Chapter Two
Home is where the Heart is…
The décor was a little different. A snappy alien song was playing with a vibe comparable to electro swing. Laughing, talking… stalking. The ringing of the slots and the swings and the shouts from the dabo table was accompanied by the sounds of tinkling exchanges. The white-noise humming of the station acted as a binder that mulled the sounds of everything else into the same stew. The smell of alcohol and freshly grilled grub (and other proteins too) — Oh and there was also some strong syrupy sugary smell in the air too— consumed most of the rather misty chamber with its atmospheric lighting like one was in a half-dream. In some spots this lighting had been timed to dance about to the music, though not enough to distract anyone from their money-spending.
Bashir knew the place as it flashed as clearly as though he was present and standing there. He almost thought he was, when he was conscious of himself at all.
Though, it would not have taken an otherworldly experience to recreate Quark's Bar in any sort of dream... or awkward nightmare. Very few parts of the station could be forgotten for anyone during those pivotal seven years. Though, he could tell even from the flash, that outside the bar things were a bit different than when Star Fleet had been overseer anyway.
To be expected, of course, but this was all backdrop.
Within a few seconds the focus was definitely on the bar's proprietor looking about the same as ever and laughing loudly at some dry joke made by one of his regulars, but out of the corner of his eye and at least half his hearing he was keeping close tabs on the strangers at the door talking to Broik.
The tones called for business and not drink. Though, anyone that wanted to do business without a drink was of interest. They were the sort of patrons that either meant something really profitable or really unprofitable— perhaps even dangerous.
Sisko may have always had a warning for him like a crabby mother ready to pull you by the lobe, but he usually had something more important on his plate than babysitting the local Ferengi. These days, Kira was quite true to her word about keeping closer tabs on Quark and whenever his business had more about it than an overpricing of a bad drink he was trying to get rid of by claiming it was good for your health and an acquired taste to appreciate for the sophisticated. In fact, it was Quark's opinion, which had apparently been said at some point out loud to somebody that Bashir was not quite aware of as it echoed from a further past, that her instincts about him could almost rival Odo's. Almost. Then again, she had that feminine way of multitasking and having more eyes than you could actually see even when fully visible standing before you.
At present, Quark waited patiently, expectantly, and most pleasantly for things to get going.
Like a cat pretending to be lazy in the presence of a mouse, may have looked more interested the conversations in front of him, but almost all focus was on the new customers. Broik began to sound uncomfortable in front of these softly-spoken guests. Quark's haunches prepared for just the right moment to pounce and show his teeth, which spread out into his best and most welcoming grin.
There was something about the customers themselves, though, that did not visually seem right to Bashir. Quark did not seem to see it, and it had nothing to do with the somewhat nearsightedness of Ferengi. He was fully filling in the distance between them now. The aura seemed to be a sixth sense warning that only Bashir was aware of. Or was it something else he was not remembering? It was more like the warning of a half recalled traumatic experience of childhood that could not quite be made out.
#
That was only from the back of the head Bashir was looking at. Pelipa returned to him as the head turned and the distinctly feminine Ferengi looked at him warily before turning around trying to ignore him as she began to scurry away.
Maeeshpela…
#
From the nearly old-western feeling of Pelipa, there was a suction sensation into a place of choking mists and echoing warbles. Chirps, croaks, and the occasional watery gulps of unseen animals echoed eerily amidst the sounds of the hum of musical machinery and artificial beeps and whistles of various origins that were easy on the ear, a symphony of sound.
Mud and muck was a constant danger off the covered paths, though these had often steep tolls to use outside of one's own covered-
walk to one's own house. Undefined banks, however, could easily be slipped into by a misstep if you didn't know the way well. Hover-barges could be hired to cross, and it was usually more expensive to use these than pay the toll to use your own craft.
At the edge of a curve in the slow-moving, grimy river, more of the road than the ground-made paths, one house in particular became dominant on the ride, though there was nothing too distinct about its appearance. It was much like the other homes in this stretch, though smaller than some. Dome-shaped and well-lodged like a beaver's home on land, for privacy and the limit the amount of pelting rain, it was completely sheltered beneath a canopy of massive, well-cultivated and deeply rooted trees like weeping willows but with stringier leaves and reddish-orange lines distinctly going through the middle and trunks with a crosshatching bark. They looked almost like something that might grow out of the ocean rather than on land— even land so wet as this. A low courtyard wall clearly designated the property line right out to the bayou gate where some aquatics were the property of the house owner.
Inside the house itself in the mists of early morning everything was quite cozy, quiet, and peaceful. The smell of sweet smelling spice and the faint scent of smoky incense filled it to calm the senses more. The floor was decorated with an assortment of intricately designed carpets and tiles, many of Hupyrian design. There were very few windows, but those that were present were deeply set so that one could sit in the sill if one wished. They were always rounded and pleasant with drapes and shades of various levels of privacy or desired natural lighting on top of the computer screen's ability to dim the windows whenever voice-activated. They were dimmed now in the very-filled burrow of a home.
