QUARK CAME OUT of the DS-Nine legal office smug with satisfaction, having just filed a compensation claim for an amount ten times the value of the damages his gambling hall had actually sustained in the Cardassian takeover. For that kind of profit, he'd have been willing to let them break up the place every day.
He supposed they must really want that deserter, to go after him that way. But obviously someone must have informed. For the reward.
Quark paused and frowned. Wait a minute. Now that he thought about it, something wasn't quite right. It didn't add up. What made Gul Marak's patrolmen decide to search his casino? It was crazy to think he'd harbor a Cardassian fugitive, even one without a reward on his head. Where was the profit in doing that?
Maybe he had an enemy he didn't know about. Maybe somebody wanted to see his place wrecked. A Cardassian who wanted to open his own casino after Gul Marak took over, and didn't want the competition.
The first thing Quark did when he got back to his place was to curse and shout for his nephew Nog. Where was that infernal boy? All the broken furniture and glassware was supposed to be swept up and replaced by now.
"He said something about getting the ale synthesizer fixed," said Rom from behind the bar.
"The synthesizer was broken? When did that happen?" Quark demanded in a panic, rushing behind the bar to see for himself. He groaned. Indeed, the unit was gone.
This was a real crisis. Quark imagined a mob of unhappy, thirsty gamblers, pounding on the bar, demanding synthale he couldn't supply. Chairs and glassware could be replaced with no trouble. But he could hardly open the doors for business without a functioning ale synthesizer, no matter how much compensation money he got out of the Cardassians. As fritzed-up as his old synthesizer had been, the thing at least could produce a drinkable ale.
Rom scratched his head. "Y'know, that's funny, I didn't know it was broken, either. At least, I didn't think it was. The boy just said, Was it worth three hundred credits to get it fixed by tonight, and I told him, Sure, because we can't open up this place if we can't serve ale." He paused. "Say, you don't suppose …"
Quark scowled. He wasn't sure what he supposed, but something was going on, he knew that much. "If that boy thinks he can cheat his own uncle …" He supposed he ought to be pleased that Nog was finally showing initiative and ambition, but this was sure an inconvenient time for him to start.
His good mood having evaporated, Quark joined his brother in stocking the shelves with cheap new glassware and setting up me place for business again. Assuming they could open tonight. Assuming Nog could bring the ale synthesizer back in any kind of working order.
That boy's ears were going to be sore for a long time if it wasn't.
After several hours' more work, the gambling hall was restored to a rough semblance of order, the bar was restocked, and potential customers could be seen passing by with a glance at the closed doors. "Where is that boy?" Quark demanded for the hundredth time, seething as he watched his profits walk away.
From behind him came the sound of a door opening, and Quark turned around to see Nog emerging from the back room with the synthesizer unit in his arms. He cried aloud in relief and seized it from his troublesome nephew. "Is it fixed? Does it work?"
"Don't forget," Nog reminded his father as they worked quickly to reinstall the unit, "my money. You said you'd pay to have it fixed. That was our deal."
Quark reached out to grab the little wretch by the earlobe and pull him closer, yelping. "That's quite a deal, Nog. Charging to fix a synthesizer that wasn't broken in the first place! And in the meantime, while we're waiting for you to bring it back, I've had to keep the place closed with the customers waiting outside the doors—"
"No!" Nog insisted, squirming in the vise of his uncle's grip. "It's fixed! It really is! Try it! You'll see!"
Quark's reply was interrupted by a firm knocking on the door. "We're closed!" he yelled, but the knocking persisted, louder.
"Um, Quark. It's that constable. Odo," Rom said nervously.
Quark released his nephew. "What does he want? Don't I have enough problems right now?" Greatly annoyed, he went to the door. "Can't you see we're busy right now, Constable? It seems that while your security force was off meditating in their temple or something, a mob of Cardassians trashed my place. We're trying to get it back into order so we can open again before I have to declare bankruptcy."
