’s not, him drawing one or two more dabo players a night is not going to justify keeping him on the payroll.”

Treir suddenly smiled broadly, which unnerved Quark. “Oh, he’ll do better than that,” she said. “And the two of us together will do muchbetter than that.” Quark wondered if Treir and Hetik might be planning something other than simply trying to draw more dabo players into the bar. He doubted it, but he also resolved to keep his ears open.