Title: Rule of Acquisition #34 – War is Good for Business
Series: Rules of Acquisition
Characters: Quark, Ezri
Word Count: 3,127
Rating: T
Warnings: Dark (no kidding)!
Summary: After "The Siege of AR-588," Ezri and Quark play a therapeutic game of tongo and discuss Life, the Universe, and Everything
A/N: I am SO sorry this has been so long in coming. Honestly, I am. If any of my followers are still sticking around, I apologize profusely. I've been busy and hit some roadblocks in my writing, and then I got distracted by other fandoms. I was going to post a more upbeat story for my next rule, but I didn't like what I wrote and scrapped it. I had this partially finished and decided to go ahead with it. Hopefully, it comes across as meaningful and not just an angst-fest… Of course, it is a tag to one of the darkest episodes ever. You've been warned!
I do not own Star Trek or its characters; I just play in their universe.
Quark screamed and screamed until he finally woke up, bolting upright and knocking his head sharply on the bottom of the upper bunk. He found that he was gasping and shaking uncontrollably, his heart beating so fast and hard that his whole chest ached.
Groggy and slightly dazed, he fought to remember where he was. The mattress was hard, the sheets thin and scratchy – but that could mean he was practically anywhere; Cardassians, Starfleet, Klingons, and all those other military types had no sense when it came to making a place comfortable. These bunk beds, though, they could only exist in one place. He was on the Defiant. Listening carefully for a few moments, he could hear the soft, deep hum of the warp core three decks below. Slowly, painfully, he allowed himself to relax. He was safe. They were on their way home, to Deep Space Nine; all except Nog, of course. Quark shuddered as images from the nightmare resurfaced at the thought of his poor, injured nephew.
But at least the boy is safe, now, he told himself. On his way to a medical facility. Surely, Starfleet doctors will be able to fix him. He'll be walking again in no time.
He knew he should have faith in the protection of the Blessed Exchequer and tried hard to believe that everything would turn out alright, but he couldn't quite make himself do it. He knew the odds of a full recovery were slim, and he had always considered himself a realist rather than an optimist.
He felt a twist in his stomach as he wondered, not for the first time, how he was going to break the news to Rom.
"Lights," he called out softly, and the yellow glow of the wall panels lessened the claustrophobic atmosphere of the room somewhat. He stood up, rubbing his forehead, and wondered what he should do next. Going back to sleep was out of the question.
The door chimed.
Damn it. Someone heard the blasted sleep-screaming.
"Come in," he called, moving to face the door.
It was Ezri Dax. Her face clearly conveyed the question mark in her mind.
"Quark, I – "
"Don't!" He held up his hands. "Please, if you're here to make a house call, you can leave right now. The last thing I need is a counselor." He knew that it had come out far harsher than he had intended, but in that moment, he couldn't think of any amendment that would soften it.
Her small quirk of a smile was gentle, even sad, but not pitying. It reminded him, frighteningly, of Jadzia. "I'm not here as a counselor," she said. "I'm here as Dax. I was wondering if you'd like to play a game of tongo."
"Oh." Quark paused wearily, massaging his still-aching forehead. "In that case, I accept."
Ezri, holding her hands behind her back, turned and led the way back to her quarters a few doors down. They were small and cramped like all the rest, but there was a fastidious neatness about them that reminded Quark of Odo. Jadzia had not been neat. Not overwhelmingly messy, either, but definitely not neat. It was another difference between the two hosts that Quark still found odd and disconcerting. It was disturbing enough for a person to switch bodies; it was even more so when the person's personality changed, too.
Quark had no idea how or why Dax had a tongo wheel in her quarters. He soon realized that it was the tongo wheel – the one he had given Jadzia when he'd busted his partnership with Gaila and Hagath.
She must have seen the question in his eyes, because she explained, "I brought it along because I knew you were not happy about coming. I thought you and I might like to play on the way to the planet. But I kinda…forgot. I don't think I was in the mood for tongo on the way here. I was too distracted."
