Chapter 4: The Greater the Reward


"Grilka?"

She was in the holosuites, in the middle of an intense training program, working off her rage.

The program was unlike any one he'd seen a Klingon use before. There was a ring of familiarity: she was swinging a short sword in one hand, a parrying knife in the other.

But the movements were alien. Grilka whirled and undulated, with fluid strikes and blocks against an imaginary opponent. Play fighting was an enormously important part of Klingon customs, but this was reminiscent of Orion belly-dancing.

The blades arced and cut through the air as if they were alive, not the usual short, heavy bursts of a swung bat'leth. Her power came from her thighs and hips, where the natural strength of her core was, rather than the trained strength from her back and shoulders.

She was equal parts athletic and graceful, her impressive muscles coiling and rippling under soft caramel skin. It was one of the few times she'd pulled her hair back, the rope-like braid slapping against her shoulders with each sweeping motion.

Quark watched in silence, enchanted by her beauty, not realizing he'd been standing there for nearly an hour.

"I'm not familiar with this program."

"It's a traditional Romulan sword dance."

That only raised more questions than it answered.

"Sorry about the dinner party."

She laughed bitterly. "Why? You couldn't have anticipated what meals Kira would serve."

"I know," he reached out and touched her arm, which was damp from sweat, and quickly pulled away to wipe his hand off on her skirt. "Sorry anyway." He paused. "I'm kind of irritated with myself right now, because I actually believed you were over this," he gestured vaguely at the air. "But you've just been letting it brew and keeping a lid on it. Talk to me, Eyebrows. Why now? Why here, when we're off Qo'noS, which is what you wanted?"

She struggled to answer.

"Having to explain to your friends- seeing their well-deserved judgment-"

"Hey now, 'friends' is a strong word."

She gently punched him in the side. "You were right about staying, about what it means for Martok. So I swallowed my despair. The truth of it is, I was never concerned about you coming to Qo'noS. I knew you would behave honorably. Other may have doubted, but I know you too well."

"Oh, well then the joke is on you," he teased.

"I believed no one would be so craven as to attack a Ferengi without just cause. And if they did... I would be there to protect you."

Grilka wasn't stupid... She'd always known this was a possibility. Yet on some level it'd been inconceivable. The attack was a harsh dose of reality. The fact that Quark's 'find a way to make it happen or die trying' could actually end with him dying. The fact that her capabilities as a warrior were meaningless if she wasn't there when she needed to be. The fact that long ago, she'd been so proud of him for facing down a brutal death at D'Ghor's hands, and now the idea something like that happening made her nauseous.

Is this what happened to people in love? They lose their grasp on reality and all perspective?

Quark put on a look of mock offense. "You think I couldn't defend myself?"

"Oh, 'IqnaH QaD." She gave him a pitying look and patted his shoulder.

"'Booger', really? Can't say I'm a fan of that one..."

"Too bad." Grilka paused. "I hate feeling this way."

"Helpless and afraid?"

Her eyes flashed with outrage. "I didn't say afraid." It was clear from her tone that she was. "It's not normal. I hate the idea that you'll die a stupid, pointless death. That it will be on my hands when it happens."

Quark embraced her, flinching slightly at the feel of her now clammy skin. "Grilka, I have complete faith that my death won't be on your hands, it'll be at your hands. I intend to go out like Curzon: Death by jamaharon."

She draped her arms over his shoulders and gave him a questioning look.

"Curzon Dax?"

"The one and only."

"This is not a joke, Grub." She rested her forehead against his, eyes closed.

"Who's joking? Ask Ezri." Then, more seriously, he continued. "Fear is normal, even for Klingons, and you're delusional if you believe otherwise. What makes you think Deep Space Nine is any safer, anyway? I've been shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten, branded like a cattle-"

"What?"

"-falsely imprisoned, kidnapped, exiled and destitute-"

"Enough. I understand."

"Do you, though? You think the Bajorans are more accepting, less prejudiced? At least Klingons look you in the eye when they stab you. Grilka, I've been through the Cardassian occupation and the Dominion occupation. Hell, even your last husband Kozak was trying to kill me when he bit the dust."

