Chapter Eleven
Debate at the Mere-Suite
Not one building in town was pressed up against another. Every property in between their dome- shapes was separated by a fence, a subtropical Ferengi hedge, a wall, or even a thin line of color marked on a strip of narrow pavement. Indeed the very fact that the buildings were their own bubbles was enough to keep anyone from confusing one for another. Even if they were always designed compact, low, and dome-shaped as a precaution against weather conditions originally, it also more firmly established the traditional importance of independent ownership among the Ferengi. The only thing that was continuous along any road was the covered walkway, perfectly designed to keep water off of pedestrians save under the most turbulent conditions to throw rain under the clear arches. Beneath the archway awnings above every front served more as place to slide in an advertisement for what was inside far more than sheltering anyone from getting wet.
The conditions at the moment looked drearier than they had before. The rain was a slow, thick, determined, miserable rain as Quark spoke over transmitions in a pay-booth. The night was coming on fast, and the rain a continuous monotone. Laughing and talking, people made their way towards what Bashir thought might be more of a pub than a bar but not exactly the stereotypical nightclub that Ferengi were known for. As these people going about their evening routine passed by, their voices echoed eerily, so that not even a universal translator could catch what they said clearly.
Amidst the sound of rain, the nocturnal sounds were lonely and wilder without the musical accompaniment of machinery that sang through the day. Hoots and whistles from nocturnal animals echoed from the swamplands surrounding this town which in itself was a bubble in the midst of many other tiny bubble-towns like it like small islands of harbor amidst a boggy sea.
An insect bit the backside of Bashir's neck.
"Ow!"
Broik gave him a funny look, but Pel was too occupied on Quark's back as she held open doorway of the booth; otherwise the booth would have been nearly soundproof.
"What do you mean we can't get a transport this late?" Quark was demanding.
Pel sighed audibly and almost began rubbing one wrist against the one holding the door.
Quark's tone changed to amiability again very quickly, however, "Well, let's say for an extra bar we wake him up for this route… yes, I know people gotta sleep. So do we. What about night shift?... Not till dawn?... Look, you won me over, three extra bars of latinum and that's my final— what? Transport bribes are illegal?... okay, four bars… I— C'mon!"
Quark let out a growl as the transmition failed. There was a pause. Then he stuck his head out of the booth grabbing the door as Pel released it.
"No one wants to come out this far this time of year into a town like this. Apparently they're understaffed for nightshift. That's what they get for not allowing the boss to decide when his employees' shifts are."
"Quark, not now," said Bashir rubbing his temple.
"Yes, now," Quark snapped. "We can't walk to the capital, and it's day somewhere on the planet! We were taking a risk making this call anyway."
"Let's just stay at a hotel, then," Bashir suggested. "It's late. We all need our rest for tomorrow. We need to plan our next move carefully with fresh minds. The capital, I'm assuming, isn't going to be safe."
Broik moaned quietly. He knew he was going to be paying for Bashir.
"Then we're getting up before dawn to get the next transport," Quark insisted.
"I saw a place to stay up the street," said Pel, "the way we came."
"Fine," said Quark.
"But—" Broik began.
"You want to haggle about it, take it up with Pel," said Quark.
Bashir rolled his eyes. "Oh, leave her alone."
"I'll just pay for him!" growled Pel.
"Very charitable of you," Quark remarked without a drop of humor— without a molecule of irony.
He briskly headed up the street with a tired and grim sort of look.
Broik now looked fairly pleased, and hurrying up alongside Quark in a very stooge-like manner, he could not help but whisper, "I guess Bashir has himself a girl, after all now."
And he sniggered when he saw his boss' smile.
But Quark could not bring himself to laugh entirely. He glanced back at Pel and Bashir. Bashir's and Quark's eyes met briefly. Then with a shake of his head, Quark retook the lead of the expedition to the awful façade of a motel. The prices were the worst of it too.
"'The flimsier the product…'" Pel muttered.
