Chapter Ten

Small-Town Charm

"Okay, so first thing, we have to get to the capital," said Pel as they reached the opening covered walkway into town.

They were already getting weird stares from popping out of the woodland swamp, anyway, all sopping wet and smelling like unprocessed kruniown. Kruniown itself could be fermented and pickled in a manner that smelled and tasted delicious to those who acquired the taste for it, but fresh from the patch, it was downright raunchy, but regardless of that, the lone Human with the group would have been enough to arouse attention in a small backwater place like this.

Quark could already hear the sound of scampering children feet to go report to their fathers the sudden appearance of these strangers in case it would profit them in some fashion. He was not sure whether he was annoyed or charmed by the presence of such normalcy, but either way they could not stick around long and give those fathers something to profit from.

"No, first we have to get cleaned up enough not to have to pay a cleaning fee on a transport," Quark said.

"And a bath will be cheaper?" asked Bashir with a raised row.

"Yes," said the Ferengi trio not entirely in unison, but entirely in sync in their resolve about it.

"Except it's really going to be more of a Laundromat than a bathhouse."

"You bathe at the Laundromat?" asked Bashir.

"You can clean your whole self with the clothes on you at the entrance if you want," Quark explained, "as long as you pay for it at the door. Oh, yeah, which reminds me, I'm not paying for anyone who doesn't have any money."

This meant Bashir, of course.

"Well, I'm probably going to have to pay for the ship," said Pel.

"I won't," said Broik.

"Actually," said Quark. "You will, because, you're the one who crashed the ship, and it's your fault that we're here instead of at least landing at the capital where we can speak with the Grand Nagus about all this. Not to mention taking the doctor away from all his medical supplies, which would have been really helpful, if I'm not mistaken, in helping us against a brain parasite."

Broik tried to protest.

"I suppose, I could just go around as I am without relying upon Ferengi charity," Bashir remarked.

"Unless," Pel cut in, "we count the fact that he is giving his services as doctor. 'You can't make a deal if you're dead.' Or controlled by a parasite for that matter."

"Can't argue with that," said Quark.

"Then we should all pitch in together," Pel insisted.

"Pooling— so Pelipan," said Quark.

Broik's jump of surprise stopped another argument. Quark could not say he was not grateful.

"Good, it survived the swim," said Bashir; he had just been examining Broik behind the ear, which had given him his start.

"What?" asked Broik.

Quark nodded. "The device that keeps the parasite under control," he said, suddenly feeling less cheeky.

Then he sighed. "Aright, Pel, you win. We pool in on this, but only if Bashir promises that we'll be reimbursed for our troubles by Starfleet."

"I can't promise that," said Bashir.

"Nonsense, just sign here, and we'll call it a deal," said Quark holding out his digital wallet for Bashir to sign his thumbprint on the touch screen.

"I don't know if it's such a good idea to give any kind of transaction of that kind," said Pel.

"Why not?"

"Because all transactions are monitored now for safety, and if they're on the lookout for us," said Pel motioning to Broik. "I'm sure making an agreement with Starfleet would make them suspicious."

Quark paused and glared at Pel. She was right. He was thinking too old-school. On his behalf, old-school was not so very long ago on Ferenginar, but as he mulled over this, another far more familiar sound suddenly came into hearing of a boy scampering up rather than away from them.

"Excuse me, Sir," he said all politeness and cheeriness, but Quark saw right through him and his gratifying lust for latinum. "For only a sliver, I could tell you the best place in town to get cleaned up after a bad accident."

Quark smiled at the little boy offering to tell them what the place was. They would have had to pay more than one sliver to have gotten where the place. And a few more to be on good terms with the proprietor, and perhaps a few slivers more to keep his mouth shut about the Starfleet officer. After all, Quark saw quite well enough to see that the boy's eyes caught quickly with recognition the Starfleet uniform and badge. But he was still too young and naïve and from such a remote town to get very far with an act like this.

