One
Rom looked around cautiously, his huge ears listened for signs of any familiar activity. A familiar voice. Even if it was Odo, returning to berate Quark for some infraction of station policy. It had been over a month since his friends had evacuated the station, but he remained hopeful that at least one might return, sneak back on a runabout perhaps. He thought of this regularly, while he wasn't on duty serving drinks. It kept him sane.
Now Cardassian officers were patrolling the Promenade, referring to the station as Terok Nor once again. A place that after many years, he became accustomed to and called his home. He had blocked the previous occupation from his mind, but it was difficult. Now the dreams came back. Always the same, yet growing steadily worse. Ones where he and his brother would be interrogated, humiliated in front of everyone, and his beloved Ferenginar destroyed.
He shook his head, clutching a tool kit in his hand. In his mind, he questioned why Quark made them stay behind. "Gul Dukat contacted me through subspace," Quark had said, "ordering us to remain here. He needs bartenders."
Rom caught a whiff of the kanar that many officers were requesting and drinking. He had grown to detest the odor of the Cardassian ale, and the sight of it. He tried to ignore the officers nearby, loudly discussing the former occupation of Bajor, how pathetic the Federation was, the Dominion alliance, and the hopes that they would be given orders to attack another Klingon outpost.
Quark was laughing with a few Cardassians who briefly engaged him in their conversations, as they requested kanar or red leaf tea. Rom could tell Quark's laugh was forced, but noticed that his brother put on a convincing show of being their comrade.
He held a tool kit in his right hand. He kept his head down as he walked away from the bar, moving through the crowd and hoping he wouldn't get noticed. A few ideas were forming in his mind, but Leeta was foremost in his thoughts. He knew Dukat had sent ships to search for the Defiant.
Is she alright? Is the Defiant in one piece? Oh... she must be worried sick about me. He thought.
He kept his head down as he moved past Cardassian officers, and Jem'Hadar soldiers on the Promenade, and headed for the corridors to his quarters, trying to be discreet. If he was stopped by anyone and questioned, he could just say he was doing repairs. He memorized this excuse as he passed door after door.
The corridors were mostly empty, but he could hear the occasional conversation or laughter of women in the quarters he passed.
Rom squinted as his eyes tried to adjust to the dim lighting, and he bumped into a wall more than once. It was dimmer than usual, after the harsh lighting on the Promenade. He thought he walked into another wall again, and rubbed his head.
"Hey, watch it, Ferengi!" An officer spat at him.
Rom looked up nervously to see the officer glaring down at him. Blinking rapidly, he saw that the tall, thin Cardassian with a severe, sneering expression looked vaguely familiar. Gul Lemec, if he remembered correctly. Once on board the Enterprise, met Captain Picard before the captain was interrogated.
What is he doing here? Rom wondered.
"Are you just going to stand there all day, gaping at me like an idiot?" Lemec asked coldly, "Explain yourself! Shouldn't you get back to the bar?"
He momentarily forgot what he was going to say, and could only stammer an apology. "Uhh s-sorry, sir. E-exc-cuse m-me..."
Rom moved aside to let him pass, and continued walking. Lemec grabbed his shoulder.
"Where are you headed, and what are you carrying?"
Rom froze, but tried to keep his voice calm. "J-just headed to... my quarters to repair... uhh... the replicator."
"That can wait. Go to the bar where you belong. You're not off duty yet!"
After Lemec finished getting all the answers he wanted out of Rom, he seemed satisfied that the Ferengi was being honest, and went on his way. Rom watched his retreating back, and shuddered with relief.
When he entered his quarters, he shut the door, leaning against it and closing his eyes. The station looked the same as it did before Sisko took command. Harsh lights, almost sweltering heat, guards stationed everywhere. Just thinking about it made him thirsty. Wiping his brow, he headed over to the replicator, setting down the tool kit.
"Computer. A tall glass of cold snail juice, please."
Two affirmative beeps sounded, and his beverage materialized in front of him.
He wanted to get out.
At this point, he was sick of taking orders from Quark. It was time to take matters into his own hands. If he could form a union at the bar, protesting how badly the employees were treated, perhaps he could contact somebody in Starfleet.
Now... He thought, as he took a sip of the thick yellow liquid, how can I send a coded message through subspace?
Rom tried to remember how Miles taught him. He heard officers passing by his quarters outside, and it made him lose focus. He could recall vague details, and setting aside his drink on a table nearby, opened the tool kit and distractedly pressed a few buttons, tweaking a few wires and switching a few computer chips.
The first person he thought of to contact was Miles. He couldn't risk visual or auditory communication, so he hesitantly began to type in a message.
Two negative beeps sounded. An automated female voice spoke: "Unable to comply. Messages through subspace have been blocked by Central Command. Please contact the station supervisor for assistance."
Rom groaned, shaking his head.
He paused.
Maybe someone from Ferenginar? He thought. That might be less suspicious. The Grand Nagus?
After some more tweaking of the computer, he felt confident that this would work.
Rom went over to his bed, and dug under the mattress. He took out a box containing his earnings, and began to count the bars of gold pressed latinum.
"Yes... Fifteen bars and ten strips should do it." He murmured.
With that in mind, he contacted the Nagus, offering his total earnings as a bribe to come rescue them. Now all he had to do was wait.