"Before you do," said Odo smoothly, stepping inside, "I'd just like to take a look around. As you may know, there's a fugitive hiding somewhere on the station. It seems that the Cardassians, at least, had reason to believe he might be somewhere here on the Promenade. I'm sure you won't mind if I search the place."
"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Quark said, taking a step to block his way.
Odo made an approximation of a frown. "This fugitive is supposed to be armed and dangerous. I know you're concerned for the safety of your partrons."
Quark laughed nervously, being in fact concerned about certain items of contraband not declared on any customs manifest. And as a matter of general principle, the presence of security prowling through his back rooms was to be avoided. "Come on, Constable! Don't you think I'd know if there was a Cardassian hiding around here? Those deck patrolmen already tore up my storage space looking for this deserter, and Rom and I have been back there all day, trying to straighten the mess. Believe me, if I'd spotted him, I'd have already turned him in for the reward Gul Marak offered, just to pay for the damages!"
"Claims for damages can be filed with the station's legal office."
"Well," said Quark lightly, "you can file a claim, but who knows if the Cardassians will ever pay? And in the meantime, I have a business to run, customers waiting, this synthesizer to hook up. . . ."
Odo was not to be moved. "I still have to investigate these rumors. Someone did report seeing this deserter—"
"Oh, it was probably just Garak!" Nog interrupted nervously.
Odo looked dubious. "What about Garak?"
"Well, I mean … he's a Cardassian. And I've heard he was complaining about the patrolmen, you know, always stopping him? Looking for this deserter, see. And he was in here a couple of nights ago, wasn't he? I'll bet somebody thought he was that deserter, and told the Cardassians—you know, for the reward? That's what I would have done."
Odo regarded the boy with unconcealed distaste while Quark frowned at his nephew. What was that boy up to?
"All right," Odo finally agreed, "I'll go talk with Garak, see what he has to say. But I'm warning you, I intend to find this man. I don't like the idea of unauthorized persons on my station."
There was visible relief in Nog's eyes as he watched the constable leave.
"Quark?"
"What?" he snapped at his brother.
"Taste this." Rom held out a glass full of a dark, creamy-topped brew.
"Not now!"
"Quark, I think you should taste this."
"What? What is that stuff, anyway? You know the dark ales out of that synthesizer always taste like sewer sludge."
"I know. That's why you should taste it."
With a sudden surmise, Quark took a sip, then a long, satisfied swallow. "Mavarian stout! I haven't tasted that since …"
Then his eyes widened to stare at Nog, who crowed nervously, "See? I told you! And we had a deal, right? Now do I get my credits?"
"Never mind that! I want to know what's going on and I want it now!"
Nog backed away, bringing up a hand to protect his tender earlobe. "Nothing!" he protested. "I said I could get the synthesizer fixed, and I did! That's all!"
Rom moved to cut off his son's retreat. "Since the first day I came to this place, that synthesizer couldn't produce a decent Mavarian stout."
"And what were you doing bringing it out of the back room? Either you've got a secret transporter hidden back there, or …" Quark finally added it up. "Or a Cardassian technician!"
The look on Nog's face was as good as a signed confession. Rom, slower to comprehend than his brother, said, "What? You mean he's got that … got that deserter hidden here? When there's a reward?"
"But … but look! See how he fixed the synthesizer! He's an engineer! He can fix anything on this station! I've seen him! He fixed a replicator, but I couldn't move it by myself, and—"
"Wait a minute! Just wait a minute!" Quark was thinking. The boy might actually be right. For once. If this Cardassian really was an engineer, if he could fix replicators … "Where'd you find him, anyway?"
"Down in the lower core, in a lounge near some deserted cargo bays. There was this replicator, see, and it was working. Anyway, he's really scared the Cardassians will catch him and take him back to his ship, so I said we could make a deal, that I could hide him if he'd fix stuff. Like the synthesizer. And he did it, see?"
"Odo said he was armed and dangerous," Rom said doubtfully. "Maybe we should just turn him in for the reward and forget this other business."
"No! I found him!"
"What kind of a deal did you make with him?" Quark wondered.
"I just said we'd split the profits. I didn't say how we'd split them, though." Nog grinned.