"Me, too." Quark nodded.
There was a quiet pause as Ezri began to set up the pieces.
"Did I…did I wake you?" Quark finally asked hesitantly, sitting down beside her.
"I think you woke the entire crew," she replied, her tone apologetic. He winced visibly and she added, "Not that anyone is sleeping much anyway."
"I can relate to that," Quark grumbled. "I've lost more sleep over this war than I ever did over my business. Did you ever know what it was like for us during the Dominion Occupation? Knowing that you and Nog and all those others were out there fighting, and not being able to do anything about it; always afraid that Rom and I would get a note one day saying how bravely my nephew died. Then, I didn't have time to worry about you lot – once Kira's band of terrorists started the sabotaging, it all went downhill. I still can't believe the things I did. I think I was so terrified over what was going to happen to Rom that I didn't even think."
"I know," Ezri said. "You did what you had to do. You did the right thing."
"Sure, I did. That's not the point." Quark took the cards Dax had dealt. "The point is, why does it have to be like this? Honestly, why can't we just make peace and cut our losses? Negotiate with the Dominion. Make a deal we can both live with.
"Starfleet could learn something from the Ferengi, you know. Throughout our history, we've had very few wars, and even those didn't last long. We realize the cost of war. The cost in lives is too high – business and even politics always brings more profit than war."
"I'd be tempted to agree with you, Quark, but this war is different."
"Of course you Federation people would say that," he snorted.
"No, now hear me out," Ezri said. "Sometimes, in history, there are wars that in the end are rather trivial. It's all about territory or some petty wrong that one party felt another had committed. Sometimes it starts with a hateful murder committed by one lunatic and ends on an enormous scale where neither party remembers why they're even fighting."
Quark leaned back on his elbows and listened patiently as she organized her cards. "Retreat," she finally said, and Quark smiled.
"I always thought the wars with the Klingons and the Romulans were like that," she continued. "Yes, our culture was different from both of theirs; we valued different things. Klingons valued, and likely always will value, strength and violence. Their honor comes from physical and political power. But their people aren't oppressed. They have their own freedoms and ways of life. The wars we fought were territorial disputes, fueled by petty hatred and misunderstanding."
"And the Romulans?" Quark prompted.
"Similar situation. From what I've seen of their culture, it is oppressive. Their people aren't free to live the way you and I are. But their quarrels with us have usually been over spying and territory, not any campaign hell-bent on destruction and galactic domination. It's always been about the Neutral Zone with them, for as long as I can remember."
The young woman got a funny look on her face then, and Quark knew that Ezri was once again realizing what her statement meant – Dax had memories going back centuries, to an era before Ezri's grandparents had been born.
He took the time to decide on his next move. "Evade."
Dax glanced quickly at her cards and yawned. "But the Dominion are different. They're like the Borg, in a way – dead set on one goal, and that goal is complete control of the entire galaxy. Either one of them is enough to convince anyone of the existence of true evil in the universe. One keeps its people under unimaginable oppression for the sake of a small group of supposedly superior beings who genetically engineer other races to think of them as gods. The other eradicates the individuality of billions of people from the thousands of races it conquers, a process that is extremely painful and leaves its victims as nothing but fighting machines, unable to think or act for themselves."
Quark shuddered. He hadn't ever encountered the Borg, but the stories he'd heard still gave him nightmares.
"The point is, there are wars you wage because someone is picking a fight with you. And then there are wars that determine the fate of every single person in the galaxy. Those wars are about morality and the rights of all sentient beings. They draw the lines between good and evil, right and wrong, for generations to come. In this case, a Federation win would mean retaining the liberties that we enjoy for the Alpha Quadrant and maybe even the Gamma Quadrant. If the Dominion comes out on top, millions will die, cultures will be erased, and the common freedoms of speech, religion, property… all of that will be gone. Our children's lives will be death and oppression."