The eyes could glean the treasures all about lit up in the soft pinkish atmospheric glow of the spotlight-like lights. Pedestals held each special treasure in turn under a clear but secure cover. Some were obviously rare and others seemed to be more of personal value, but all were on display in every corner one's eye ventured. No direction was boring. It might have been considered crammed, but everything was organized so perfectly that there was little room for claustrophobia. It was reminiscent of a curiosity shop with always some new surprise to be seen, smelled, or heard. Some things were distinctly Human in origin such as an archaic jeweled monkey mask, and an ancient memorabilia music box that played "Hotel California".
A fake fireplace was lit in one little room with no windows at all, except for one small and very deeply-set skylight which looked up out to the branches of long sweeping bows wilder than those surrounding the property line. The bark was nearly red between the yellowish foliage that sprung more flowery than most flowers.
"Maeeshpela," said the thick voice of the father.
Gleb was his name and he leaned proudly and quite lovingly over his infant child in the silhouette of the fireplace. It sounded soft and slow like "Mah-ee-shpel-LA", and he spoke it as solemnly as a prayer. When he had finished with a brief pause as for some kind of dramatic effect, he looked up and grinned goofily in contrast.
Foraneel, the mother, was holding the infant, and had looked very tired and content until she looked up suddenly in confusion at her husband's word fully registering in her mind.
"Treasure from Pela's Wood," was what the name conveyed in a sort of rough English translation. Anything to do with gain or profit in any way was usually far more complicated than any language on Earth could rightly express without at least a page or two of cliff-noted explanation. Besides, as usual with names, especially female names, the words were contracted, rearranged, and flourished a bit like the careful interior design of a room or any sort of arrangement of pretty things to look its best, but it was not the arrangement which puckered Foraneel's brow under that thick Ferengi brow ridge.
"What?" she asked in alarm.
Gleb shrugged.
"Maeeshpela," he said again but far more playfully.
"That's a bit unorthodox to advertise your father-in-law's establishment with your daughter's name," Foraneel sounded deeply concerned. "I thought we'd decided on my mother's name."
Gleb shook his head with distaste. "'One who bashfully bashes her lashes'?"
"I don't know; my father liked it. He only chose my mother originally by the name," said Foraneel.
But Pela was there to ask before long as he was over to see for himself the new creature brought forth from his own blood. He was shorter than most Ferengi, but with a stocky set of shoulders and a thick pair of legs to match, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man twice his size. His coat was a beautiful thing to look at with reds, greens, and oranges like something made for
autumn.
As Gleb announced the new name to his father-in-law at the kitchen table, Pela looked at him with about as much confusion as Foraneel had at first given. He shook his head.
"In honor of you, sir!" Gleb insisted.
"Late fees are late fees, you know," sniffed Pela after taking a moment to drink long and deeply from the bayou's traditional drink, Baibai beer. The quietude of the room was pervaded ominously by those bayou sounds echoing out the window in its odd symphony of nature and machine.
"But an advertisement lives as long as it's up," insisted Gleb in his slow, patient manner, despite his silly grin.
Pela made a face as deep as the dining window ledge, now with shades up in front of the table they were seated at. He studied the strange shrewdness glinting behind Gleb's lazy eyes. Pela rolled his and huffed. Then he laughed. It was a rather sinister sound. He shook his head with utter disgust, and he set his teeth dangerously as he smiled back at Gleb with the pleasantness of a piranha.
"I like you Gleb, but not that much."
"I'll have thirty percent extra next time."
Pela rolled his eyes. "Only this once. It affords amusement more than anything."
Gleb did not show obvious relief, though there was a certain tenseness that left the room. It was more Pela than Gleb, interestingly. Gleb knew Pela well enough that despite talk, which was cheap as ever a Ferengi knew, Pela was secretly as gentle a soul with family matters as he was ruthless with his woods, which were far more than woods.
Pela's Woods was a great enterprise, which only began with his inherited swampy woodland grove. True he sold his trees: bark, berry, root, and flower and on several off-world locations, but it had been the beginning of an entire off-planet spa and medicinal vacation destination with every luxury the wealthy could spend. From seeds that would not reproduce more seeds so that customers were forced to buy them ever from him, to the root teas that could only be bought after a membership in the spa waters.
"It's good to be from the Bayou," Pela warned.
This was a common, though often not explained, saying among the people here, which held reverence almost as much as a Rule of Acquisition. Pela was not unusual for his sort. Gleb had counted on this. It had the general feel of being a phrase which meant that the people from the Bayou understood one another. In this case, it seemed to mean, only a complete fiend would purposely separate a family, especially with three thriving children in it.
"'Talk is cheap, but advertising is everything,'" Gleb added for extra measure a highly valued Rule of Acquisition.
"I prefer the older transcription," said Pela with a sniff. "'Talk is cheap unless it's advertising.' This 'everything' nonsense in modern transcription confuses things for some people, you know, but as for you. Make something of yourself for next time I see you, and I'll forget the lateness. You're unfocused is your problem. You're everywhere at once like some fly at a banquet that can't decide which platter to stay on. Wait till someone swats you for being such a nuisance."