"How did you get him up here?"
"Through the maintenance tunnels and cargo shafts, mostly. He's too big to crawl through the ventilator ducts."
"But somebody must have seen you with him, right?"
"I was careful!"
"But not careful enough, it looks like. And so Gul Marak sent his strong-arm gang of deck patrolmen to tear the Promenade apart to find him. It looks like your little project has caused a lot of trouble, nephew."
Nog whined sulkily, "It could have been Garak. They look alike. Sort of."
Quark ignored him. "I think we'd better go visit this Cardassian of yours. Where is he?"
"In the back storeroom?"
Quark snorted. "That's no place to keep something valuable. I thought I'd taught you better than that." He aimed a swat at Nog, who cringed and ducked, but not far enough to avoid a grip on the edge of his ear.
With Nog held tight, Quark took him back behind the bar to the storage rooms. Rom followed, grumbling. Quark prodded his nephew. "Call him."
"Berat? It's me, Nog."
"What's wrong? Didn't it work? Did you link up the lines the way I showed you?" Then the Cardassian came into view from the dark corner of the room, and caught sight of Quark and Rom behind Nog. He gasped and pulled out a phaser from his belt as Quark ducked down and Nog cried out, "No! Berat! It's all right! This is just Quark! My uncle. He owns this place! And my father."
"More Ferengis?" the Cardassian demanded suspiciously from behind the weapon.
Quark knew he had to be cautious. This was a Cardassian, after all, and there was a wary, desperate look in his eyes. But Quark knew how to use desperation to his advantage.
"Nog's uncle," he said in soothing tones. "You don't have to worry, the boy didn't turn you in. But I'm afraid there's been a lot of interest in you lately. Yesterday, patrolmen from Gul Marak's ship raided our place, did a lot of damage. And just now the head of station security came by. He wanted to search the back rooms."
The fugitive Cardassian looked wildly behind them, and Quark could see how his grip tightened on his phaser. "Security? Here? Now?"
"Fortunately, we managed to send him elsewhere. For the moment. But he's a tenacious type, to say the least. You can bet on it—he'll be back, maybe even tonight."
"They won't take me," the Cardassian muttered, holding his phaser tightly.
This was a desperate case, Quark thought to himself. And quite possibly not entirely sane. He lowered his own voice. "What you need is a better place to hide. Someplace even security doesn't know about. You're lucky that my nephew came to me. Quark's discretion is renowned throughout the entire quadrant. You'd be surprised at the secrets I've known, the items that have passed through my hands. Yes, you're safe with Quark.
"Now, Berat? Is that your name? My nephew tells me that you're an engineer. You have an arrangement with him? Nog's a bright boy, he always knows a good opportunity when he sees it. I must say, that synthesizer you repaired has never worked so well, not in all the years since I bought it. If that's a sample of your work, then I think we can do business together. Now, about your share of the net proceeds—"
Berat broke in, "I don't care about any profits. All I want is someplace to hide until that ship pulls out of here. And then passage off this place."
"Passage? To where?"
"Anywhere that's outside Cardassian space," Berat said bitterly.
"Well, I think we can arrange that," Quark temporized, having no real intention of letting the Cardassian go if he proved to be as valuable as he promised. "But we can worry about the business details later. First, let's get you to someplace really safe."
"This was my deal!" Nog started to complain, but a gesture of Rom's shut him up, and they followed Quark and Berat to a hidden room beneath the holosuites, next to Quark's own private office.
"I'm afraid you'll have to stay locked in here," Quark explained apologetically, while Rom hurried to remove certain valuable and illegal items to Quark's office. "But I promise, security will never find this room, not if they peel the station apart like a matushki fruit. We can fix up a place for you to sleep and to work. Those are your tools? Good. Excellent!"
Quark rubbed his hands together. "Nog, you can help our new guest get settled in. He's probably hungry, isn't he? I apologize for being so hasty, but I have an establishment to run." He paused to grin reassuringly back at Berat. "Don't worry. You're in good hands with Quark."