Quark had the impression that this was a different host speaking, a wiser and more world-weary one; the feeling was confirmed when Ezri eventually said, "Curzon sometimes said, 'Someone who wants to kill you will never stop wanting to kill you.' It was good advice when dealing with Klingons, but he applied it to wars, too. The Dominion won't stop until they've taken over the entire quadrant and beaten every species into submission. And it won't end there. After the Alpha Quadrant falls, they'll move on to the Beta and Delta Quadrants. Who knows? Maybe they even plan to make it an intergalactic operation."
Quark wanted to argue, but couldn't think of anything to say that would make sense. She had a good point. He waited for her to make a move.
"Confront," she finally said.
"Acquire." He grinned at her.
"Wait, what? How did you even do that?"
He showed her his cards. "While you were talking, I was thinking. I'm good at multitasking. It's why I'm such a good businessman."
She rolled her eyes and started to reset the wheel.
"What I don't understand, Dax, is why the Dominion was willing to do business with the Ferengi but ended up fighting the Federation at the first opportunity." He added, "The risk is five slips, by the way."
"Okay. I don't know, Quark." She spun the wheel and bit her lip in thought. "Maybe it's because Ferenginar is small and they didn't see it as a threat. Or maybe they were only using you to get a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant."
"Maybe you're right," he said, trying to shake the terrible feeling that he'd been cheated and he should have realized it. All that tulaberry wine… he'd assumed they'd just wanted to expand their market. Had it all been a ruse to start their invasion of the Alpha Quadrant? It wasn't the first time he'd thought of the possibility, and it made him feel vaguely ill.
Ezri yawned again and rubbed her forehead. She crawled onto the lower bunk and hung over the edge, examining her cards carefully. "Ugh, retreat."
He squinted at her, trying to determine if she was bluffing.
"Let's talk about something else," she said, sounding like a young girl again. "Like, what are we going to do after this stupid war is over?"
"Okay," Quark said slowly. "Confront."
"Evade."
"What are you going to do when this stupid war is over?"
"I honestly have no idea." She glanced through her cards and rolled onto her back on the bunk. "I've thought about it way too much; I've even talked to Benjamin about it. I'm no closer to sorting myself out then I was when I was first joined."
It didn't take long before she was talking about her family and the promising career she had in Starfleet before she'd suddenly wound up with the Dax symbiont. She talked about being a counselor and what it meant to her that she was a head-case now herself, and how weird it was to have echoes of past aspirations and dreams warring with her own inside her head. Quark listened patiently, occasionally chiming in with helpful (or not-so-helpful) advice.
"What about you?" She eventually asked.
"You already know my plans." He gave a cursory look at his cards, but it had been a while since either of them had made a move. His mind was starting to get fuzzy, and he was trying to remember whose turn it was.
"Really?" She looked at him quizzically.
"Buying my own moon, all that?" he reminded her, and she laughed.
"Tell me about it."
"I already told you about it!"
"That was when I was Jadzia. I want to hear it with these ears."
Quark rolled his eyes, but launched into a vivid description of what he hoped was his future (if he managed to survive this war). He'd sell the bar to Rom and make him hire someone to run it for him while he was off engineering or going to Bajor with his wife, or whatever else his idiot brother planned to do. After serving as his messenger during the war, the Nagus would surely grant Quark a higher position on Ferenginar. He'd be as rich as Gaila had been, without the horrific weapons business.
It was a while before Quark realized that Ezri had not said a word in several minutes.
"Dax?" He glanced over at her and the sound of even breathing confirmed his suspicions – she had fallen asleep. She lay on her bunk, stretched out on her side. One arm was folded so that her hand rested on her opposite shoulder. The other arm hung straight and limp off the side of the bed; the tongo cards that it had once held were on the floor, face-down.
Quark wasn't quite sure what to do. He thought that the right thing would be to quietly turn off the lights and leave – let her sleep in privacy. But when he stood up to go, the thought of returning to his own dark, lonely quarters filled him with dread. He hesitated for a few minutes.