"Kozak wouldn't have killed you, regardless how drunk he was," she argued. "He likely would have just taken out a piece of your ear."

"Well there's a comforting thought." He paused. "I'm tougher than I look, you silly female. And if you're this wound up now, how bad is it going to be when we have kids?"

She snorted. "Any child of mine will be born a warrior."

"Yeah, right. Our spawn will be half-Ferengi, so we'll see how that works out for you."

"Half-Ferengi warrior," she insisted, moving her head to the side to playfully bite at his neck. "A bat-leth wielding, blood thirsty, powerful warrior..."

"...cunning, scheming, avaricious..."

"Oh, they will be monsters."

He laughed and kissed her. "You know it."


They were back on Qo'noS for less than a month when Quark got a summons for Ferenginar.

It was strange. Rom had been trying to get his brother to come home- or at least make regular visits- for years. The times Quark were obligated to go, however, were few and far between: Rom's inauguration as Nagus, for one. When Ishka and Zek had moved back from Risa. After Zek's first stroke. The services for his and Grilka's child.

Rom never abused his powers as Nagus to force the issue. Needless to say, Quark was taken aback by the summons... and then elated, as the reality of it sunk in.

"This is a business meeting, not a personal invitation. A. Business. Meeting."

"Oh," his put-upon wife replied, in the most supportive tone she could muster.

"It means I've made it! Grilka, I'm in the big leagues!"

She looked confused. "You're not even running a business right now."

"I still own the bar," he said dismissively. "Even better than that," he grinned triumphantly and tugged on his jacket lapels. "I'm Quark of the House of Grilka, the first and only Ferengi to be a part of a Great House on Qo'noS. Treasurer to the Great Council of the Klingon Empire, the only Ferengi to have a position in the Klingon government. Unofficial ambassador of Ferenginar-"

"Holder of the sacred Chalice of Rixx, and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed," Alexander mocked.

"What are you even doing here?"

"You guys invited me over?" Alex looked slightly bewildered as he dodged the padd Quark chucked at him.

"Tumek, see this uncultured Dopterian out of our house."

"Quark." Grilka's firm tone was a flimsy cover for her obvious amusement.

"Fine, fine. Stay." He wagged a finger at the budding diplomat. "But I don't want any more lip out of you."


He returned to Qo'noS shortly after, with an over-inflated ego, a finally official 'Ambassador' title, and a gift for Grilka that was nearly as tall as he was.

She was impossible to shop for. Sure, she thought flowers were nice enough, and she wore jewelry when the occasion called for it. However, Grilka's tastes were particular and she didn't swoon over these kinds of gifts the way that Quark's old girlfriends had. For a lack of better options, he'd gotten into the unfortunate habit of buying her exotic liqueurs, only because it was something he knew and was comfortable with. It wasn't ideal, though, somehow it felt like he was trying to underhandedly guilt her over leaving the bar behind.

So Quark was quite pleased with himself when he offered her the enormous broadsword.

"It's a traditional Gorn weapon, made of genuine crystal steel by Bolian artisans."

It was very impressive looking. Not just the intimidating size and curve of the blade, but the crystal steel glimmered and flashed with a beautiful iridescence.

Grilka held her hand flat and balanced it on her palm, then gripped the handle and bounced it, before giving it a few trial swings.

"Why would Bolians make a Gorn blade?"

"What?"

She gave him a look that was a mix of amusement and pity. "I think you've been had, Grub."

"What?"

"It's very lovely, but it's also useless. The balance is all wrong- and that's coming from a bat'leth wielding Klingon."

He understood the reference- he'd lost count of how many times had she explained why the bat'leth was an intentionally imbalanced blade: how it forced the user to build on their skills and to develop their body, instead of relying on the simplicity of their weapon. How its awkwardness helped even the playing field, so that innately talented swordsmen were forced to compensate as much as someone without aptitude.

She saw how defeated he was and leaned forward to kiss him. "It was very thoughtful of you, though, and I will treasure it always. It will go in a prominent place in the weapons-room-"

"Better not," he replied. "I won't be offended if you stuff it in storage, but if you really want to display it, put it in the bedroom or something. Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it from Worf."

