The Seventh of Nine Rule of Acquisition

Quark couldn't decide which Rule of Acquisition to apply to the current situation. The 34th Rule clearly stated that 'War is good for business.' And the lead up to the war had most certainly brought in a hefty number of people looking to move various wares, or simply to move themselves, and the Ferengi bartender had made more than a decent profit from such ventures.

But then the war had actually started, and the station had swiftly fallen back into Cardassian hands. Only this time, they were shackled by their Dominion masters, and the Dominion did not make for good customers. A Vorta might very rarely buy something, but the Jem'Hadar had no need for food, drink, or fantasy adventures in the holosuites.

But now, with the Federation back in control, the Bajoran populace was delighted to have their Emissary among them once again. As a result, they felt inclined to celebrate. And that meant that they were inclined to spend, which inevitably led them to Quark's. Was this peace, or just another side of war? Was the 34th Rule still in effect? Or was the 35th Rule's proclamation that 'Peace is good for business' truly applicable here.

A cry of "Dabo!" from one of the gambling tables brought Quark back to reality, and he decided that so long as there was profit to be had, the exact semantics didn't matter so much as the latinum itself.

It had galled the bartender to see Nog in an Ensign's uniform, but despite the insidiousness of the Federation, it was a relief to see his nephew alive and well. No doubt the younger Sisko would be pleased to see him as well. Jake might be a hew-mon without much of a wallet, but he was a common social fixture, and as the son of the Emissary, any time he spent at the bar was bound to attract customers. He was a good kid, if a bit naïve at times.

The 22nd Rule of Acquisition said that a wise man can hear profit in the wind, and Quark had never doubted that old adage. But he'd never taken it quite as literally as he did right now. A faint humming was growing steadily louder through the din of the festive crowds, and it sounded like nothing the Ferengi had ever heard before. The source, however, was beyond his ability to detect so far.

It seemed to be coming from the entrance to the bar, and it wasn't moving anymore. Most people wouldn't notice the faint sound. But then, most people weren't blessed with ears like his. Looking up, Quark tried to clean a glass as he searched to seem inconspicuous.

There, standing in the doorway, was the most impossibly-proportioned female he had ever laid eyes on. Clad in a skin-tight brown outfit was a pale-skinned woman with blonde hair. She looked human, but she might have been another species. A second look over her more admirable assets showed that she was cybernetically endowed.

And who says you have to choose between business and pleasure? Quark idly stroked one earlobe as he considered the possibilities. For her part, the blonde cyborg also seemed to be in deep thought. Uh oh, Quark thought as realization dawned. She's this close from deciding not to come in. Quark knew that look. Once someone with that look on their face decided not to come into his humble establishment, it was usually a permanent decision.

Quark called Broik over with a snap of his fingers. "Find that young lady a seat at the bar. Make her feel welcome," he instructed his waiter. Now then, let's see what this turns into.

Standing on the threshold of the gambling establishment, Seven was feeling distinctly apprehensive about entering. On the one hand, she was a social novice, and was hardly comfortable with the company of others. On the other hand, she was accustomed to being accompanied by a multitude of voices, but they were gone now. If she was going to be part of an individual collective, then she would have to start somewhere.

But this particular somewhere seemed far more intimidating than the rest of the space station. It was very crowded, and very noisy, and there were a great many alien smells to incorporate. Food and drink of all kinds that Seven's body had finally decided it needed to consume. Neelix had tried to feed her once, but the sustenance had proven entirely unpleasant.

Before she could decide one way or the other, a Ferengi male approached her wearing a very toothy grin. "Good evening, madam. Welcome to Quark's. May I escort you to the bar?"

Arching an eyebrow at the curiously direct welcome, Seven simply nodded. "Proceed." Apparently, she would be going in after all.

"Wonderful. This way, madam," the Ferengi said, motioning towards a stool at the bar. Though she preferred to stand, most Alpha Quadrant species did not, according to her limited experience. Sitting down, she found the perch somewhat awkward, but acceptable.

Another Ferengi – this one dressed in more and brighter colors – approached her from the other side of the bar. "In case Broik didn't say so already, welcome to Quark's. If you need anything at all, I'm the man to talk to. Quark, at your service," he said politely.

Seven settled on a nod. "Thank you," she said, not sure how to react. "What is the function of this establishment?"

"That is an excellent question, and one that I'm all too happy to answer. Quark's is an all-purpose restaurant, bar, casino, and entertainment lounge. If you're looking for a place to relax, unwind, try a new delicacy, then this is the place to be."

Nodding again, the blonde ex-drone looked around nervously. She didn't like being put on the spot. She saw a Lurian nursing a drink on her right, but he simply looked at her, shrugged once, and went back to his drink.

"If I may say so," Quark continued, "You look like you could use a little unwinding yourself. Something to drink? The first one is on the house."

"No," she said. "I do not require a drink at this time." Breathing heavily, she nervously looked around. "But I am finding it difficult to adapt to these surroundings."

Quark leaned forward a bit at that. "So, you're new to these parts?"

Seven nodded once. "Yes."

"Where are you from?" the Ferengi asked gently.

How did she answer that question? She had been born on the Tendara Colony, but had spent most of her life wandering space aboard one Borg vessel or another. "I am from the Delta Quadrant," she decided upon.