What the hell, he finally thought. I want to sleep. I'll do it here. He sat down again on the floor with his back to the wide bedpost.
"Lights, fifteen percent," he called out softly to the computer. The lights dimmed gradually and Quark allowed himself to close his eyes.
In the morning, Dax was gone. Quark woke up with a crick in his neck to find that her Starfleet-issue duffle bag and her tongo wheel were sitting neatly by the door, her closet was empty, and her bed was made. It was clear she had somehow gotten up, showered, packed, and left for the bridge without waking him.
He was on his way out when he noticed the transparent pouch of gold-plated latinum sitting by the tongo wheel. A quick note was scrawled on the outside in Ezri's girlish handwriting:
Quark, here are your winnings – 20 slips. Thanks for being a good sport.
Quark smiled to himself, feeling a little bit lighter despite the extra weight of earnings, and went back to his cabin to prepare for their return to DS9.
To Quark's surprise, Rom's reaction to his son's injury was nowhere near as bad as he had expected. He was calm and collected and shockingly accepting.
"It's alright, Brother," Rom said. "Nog knew what could happen. He understood the dangers."
"I knew something like this would happen if he joined Starfleet."
"It was what he wanted to do, Brother."
"It's just, I tried so hard to stop him, Rom," Quark said, putting his elbows on the bar and resting his face in his hands. It was late at night, and Rom, who had been running the bar during Quark's absence, had just been closing up. "I did everything I could do to convince him it was a bad idea; I even jeopardized my relationship with Sisko to rig the holosuite in order to make him fail that test. This could have been prevented if only he had listened to me. Or if you had listened to me. Or if Sisko had listened to me."
"Nog is a grown boy," Rom told him emphatically. "He doesn't need your protection." A moment later, his voice softened. "Although, I am very grateful you were there with him, Brother. And I'm sure he was, too."
This statement did not surprise Quark – it was so like Rom to try to make him feel better – even when he had not told his brother about how he killed the Jem'Hadar that came into the make-shift infirmary. He hadn't told anyone, and he didn't think he ever would. It was not something he thought he could bring himself to talk about. Bashir knew, though, and Sisko knew. They had seen the body lying in the doorway when they had come to check on him and Nog after the battle. Quark shivered, feeling an irrational sense of guilt as he remembered how much he had wanted to stay home. If he hadn't been there… he looked up as Rom continued.
"Nog's not dead, Brother." Rom pressed a hand to Quark's shoulder. "Don't worry. Dr. Bashir and the other Federation doctors will be able to replace his leg. He'll be home before you know it."
They stood in silence for a few moments until the door swished open. Quark jumped at the sound; Rom noticed this and looked concerned.
It was Captain Sisko.
The captain stood in the entryway, hesitating. "Am I interrupting anything?"
"Not at all," Rom said quietly. "Any news?"
"Just that your son is stable and is in very safe, seasoned, and capable hands," the captain replied, and Quark saw Rom relax almost imperceptibly. "He was very brave, Rom. He saved a lot of lives. I just wanted you to know."
"Could you tell me what happened?" Rom asked earnestly. "Quark told me what he knew, but…I'd like to hear the details."
"You'll get the full report from Starfleet by tomorrow morning…" Sisko said gently.
"I'd rather hear it first-hand from you. That is, if you don't mind," the engineer told him.
"Of course." Sisko nodded.
"I'm going to leave you to it, then," Quark waved his hand at them vaguely, trying to adopt an air of nonchalance. What he really didn't need right now was a retelling of what he'd witnessed, including the captain's graphic details. "Goodnight, Brother. You can finish locking up."
"Goodnight, Quark." He looked up to see Sisko sticking out his hand to shake. Quark took it, firmly, and met the captain's eyes. He was proud that he was able to keep the bitterness and accusation from his gaze.