"You have a point," she agreed. "Even if this sword does not."

He rolled his eyes.

She gave the sword another playful swing- it was a terrible blade- and gave him a questioning look. "Now that your back from 'business', how would you feel about taking a 'holiday'?"


Captain Nemaira'd had some strange requests over the years, and most of them had to do with the supply line to the former prison camp on Carraya IV. This, without a doubt, was the strangest by far.

"Tokath!" she greeted the former general.

"Nemaira," he replied with a nod. "I shall have my men begin unloading in..." he paused, catching the look in Nemaira's eyes. "What is it?"

The younger Romulan shifted uncomfortably, glancing around at the small colony.

During the on-again, off-again alliance with the Federation, it had been formally abandoned as a prison. The population had shifted when nearly a quarter of their young adults left with the Klingon warrior Worf; and there'd been a second shift when it was liberated. The Romulans who stayed did so as civilians, not guards. This, perhaps, had a greater impact than anything else. Both Romulans and Klingons were true equals, and though it was no small feat, they'd been able to finally move past the lingering resentment of where they'd begun.

This latest turn meant another upheaval, and Nemaira was reluctant to be the bearer of potentially bad news. She liked the colony, and was proud of what they'd accomplished here on Carraya IV.

"L'urow and Toq have returned," she said finally. "And... they have brought visitors."

"Visitors?"

"It is a Klingon woman and... a Ferengi."

Bewildered, Tokath was momentarily at a loss for words. "Visitors?" he echoed. "One is a Ferengi?"

"Perhaps if you brought L'Kor and Gi'ral to the supply ship," she suggested.

"Yes, of course."

It didn't take him long to round them up, along with Ba'ktor, Tativa, and a few other of the original settlers. Toq and L'urow met them outside the supply ship's runabout, and emotions were high as they tearfully reunited with their parents.

"My son!" Ba'ktor cried. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I'm just here to visit," Toq replied. "Now that the colony's free, and, well... I'll let Grilka explain..."

"I'm back," L'urow wheezed as she gasped for air, affectionately crushed in her mothers bear-hug. "Qo'noS was- something. But this is my home."

"L'urow!" Tativa started to weep. "Oh how we've missed you!"

"It is good to have you back," Tokath agreed. "Even if it's only temporary." He looked up at the doorway to the runabout. "I see you've brought company."

Grilka gathered herself before stepping out- it was strange to be traveling without her entourage. Quark hesitated, then followed.

"Grilka, daughter of Hakor, of the House of Grilka," she introduced herself.

"Welcome to Carraya IV."

"You must be Tokath. I am here on behalf of Worf, son of Mogh. I've given him my word to keep this colony secret," she reassured them. Then she glanced back at Quark, before grabbing his jacket lapel and pulling him forward.

"Quark, son of Keldar, also of the House of Grilka. I gave my word too," he coughed, "under duress."

"This idiot is my husband," she explained.

Tokath's eyebrows were raised so high they disappeared under his bangs. For as much bad blood as there'd been between Romulan and Klingon, the two cultures had much in common. The couples that formed on the Carraya colony were natural compared to the pair standing before them.

"It seems obvious why Worf chose to send you. I take it this is not simply a social visit."

"Sure it is," Quark joked. "We're wayfarers looking to rough it out on obscure back-woods planets. We just happened to run into these guys while we hitchhiked across the galaxy."

Tokath and the older Klingons looked confused, and Grilka drove her elbow into Quark's side.

"He's being facetious."


"Chancellor Martok has been rolling out reforms that will prevent discommendation from effecting the entire family. The downside is that this means less social pressure to abstain from dishonorable conduct," Grilka explained. "That said, we feel the positives outweigh the negatives."

"You can go home, or to Romulus, or the Federation- if you want- and your families won't be punished," Quark pointed out the obvious.

"You've made a beautiful home for yourselves on Carraya IV. It's... even better than what Worf described. It is a shining testament to inter-species peace and cooperation. We completely understand if you choose to keep it hidden as you have."