"'…the higher the price…'" Quark finished bleakly.
The sharp, shiny tooth of gold-pressed latinum in the proprietor's grinning mouth was the only thing pretty about his face. It was the seediest, most stereotypical Ferengi face Bashir had run across that he could recall, and he remembered how seedy Quark and Rom had looked to him when he first saw them on Deep Space Nine.
"So, how many rooms?" asked the proprietor: lean, stooped, and watchful and all false amiability.
"One," said Quark without hesitation.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"One," Quark insisted with deep, penetrating clarity.
"I'm sorry, we consider it a health hazard for four people to share one room."
Pel opened her mouth to speak furiously, but Quark held her back.
This time Quark remained very calm as he said, "We can take our business elsewhere. There is that bed and breakfast at the edge of town, and I hear the rooms are bigger and nicer, and that the woman who owns it proves the whole of female ingenuity and care."
Apparently he had heard more than politics at the Laundromat.
The proprietor shrugged, his sneer worsening and an almost Igor-like stoop developed as he hunched as though ready with glee to see his vampire-master bite his guests.
"And it's more expensive. You'll still have to get two rooms."
"Oh," said Quark. "We'd find it worth it there. We'd get a breakfast worth our while at the time we specify."
"Well, you're loss," said the proprietor carelessly, but by the look on Quark's face, Bashir knew that Quark's confidence had rather been raised than otherwise.
"You mean, your loss," said Quark.
"They have trouble with the toiletries there," said the proprietor.
"But we won't need amenities," said Quark. "We're only staying 'til dawn, and a leaky toilet is not my problem."
The proprietor made a face.
"No," said the proprietor.
"I'll give you a little extra for your trouble," said Quark.
The proprietor scratched his chin thoughtfully. In tilting his head to one side one could better see the shaggy hair coming out of his ears, which was thick for someone so young.
"Three slivers," said Quark.
The proprietor smiled but said nothing.
"Six slivers," said Quark. "Three for each extra person, and I'll give in a good word from now on that this fine establishment is better than any bed and breakfast that undermined what might have been a beautiful monopoly in this town if not for the law, and believe me I've done weighty business with people who appreciate that sort of thing. Cuz I'm sure a man like you knows a good bribe beneath this social restructuring curtain falling over Ferenginar…"
The grin returned.
"Don't trust a man wearing a better suit than your own," was a very time-honored Rule of Acquisition, and Bashir knew quite well that the proprietor was sizing up Quark's audacious purple coat with a pattern of rounded neon green squares; finely tailored in all the right places; cuffed and collared leisurely but still professionally. A pearly broach at the throat matched a fine thin buckle for the waistline of the coat.
Quark's Bar had better business than anything in this moldy corner of Ferenginar and it showed in the proprietor's old orange suit. There was a reason why the "Stars are made of latinum". Though, even if Bashir was not having a mind-flash, he had a good guess that this proprietor was not exactly a person that honored even the Rules of Acquisition much when it didn't suit him.
He sensed just a touch of Quark's self-consciousness about his very nice suit however as he briefly held up his arms in such a way that might have been trying to conceal the classy pearly clasp about his shirt collar, which was in such a great contrast to the proprietor's gaudy, but cheap clasp about his own.
"Appealing to a fellow in arms against the system in the presence of the system, isn't good business, you know…" said the proprietor.
He eyed Pel, and Pel stood staunchly.
Quark laughed, keeping his cool still, but keeping about things quickly just in case the proprietor tried to bring Pel into this like a Ferengi privateer.
"How bout you take my offer and I won't expose the fact that you're dumping trash in the swamp out back. I hear the reward for such tattling is far more than I'd have to pay you for a room."
How the proprietor's eyes flashed! They were for less than a second the size of tennis balls before they resumed their lazy look. Though even behind that haze now, the proprietor's expression was less savory than before.
The latinum tooth gleamed seedier than ever in the eerie blue lighting above his desk.