"How 'bout for five slivers, you forget you saw us or the deal's void; and you point us in the right direction or we may just take our business elsewhere?" Quark said gently.

The boy frowned to think it over, but then smiled again and nodded, "Eight slivers."

"Six."

"Seven."

"Done."

The boy pointed down a side turn. Broik took the initiative after Quark's nod to see if the boy was telling the truth. When Broik nodded back, Quark patted the boy's head and gave him his pay.

"And don't tell a soul where you got that money, you hear?"

"Yes, Sir."

When the boy was out of hearing, Pel raised a brow to Quark and smiled.

"What?" he demanded. "We have enough scamps reporting us already. Besides, we gotta get cleaned up and get Bashir out of uniform ASAP."

Pel was still smiling, but she looked away as they began their trek to the Laundromat.

"There was no good deed in that action," Quark said as they took up the rear this time. "I know that female look. You've spent too much time on Pelipa."

"No, you've spent too much time with Bajorans," Pel teased.

Quark rolled his eyes. "Oh, so you think I'm not Ferengi enough?"

Broik and Bashir exchanged glances in silence.

Pel laughed. "No. Of course not. Besides, 'Deep down everyone's a Ferengi.' All I'm saying is, he'll probably tell someone anyway."

"Not right away. He's gotta run home and hide his latinum first, and we'll've cleared town by then," Quark remarked with a sniff. "He's the only one who got a clear look at what Bashir's wearing, and he's the only one we have to worry about.

"Ah…!" he digressed. "I can tell already this place has that small town charm. You can just hear the old fashioned work ethics. Even the window signs competing vigorously, neighbor against neighbor. Using their boys to spy on what the other locals are doing. I remember those days with relish. All the latinum and double than some kids with a brother like mine. Thank the Blessed Exchequer for independent backwater."

Bashir shook his head with a slight smile.

"What, you don't like that?" Quark teased. "This is no Federation Planet. Not yet. They can't control everything yet."

"I didn't say anything," Bashir replied.

"You were thinking it," Quark laughed.

When they reached the Laundromat, first thing was first, Broik had to pay for Bashir, which he silently but begrudgingly did.

#

Broik also had to pay for the biggest used coat and a pair of boots available in the "lost and found". This was not against Rule of Acquisition Number 1, but was, more a little corner where junk was sold that people left behind. If the item happened to belong to you before you lost it, you had to pay for it anyway. Though, from what Bashir could see, there was very little worth anything, and he would not have been surprised if some people left their junk there on purpose if they felt it unprofitable.

There was barely a pair of boots that fit him, and even then, as a Ferengi boot, the shape of the foot was vastly different. He would have a limp before long if they didn't reach someplace where he could simply replicate a pair. Apparently towns with backwater charm didn't have much for replicators for commercial use that weren't extremely expensive. And as for his new used coat… if it was not for the fact that it was clean, Bashir would not even have wanted to touch it as Broik threw it at him begrudgingly.

Bashir had already removed his badge, but he was still trying to look inconspicuous. The old man who owned the Laundromat looked at least half blind (and half asleep), but it was difficult to tell with Ferengi, sometimes. Besides, there were one or two children running around as well. One was the little girl who assured him with a pleasant smile that the coat was exceedingly.

"Moogie and me washed everything to make sure everything's salable," she said proudly throwing her hands behind her back.

He looked too young to be speaking the word 'salable', but then she was a Ferengi child.

Bashir tried not to stare. At least his flash was only minor.

#

"I think school should only be half day for a child so small," the girl's mother said amidst the distortion of the events of daily tasks around her father-in-law's Laundromat; he apparently truly was partly blind, but his sense of hearing was keener than usual.