"Things have improved since Worf left," Tokath admitted. "We are a true colony now, not a prison."

"If you wanted," Quark added, "you could open the colony up to other weirdos and misfits."

This earned him some questioning looks.

"Mixed families such as yourselves, or those who simply believe in the cause." Grilka paused. "Obviously we don't expect an answer now. We'll keep an open line of communication with Captain Nemaira. Likewise, any of your children who should choose to leave are welcome, now and in the future. We will see to it they get the needed identities and cover story."

Tokath exchanged glances with his wife Gi'ral.

Open the colony up to others?

The idea was so bizarre, so foreign, it was difficult to wrap their minds around.

All the same, there was something about it that rang true.


Quark nudged her sharply. "Worf's sure got a type, doesn't he?" He whispered, and wisely followed up with: "Of course, you're much more beautiful than her."

"You wished to speak with me?"

Grilka smiled warmly as she placed a hand on Ba'el's shoulder. "Ba'el. I am Grilka, daughter-"

"I know who you are. What is it you want?"

For a half-second Grilka looked irritated at Ba'el's testiness.

"Worf asked me to speak to you personally. He wanted to show you that there is a place on Qo'noS for you and yours. Although not everyone will be welcoming... there are those of us who would be glad to have you, and to offer you support."

A dark look flashed in Ba'el's eyes.

"It's been ten years. Does Worf really think I've been sitting around all this time, keeping my life on hold, hoping he'll come back to rescue me from some Romulan prison?"

"Not at all," Quark said. "We're here with an opportunity. It's up to you and the others to decide if it's a wise investment- or not."

Ba'el broke away from Grilka, and paced across the room.

"I want to leave," she said finally. "But it's not that simple. I'm married- it was a marriage of convenience. Shodok will want to stay... and he'll want our children to stay. Khal and Ashar are old enough to choose for themselves, but the baby..." she drifted off, lost in thought.

"Whatever you decide," Grilka said, "you and your family are welcome to join the House of Grilka on Qo'noS."

"I... thank you. It's a very generous offer." Ba'el paused for a moment. "Not to sound ungrateful, but why?"

It was strangely difficult to put into words. Of course, Worf had asked Grilka as much- which was a rather presumptuous of him- but ultimately the decision was hers.

Grilka had been so sure of her course, only to have found herself thrown into turmoil, and self-doubt, and if she was being really honest, fear. Being afraid to stay on Qo'noS, feeling unwelcome on her home planet... with everything else going on, she'd pushed that part of it to the back her mind, focusing on the more pressing issues.

Time and friendship had relieved the uneasy sense of alienation, and she would always hold Qo'noS dear in her heart, but there was a small lingering doubt that simply hadn't existed before.

The way that Worf, and even Toq, had spoken about Ba'el... how her desire to embrace the Klingon lifestyle was smothered by anxiety over being spurned, of being unwelcome... well, that had struck a chord.

"So you can have a little distance from all the boar targs over in House Martok," Quark said, teasing.

Grilka shook her head. "I would not be where I am today without advocates such as Chancellor Martok himself. It is my hope to become the stronghold that others have been for me. The House of Grilka is a lesser House, so while I cannot open its doors to all... your situation was particularly relatable."

Ba'el looked like she was about to respond, but was cut off by Quark's mock protest.

"Wait, when did you decide all that? Don't I get any say in who gets invited?"

"No."


Quark spent most of the night tossing and turning and huffing and sighing and generally making a nuisance of himself. As a Klingon, Grilka would've been just as content sleeping on the hard ground. She didn't care that the bed was uncomfortable, but her husband's constant fidgeting was keeping her up.

"Would you lie still," she said dryly.

"No," he fussed.

Then he sat up.

"I can't sleep. Let's violate this horrible bed."

Grilka sighed. "This place is crawling with half-breed children. I have little doubt this bed has already been violated many times."

"Well yes, but not with Ferengi-grade levels of depravity." He grinned playfully. "We could work on our own little half-breeds..."

He was kidding, of course, but she sat up and gave him a focused look.

