It was raining on Ferenginar. It was always raining on Ferenginar. It had been so long since Vob had visited the homeworld he hadn't forgotten the slang term for this particular type of rain, but as the transporter mist disappeared from around him and he became aware of his surroundings again, he did spare a thought to why... with all their wealth the Ferengi Alliance hadn't bought into a nice weather control system?
"Cheaper to vacation on Risa," said his travelling companion, as if reading his thoughts.
"Huh?" Vob posed, challenging his companion to prove he hadn't read his thoughts.
"Sorry, thinking out loud. I was wondering why someone hadn't invented a weather control system by now. I mean, the rain was a problem when I left."
"Invent?" came a third voice. It belonged to Vob's wealthy father; Venrix.
"This boy might have a hope yet," Venrix continued his voice devolving into a Zek-esque snigger of laughter.
"Who is it you bring to see me Son?" he almost spat the word; son. It was first time he'd seen his son since disowning him over the med-school fiasco.
"Father," Vob intercepted the conversation, not wanting to tread over old ground. "I think this is someone you'd like to meet."
"Oh?" Venrix asked, walking up to the equally short newcomer and staring him in the eyes.
"What could this young boy possibly bring to the largest, most profitable, most successful historological enterprise on Ferengi?"
"Father," Vob was smiling now; "This is Six - He... he's about six hundred years old."