"The Delta Quadrant?" Quark said with obvious surprise.

"Yes," Seven said simply. "Is that acceptable?"

The Mystery Woman across from Quark was proving surprisingly difficult to mine for information. She hadn't given a name, didn't want anything to drink, and seemed to answer all of his questions with a simple 'yes' or 'no.'

But then she mentioned her place of origin. "Oh, that is very acceptable," he said, unable to contain his enthusiasm. The only testimony he had about anything from the Delta Quadrant was a rumor about two Ferengi who had crashed after being stranded on one side of an unstable wormhole. And he only just noticed now that she had a Starfleet combadge on her garment. It was an easy thing to overlook, considering what rested just underneath said badge.

But could a Starfleet crew have really gone out that far? "You were part of a Starfleet mission?" he asked.

"No," the Mystery Woman said. "I was taken away by a Federation starship. Returning to this region of space was not my decision."

Quark could sympathize with the woman on that. "The Federation always thinks it knows best," he said paternally, as if quoting an ancient truth. "They'll come into your life proclaiming only the best intentions, and then when you don't follow their rules to the letter, the other shoe drops."

The blonde raised a lovely metal eyebrow. "The other shoe?"

She really is new. Almost childlike. Sighing dramatically, Quark leaned forward. "It's a figure of speech," he said as patiently as he could, talking to her as he would a child. "Oh sure, the Federation likes to preach equality and tolerance for everyone, but that tolerance ends the moment you start to think for yourself."

The woman nodded. "An accurate summary," she said in her typical terse form of speech.

Quark decided to push a bit now that he understood her a bit better. "Might I have the pleasure of your name, Miss?"

His Mystery Woman seemed to think this over for a moment. "Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. But you may call me Seven of Nine." She paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "Or you may call me Seven."

"Seven of Nine, you say?" Maybe she was more mechanical than he had initially thought. She probably wasn't an android, or else there wouldn't be any external cybernetics. But it was still possible that she had extensive internal mechanisms that he had no knowledge of. It would explain the humming he heard from certain parts of her body.

"Yes. Is that acceptable?" she asked almost shyly.

"Sure, why not?" Quark said, wondering why anyone would ask such a thing. "We get all kinds here at Quark's. Until recently, Jem'Hadar were common around here. Quark's is an equal opportunity establishment, never fear."

"Unlikely," Seven said.

Did she just contradict me? "What was that?"

"It is unlikely that your establishment provides equal opportunities. You are species 180: Ferengi. Social and legal structure based on 285 Rules of Acquisition which encourage the exploitation of customers, employees, and unequal treatment of females. Do you deny this?"

She's sharper than she looks. "Deny it? Of course not! I'm a Ferengi businessman! But as long as I look to exploit, I never make a distinction between who I exploit. And all customers are welcome to all forms of entertainment here at Quark's. We don't discriminate. I suppose that's what I should have said."

"Your establishment may not discriminate, but you do. As the proprietor, you can only interact with so many customers at once, yet you choose to speak with me. Am I a potential investment?" she asked innocently, almost as if she didn't care about the answer.

Quark decided to simply shrug and be relatively honest. "I'd be lying if I said your cybernetics didn't intrigue me. And knowledge of the Delta Quadrant could be very profitable. Times are tough with the war on, so if there are opportunities out there, waiting, then people would be willing to pay quite handsomely for that information."

Seven of Nine inclined her head. "Information is a commodity you deal in," she surmised. "I do not know where I belong, but perhaps I can be of assistance to you. I am knowledgeable about technology and biology from a multitude of species and worlds."

Quark waved a hand dismissively at her boast, never mind that it sounded like she was simply stating a fact. "Anyone can claim to know everything. Convince me that you really know all that you say you know."

Seven looked nervous, glancing from side to side, but she finally took a breath and leaned forward. "I spent the majority of my life as a Borg drone. I still retain much of the Collective's knowledge."

Quark's eyes went wide and he brought up a hand to rub his lobes. An ex-Borg! The same beings that almost destroyed the Federation twice now! Nobody knows anything about them! The information contained in that beautiful body was almost a physical incarnation of the Divine Treasury itself.

"If you're not sure about your place in the galaxy, then I think we could make a significant profit together. I'm sure I could find any number of people with a greater appreciation for you and your knowledge than the Federation," he almost spat.

The blonde beauty nodded. She didn't seem to have mastered facial expressions yet. "I require nutritional supplements," she said nervously. "My stomach feels empty."

"You say that like you didn't expect it," Quark said with a laugh.

"Drones do not eat," she deadpanned.

There's that word – 'drone' – again. What was she? "Of course. So, you'll want something simple, I take it? Easy on the stomach? I think a light salad would do the trick. Bajor does export some of the finest produce in the quadrant, so you're in for a treat."

Seven seemed unsure. "I have no way to compensate you."

Quark just waved a hand. "If you'll consider my proposal, we'll call it a deal."

She nodded in understanding. "Rule of Acquisition number sixteen: A deal is a deal. Until a better one comes along."

Quark smiled toothily as he handed her the simple salad along with a glass of water. Oh, I love a woman who knows the Rules. "Seven of Nine, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

Again, I own nothing. This little fic will work as a stand-alone piece, but I do intend to revisit this plot in the future.

Thanks again for any views, reviews, comments, suggestions, etc.

Enjoy the show!