The girl's mother was what was now termed "a food chewer". Instead of a mother who ground up her baby's food in a blender with a saliva substitute or worked something out with a replicator, she insisted upon the old way. It was healthier for a growing child, she felt, as a mother's saliva changed specifically for this purpose during and after pregnancy for as long as the child needed before it ran dry. Anyone, especially women, who were not in favor of the belief, resorted to the derogatory term, which extended also to any woman who did not like all or even part of the "New Course" and preferred subservience and raising children over earning profit the same way as their husbands.

"It's safe enough," said the girl's father. "And Kroit will be with her."

Kroit was the older cousin running around the Laundromat and apparently also helped with a delivery service of bringing clothes to people's houses if they paid extra for it.

"Not during classes," the mother said. "And it's almost impossible to get her into her clothes."

"You wear a dress," the father protested. "If it's better for the community, it's better for us."

"Yes, husband."

"It is for you, after all, that these changes were done…" remarked the grandfather rudely.

The mother gave a pout.

"Oh hush up, Iroi," tutted an old lady, evidently his wife and the old grandmother. "Let her alone. It was done for us, and now we're all the same. You're young enough, don't take guff from the likes of him. Go work at the school like your little heart desires."

"I don't want to be the same. There's a difference between 'equal' and the 'same'. We're not the same, and I don't want to work at the school," whined the mother. "I want to be with my baby! I don't want my daughter to grow up with other people raising her."

"Poor dear," sighed the grandmother. "It's not like anyone's going to brainwash her."

The grandfather shook his head with a sniff. "The teachers are all from the capital. They never knew what hard work was there. What makes it any different now with their mighty crusade to 'save us from ourselves'? It's not like the good old soliciting days. They want your profits, your wives, and your children. Your own soul, y'know. Keeping everyone out of the Divine Treasury except themselves."

"Who believes in the Divine Treasury, anymore, anyway?" the grandmother wanted to know. "If there is an afterlife, which I'm sure there is, it not about paying with money you can't take with you, anyway."

"This isn't about money, this is about Balidela," said the mother earnestly.

"Whatever happened to minding one's own business?" the grandfather muttered.

The father sighed audibly. "It's still another year away, maybe something different will happen. Maybe she can still be taught at home."

"In the 'old' days, female children weren't supposed to be taught anywhere," said the grandmother.

"Oh, who listened to that, except for pig-headed fools who take every Rule of Acquisition as literally as a tympanic infection and to lord it over everyone?" said the grandfather. "The law had only been changed to offend you for five hundred years out of thousands. Easily amendable without changing everything, especially with a Nagus like Grand Nagus Rom."

"Balidela already doesn't know the old days," said the grandmother. "She likes it like this, and she can't wait to go to school. And as for the dress? You should try to get a little boy to stop going about naked when he starts to be old enough to earn profit. Ask your brother's sister about Kroit. It's only the promise of latinum that'll get them to do it at all. Don't be such a…" She practically bit her tongue from saying "food chewer" herself.

"And Balidela will be next in line for the woman's restitution movement," remarked the grandfather rubbing his weary temple with

a sigh.

"Well, in some cases, it may not be an entirely bad idea," remarked the grandmother.

The grandfather growled. "For every man in existence to pay half their profits to every woman they've ever interacted with before the New Course? It's not gunna happen."

"Why not?"

"Mother," said the father gently.

"Not from me," remarked the grandfather.

"Father," said the father a little firmer, despite his bowed head. "This is about Balidela, not about politics."

The grandfather huffed as he turned to his son. "They turned females into a political issue only for the profit of the Council of Economic-whatevers. People fear them more than the liquidators now. When it was only the Grand Nagus, is was about guiding us all through the Great River towards—"

Balidela's mother suddenly stood up from the chair she had been sitting in.

She walked away without a word, but her husband saw her tear and glared at his parents— the both of them. But all soon saw why the mother had got up so violently.

Balidela was staring wide-eyed in horror at an argument about her that she did not understand at all.

#

When Bashir woke, the little girl was gone, but he could hear Quark nagging him like that old lady in his flash.