"I understand, Pela," said Gleb, bowing his head with deep humility; though there was still a touch of humor in the gesture, which was not lost about Pela.
He was smiling despite himself too.
"And give me one of these bottles from your pantry," he added holding up the bottle on the table now.
"Of course, Pela!" Gleb readily agreed.
#
The background electro-swing sound suddenly blared quite loudly in contrast to that quiet bayou. The hum of the station was even starker in its dryness from the deeply moist nature of that little house.
With smiles from earslit to earslit, the newcomers bowed to Quark whose own smile cocked just a little from it. He was also not one hundred percent impressed. He seemed more pleased and amused by the fact that he could look down on them, which was rare for a Ferengi.
The newcomers were short enough to be children to the eyes of most races. There were six of them as blue-skinned as Andorians, but the comparison ended there. Their faces were nearly cherubic, except that their large irises were poppy red. Their hair, which only grew out of the very centers of their heads was of a yellowish hue and was held into a further topknot by long hair-band coils. Their teeth were sharper and longer than Ferengi teeth. Their hands were very long and slender with just a touch of webbing between the delicate fingers. They dressed uniformly in shimmering gold and silver loose-fitted jumpsuits with long capes hanging down their backs. The four in the back were dressed just like the ones in the front, but these were obviously subordinates as they were carrying the luggage. They bowed deeper than their superiors in the front in a well-timed wave motion.
The thing that confused Quark just a little was that he could not tell no matter how hard he listened whether they were male or female. He was sure they were not asexual, because some did sound different from others, but he could not decide which was which. Their voices did not help either.
"Master Quark," said the one on the left in front as softly spoken as ever with his tooth-concealing smile. "I come on behalf of the Keeoopii. My name is Aavara, and I am honored."
Quark could not help but stifle a chuckle in his surprise. "To what do I owe the honor?" he asked gentlemanly. "What can I do for you and the Keeoopii?"
"We have brought enough latinum to secure our needs and your people's, fear you not," said Aavara as though it explained just about everything.
"Uh, Okay. Yes. Have a drink, sit down. We'll discuss this further."
Broik withdrew from the scene; though he watched with curiosity despite himself. He was always less pushy about his curiosity than Rom had been, which was what Quark liked about him, but before he left completely, Aavara said, "He may like to hear our proposal as well."
Since Quark did not know these customers at all, he wasted no time agreeing for now, and Broik tried not to look too surprised. Seamlessly, Quark left one of his non-Ferengi workers to hold the bar while he went to do quieter business, and Broik followed rather sheepishly to an out-of-the-way table in a dark corner.
"So is the situation of a delicate nature?" Quark asked these smiling faces quite unchanged from when they had first entered.
"We are out for nothing that would be considered by anyone to be illegal."
"Illegal?" said Quark and laughed. "Who said we were going to do anything illegal? This is one hundred percent an honest business I'm running.
"We meant no disrespect to your honor, Master Quark," said Aavara.
"'Master Quark,'" Quark could not help but repeat with amusement.
"You are the brother of the Grand Nagus Rom recently succeeding Grand Nagus Zek?"
The first of disappointment clouded Quark's brow, but he managed to keep his grin.
"That I am," he said proudly.
"We understand that family ties are still a valued commodity among the Ferengi."
"They can be," said Quark.
"We thought it best as you are an unofficial ambassador at the gates of the wormhole to speak through you first to gain audience to the Grand Nagus himself."
"Well…I'm in no real position to cut through all the paperwork and time required to see someone as important and busy as the
Grand Nagus," teased Quark just to see how they would respond.
"Oh, but we will be using the appropriate amount of bribing in order to secure our needs," insisted Aavara. "We come in hopes for an important trade arrangement with a people whom we have come to know as kindred spirits, though we have never officially met. A people whose very veins pulse as ours. Who understand the meaning of wealth and the power of agreements and of fine print. Those who understand the untarnishing nature of latinum in all its forms. The belief that the passing of goods is as the passing of the veins of the universe as our own within our bodies and souls."
"Well, then you're a trader after my own beating heart," shrugged Quark; though they might have stopped after their first sentence of explanation without getting too deeply personal or philosophical about it.
Turning to Broik, he said, "Get the best here for my kindred spirit Aavara and the fellow Keeoopii."
Broik immediately obeyed.
"We believe we have something unique to share with all of the quadrant and beyond from our goods," said Aavara. "Our mining industry is the biggest of our contributions on the thirteen moons of Keeoopi, each with its own unique quality. Efficient power, soothing oils. Some sensationalism we had long ago separated from ill effects of long term usage of which we have full medical proof, except for perhaps just a little of the addictive qualities, which I'm sure the great Master Quark would appreciate, but we need the advertisement, you see, that the Ferengi would offer us. We believe the maxim used by the Ferengi culture is, 'Talk is cheap, but advertising is everything.' Rule of Acquisition Number 63."