"Actually, I've been thinking about getting the hormonal pre-treatments and genetic re-sequencing on my eggs..."

His face fell, because nothing quite killed the mood like a serious medical discussion about fertility issues. Still, they both knew this conversation was a long time coming. He scooted over closer to her.

"Are you sure you're ready? We've only been married for a little over a year..." It was hard to believe it'd been that long already, actually.

"We've been together for six years," she replied. Which was technically true, even if their relationship hadn't been that straight-forward. "Besides, your younger brother already has a grown son. Don't you want your own to inherit your business and assets? You could die at any moment and if Ufthak had killed you, everything would have gone to junior Lieutenant Nog-"

"You know you can call him just 'Nog', right?"

"Everything would've gone to Just Nog."

"Very funny. You could die at any moment, too. How about that?"

"Unlikely."

She had him there.

"If you truly are not ready," Grilka continued, "then I will not press."

"No, it's... fine. I mean, you let me know what your expectations were going into this." Quark hesitated for a moment. "Children as some nebulous future concept is a lot easier than children as a concrete action plan. Rom was the family one, not me, and there's this feeling of 'hey, you're settled and in a rut, might as well produce some spawn'..."

She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Here I thought I was your escape from a rut. Marry a wild tigress, run off to a planet of barbarians, help me destroy the Empire from within through miscegenation."

"Divine Treasury," he laughed. "What's the last part from, Sirella?"

"Who else?" She paused. "We don't have to go back to Qo'noS if you don't want to. Enough time has passed that no one would view it as 'running away'. We don't have to go to Deep Space Nine, or Ferenginar, for that matter. We can live anywhere we pleased."

"Like Risa."

"Ha. More like Carraya IV."

"No offense to the lovely people of this colony," he replied, "but there's no way I'd live on this backwards technologically deficient hole."

She laughed, but Quark fell into a silent reverie after that, mind drifting as a slow dawning realization came over him.

He'd lived on Deep Space Nine for so long, he was sure that that he'd never, ever feel at home anywhere else. But when Grilka talked about leaving Qo'noS, with the dry hot air, its hideous architecture, its sharp angles and harsh surfaces and gray, drab, concrete-and-steel aesthetic...

With Chancellor Martok and the Great Council, Lady Sirella, Worf, Alexander, and Toq, and Tumek, and Vimoc, and...

Alex's terrible impersonations, and long nights getting drunk off of skunky bloodwine with friends, and trying to teach Klingons Tongo...

The latest batch of young hybrid Klingons who'd be looking for support from that first generation who'd kicked the doors down...

And knew that somehow, somehow... Qo'noS managed to firmly lodge itself in that part of his brain where Deep Space Nine had resided for so long.

"Quark?"

He kissed her wrinkly forehead. "Brows, I'll go wherever you want. But if you ask me, I don't want to leave our home."

"House Grilka," she said, nuzzling him.

"House Grilka," he agreed. And then: "You know, they still don't have any bars in Terra Town? A Federation-style venue would easily become the social hub for all those expats... I mean, when you think about it, it's just good business..."


They took the runabout back to the supply ship the following morning, along with five of the Carrayans, including Ba'el, with a gurgling infant in her arms and middle child Ashar at her side.

"Welcome to the club, Mak'dars," Quark had greeted them, much to Grilka's chagrin.

On the flight home, he kept trying to bet against her as to whether or not Worf would pursue Ba'el even with the children. Which was ridiculous, because they both knew Worf was going to try at least. Failing that, he started pressing her for odds that Worf would succeed.


"DEATH BY JAMAHARON!"

Quark managed to get halfway out of his coat when Grilka collided into him, grabbing and forcing him into a slightly painful arm-lock. Telling her about Curzon's final moments had been a mistake, it was now her favorite battle-cry.

"Whoa! Wait-!" He protested as she started pushing him towards the courtyard.

"What is it?"

"They'll be able to see us from the upper suites!"

She grinned wickedly. "They'll only look once, Booger."

"Damn it, woman, I told you to stop calling me that..."

Then they were out the door. She released the arm-lock only to shove and pin him to the ground, destroying another jacket.