"Hey, Bashir! Get your coat on. We're getting out of this joint."

It was brown, haggard, and really more of a poncho than a coat and not a rugged ancient Western style one for Clint Eastwood either. It was coarse and tweedy, and one of the inside pockets had a hole in it. At least the outside was not nearly as ragged as the inside, so he wouldn't look like a crazy person entirely. Unless on Ferenginar…

Oh!

He dove into it. It was too short to reach the ends of his arms, and it was terribly scratchy at the neck. At least he could loosen it pretty wide as it was meant for a Ferengi head.

He moaned but followed the rest of the Ferengi out of the Laundromat and into the covered walkways that sheltered them from the hard, straight, pelting rain continuing to fall.

Quark had apparently had a long talk with the Laundromat's owner, because he certainly had not read Bashir's mind. He was talking with great agitation all the way to the restaurant and much gesticulation about everything that the Ferengi in the flash had been discussing. Pel gasped often and listened wide-eyed with comments she was never allowed to finish. Broik was so stupefied that he had nothing to say at all; though he did, from time to time, give Bashir the dirtiest, dagger-throwing glares he had ever seen Broik give anyone as though it was somehow Bashir's fault.

And just as they reached the restaurant, Bashir could take it no more.

"Quark!" snapped Bashir dragging him roughly aside.

Quark let out a cry.

"What? What's your problem? You got clean, you got your coat, now you're going to actually be fed and—"

"Shut it," said Bashir. "Before we go on, you should down you parasite again before all your emotional ranting wakes it up again."

Once released, Quark quickly smoothed out his coat and straightened himself. "Alright, alright. You don't need to be violent about it. Not everyone has genetic advancement, you know."

"I could've grabbed your ear," Bashir remarked. "Would that have been better?"

"I get it, you're upset," said Quark reaching out his hand to Broik.

Broik reached behind his ear and gave the immobilizer to his boss accordingly.

Quark then placed it behind his own ear.

"How long's it been? I was starting to feel less dizzy, come to think of it."

"We have to keep track of time together," said Bashir, now more to his usual doctor self.

"Right," said Quark. "We're still on a mission."

"And it's not about Ferengi politics. I'm afraid that will have to wait until this is over."

Pel sighed and nodded. "We should keep a low profile."

"I'm not arguing with that," Quark insisted apologetically; though more to Bashir into whose face he was now nearly pressed, "but did you hear—?"

"Yes," said Bashir calmly. "More than I ever desired to know, Quark. You have absolutely no idea how deeply I mean this."

Quark studied him closely. He was listening too. For some reason that did not used to bother Bashir much, but it did since his flashing started. It was perhaps irrational, but it was almost like the Ferengi were trying to listen for his own essence.

The door burst open behind them.

"No loitering!" barked a voice from a restaurant employee. "If you're gunna order, come on, if not, get out of the way of business!"

"Alright, alright, we're coming," said Quark with an amiable laugh. "Just getting things worked out. We're happy to come to your establishment."

Quark was good at lying about this too, because if he didn't know any better, and Bashir was sure he didn't in this case, this was the tackiest restaurant he had ever seen a Ferengi run. At least there was very little sleaze about it, but as they had not gone inside to order yet, Bashir could not be sure.

"Small town charm?" asked Bashir innocently, when the employee disappeared.

Quark grinned toothily.

All Bashir knew was, he would almost have rather gone straight to the capital without eating as he was not exactly in the mood for tube grubs, and he was sure that was all he was getting. It was the priciest but also the cheapest of all Ferengi cuisine. And a tacky box of old tube grubs was that last thing he wanted right now. He had more of a hankering for gagh, actually, with live serpent worms.

Sure enough, old dried-out tube grubs in a box was exactly he got, coated in a cheap sweet sauce meant to hide the age that made it worse than if it had remained plain. The only thing that made it palatable was that it was also what everyone else ordered. This was no vacation, after all.