"Am I going to assume the names will be anonymous?" he asked in a warning tone.
"Two bars. My final offer."
"We're pleased to have you at Kiltik Inn, Sir. A civil gentleman such as yourself deserves the best. Will you be wanting anything for the road at dawn?"
"We'll see," Quark promised giving over the latinum including that which had been given him by the others for their stay.
"Boy!" the proprietor suddenly shouted and so savagely even Quark staggered a little.
As everyone was still blinking away their shock and the proprietor shouted again, a boy no older the Nog when Bashir had first seen him was hurrying as fast as he could from behind an empty doorway. Apparently he had been lingering there anyway, and as he hurried up pretending to look important, he bowed. His tunic had sleeves a tad too long and a logo of the Kiltik Inn along the back and on one of the cuffs. The collar was a tad too large for him too.
"Fetch them the mere-view room and help them with their things if they like."
Everyone tensed at the very notion of such a prospect. When the boy actually held out his hand to take something, Quark took a step back as from some poisonous thing.
"That won't be necessary," said Bashir, taking the initiative.
"How about some complimentary beetle snuff?" asked the proprietor. "Fresh from Hupyrian as of yesterday. The finest quality. Half price."
As if on cue there was some horrible snort and a sneeze coming from somewhere down from the lobby.
"That especially won't be necessary," Bashir insisted.
The stale smell in the air told him well enough that it was anything but fresh even if it was something he wanted any part of. Luckily none in the party were addicts.
The proprietor glanced at Bashir a moment. It was the first time they had made eye contact, but he spoke to him not a word. He looked again at Quark, who smiled genially and shook his head.
"We're really just tired and need a place to stay," said Quark with an innocent little smile.
"Of course, Sir," said the proprietor in the most insincere manner possible.
After a short pause, the proprietor glared at the boy, and his face grew rather terse.
"Well, go on, boy," he said rather unpleasantly. "Take them to mere-suite. They don't have all night."
The boy bowed again in a hurry and motioned for the foursome to follow to the elevator shaft— to the fourth and top floor of the establishment.
As the elevator closed, Bashir could hear the proprietor yelling savagely at some other employee. He couldn't make out what it was, but the Ferengi with him sure looked at each other.
When Bashir saw the room, he really wished he had not been traveling with such cheap company. He promised himself not to complain, but the room was claustrophobic, the ceiling low and just high enough for a tall Ferengi not to bump his head, the beds just barely large enough to hold a Ferengi comfortably, and there barely room for two more Ferengi in between the beds to sleep on the damp carpeted floor with the two cushions from the single chair as pillows. At least it smelled as though the place had been cleaned, despite a lingering scent of beetle snuff.
The air was tight with it. When Bashir opened the large window, with its great sill sticking out of the domed wall enough to sit in, he let in some air to try to clear some of it away.
"If this is the suite, I'd hate to see the singles," Bashir remarked.
He could hear the swarm of insects coming from the moonlit "mere", which was nothing less than a serious bog that smelled far worse than beetle snuff and old incense. It made him wonder if Quark's bluff at the counter had been rather more educated of a guess than he originally thought.
But either way, just the few moments they had spent in the place, Bashir had almost forgotten the blanket of humidity and heat outside, which the moonlit night was doing little to dispel with its own blanket of thick clouds surrounding it. They threatened to cover it again. Despite the ghostly, poisonous, and almost haunted feel the moonlight had over the mere, it was preferable to another bout of rain, which threatened the sky.
He closed the window almost as quickly as he had opened it.
"Afraid of the bed bugs?" Quark teased.
"Is that how the bed and breakfast works?" asked Bashir in return.
Quark laughed.
"It's been tried before, believe me," he retorted.
With a toothy yawn, Broik was already taking off his boots to settle down, but as he seated himself on the end of a saggy bed, he glanced at Pel standing uncomfortably in the entryway.
"What about Pel?" asked Broik; it was the first civil thing he had said in some time.
"Maybe… I'll just go back down and get my own room, after all," she said.
"Suit yourself," said Quark with a shrug, "but then you owe me the latinum for getting us the one room in the first place."
Pel sighed.
Bashir almost opened his mouth to beg to stay with her, but he stopped himself. She was uncomfortable not because of space, but precisely because she needed her feminine privacy. He sighed. Besides, he suddenly remembered the immobilizer and his two ungrateful patients.
"You two will remember to knock out your parasites, right?" asked Bashir suddenly.
Everyone stopped.
"All night?" Quark cracked.
"Well… yes," said Bashir.
"Why couldn't it be longer than three and half hours?" Quark demanded.
"Just both do it now, and then set alarms," said Bashir. "I'll help if you don't wake up."
Quark fidgeted, going from cocky to insecure child within seconds. It almost made Bashir recall something. It was not quite a flash; though he had already had one long and draining enough about him when they had first run into him at the bar. Some things familiar enough that he had been present in them and some things that had made no sense at all, especially things, that Bashir knew could not have happened yet. He could not be sure even what his memory was trying to recall now. Maybe the flashing was starting to wear off.
He turned to Pel, almost as childishly uncertain as Quark had just looked at him.
"What is it?" asked Pel.
Bashir shook his head. "Nothing. I was just thinking that the curtain on the window… if you put it over this line here on the ceiling— what is this for anyway?"
"Just what you're suggesting," remarked Quark," but apparently the power sheet's damaged to lower it down, and they took away the heavy sheet."
Pel fidgeted. "If it doesn't bother you, doctor," she said.
"Only if it doesn't bother you," Bashir insisted.
"Well!"
"Look," said Quark, "we're getting up early, no one's going to be paying attention to anyone, except the doctor here over the
immobilizer or whatever, okay?"
"Unless you two want a room for your own privacy together," Broik remarked.
"Broik," said Quark sternly. "That's no way to talk in the presence of a lady. If you keep that up, you'll be paying for her room."
Broik sulked and threw himself back upon the bed.
Pel rolled her eyes.
Bashir reached out a hand to say something gentlemanly to her that was not coming into full comprehensible words, when Quark suddenly stood up. Rather violently he pushed his way in between the two.
"I'll pay for the room. Will that suffice?"
"Quark, I have my own la—" Pel began in utter shock.
Quark held up his hand for her to stop. He shoved the actual latinum into her hands.
"Pay me back later."
"Uh! Okay," said Pel, bowing her head uncomfortably.
Bashir followed. Somehow it did not feel right to let her go down there alone. Without a word they left the room and headed for the elevator.
"Poor Quark," Pel sighed.
Although he had been previously staring down at his uncomfortable boots, Bashir lifted his head to hers.
"'Poor Quark'?" he asked gently.
"Well! He may be a businessman, but deep down he is a gentleman more."
It was difficult to say whether she meant it as a compliment or an ailment.
"You love him still, don't you?" said Bashir.
"He only wants to do what he thinks is best," Pel said evasively.
Bashir sighed. "I know, but don't let your care for him blind you, Pel. He's a very confused person as much as he is hurt."
"Aren't we all?" Pel demanded.
There was a pause. Bashir could not disagree.
"I just hope that our call to Starfleet gets through from my ship," said Pel.
"I'm sure it has," Bashir insisted, "but we may have to wait a while before someone reaches us to help. There's someone else on the station too that I'm sure is in on this, or also controlled by the Keeoopii Parasites. We don't even know how many people are controlled here on Ferenginar. If I had access to better equipment, I probably could figure out a way to make quick scans for them in other people."
"Like you and me," agreed Pel.
Bashir looked at her uneasily, but it was at that moment that the elevator doors opened.
With a somewhat lighter change of tone, Pel said, "I could help him, if he let me."
She smiled.
"I'm sure you could," said Bashir, and they went together to the counter for the creepy proprietor.