Hogan vs. Quark
by 80sarcades
Welcome back! Enter...the Ferengi! And now, the negotiations begin...
In case you've never seen him, Quark is portrayed as your typical Ferengi: profit driven, sexist and greedy...and not necessarily in that order! Yet there have been a few times where he does have a heart. Not this Quark, however!
Back in a simpler age, Marya - a never to be forgotten reminder of Stalag 13 - had given then-Colonel Hogan a bottle of premium Russian vodka 'to remember her by'. The container, long forgotten, occupied a dark corner of the liquor cabinet in the General's Pentagon office.
At the moment, Robert was pretty much convinced that he could chug the whole bottle without stopping.
If anything, Clayton's judgement of the trio was accurate. He agreed that the shortest the three was a kid...or whatever they called their version. The second one with the oddly shaped tooth was literally scared of his own shadow.
The third, however...
The human looked into the calculating eyes of the being before him. "I'm General Robert Hogan," he said flatly, giving the visitor a piercingly inquisitive stare. "Who are you?" The strangely dressed intruder strutted forward, clearly unafraid of the American despite the unfamiliar surroundings and heavily armed guards.
That's a bad sign.
"My name is Quark," the alien arrogantly began, "and I'm the chief financial officer for the Ferengi Alliance." He nodded his orange head toward one of the other men in the room. "As I explained to your General Hammond I'm here to open trading negotiations with you hu-mons."
The former POW kept his face impassive as he studied the odd alien for a moment.
"So what do you have to offer?" the senior General asked, his face impassive.
"Oh, all sorts of interesting technology," Quark said politely. A small part of the General's mind couldn't help but be impressed by how comfortable the visitor was in the alien atmosphere.
That's experience, another sliver of brain cells warned him. Be careful.
"Phasers, space ships...pretty much anything you can dream of," Quark cocked his head slightly as he took his own measure of the primitive hu-mon. Interesting, he judged. This one seems to be a bit smarter than the others. For now, he would navigate the rocky river of profit carefully...if only because primitive humans were also violent.
And violence is bad for business.
"If you want to make food out of thin air or have better weapons than your enemies then I'm the Ferengi to deal with. " he finished, his jagged grin looking downright evil to Hogan's eyes. "I'm assuming you Australians..."
"Americans!" The kid - that's definitely a teenager if I've ever saw one! - hissed. For a brief indefinable moment Hogan felt sorry for the younger being as he shivered underneath Quark's stern gaze.
"Nephews," he muttered sourly, rolling his eyes before he returned to the business at hand. "As I was saying," he nasally, if not smoothly, continued, "you Americans want to be the dominant force on this planet? You don't want those Russians to get the upper hand, do you?"
"Uncle!" the younger one interjected, this time more forcefully. "You can't alter the f-"
"Of course I can!" the older alien boomed, causing the younger being to wilt in sudden fear. Oddly, the huffy gesture reminded Hogan of Major Hochstetter...which was also another reason to start drinking. "Obviously you've forgotten what the word 'opportunity' means," he pointedly, if not firmly, lectured his relative. "You might do well to remember what every true Ferengi knows."
A chastened Nog, his eyes downcast, sunk back in his seat as General Hogan pondered the strange exchange. For the moment he set it aside as the negotiator leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you have somewhere we can discuss business?" he asked quietly, glancing at his companions with some distaste. "Privately?"
General Hogan narrowed his eyes at the large eared being - Ferengi, he corrected himself - before he looked towards his Air Force peer.
"There's a room just down the corridor," the junior General offered. "We can keep the other two here. Guards!"
"Now wait a minute, Brother!" the other adult broke in, clearly miffed at being separated as the new humans shepherded his sibling out of the room. "You said we'd do this together. Brother!" Two of the guards firmly, if not forcefully, forced the protesting alien back into the room. For his part Quark merely ignored the pleas as he followed the humans down the hall.
"Let me talk to him alone," General Hogan ordered when Hammond entered. Clayton looked at him incredulously.
"We don't know what these guys can do," the brigadier general hissed in a low voice. "Right now they might be tame but if you're alone with them-"
"Ah, hello!" Quark said indignantly, surprising both men before he pointed to the sides of his head. "I have ears, remember? Besides, I'm a trader not a warrior." He seemed downright disgusted with his hosts for even suggesting the prospect of violence. "If you want someone to kill people, find a Klingon. Ferengi are more civilized."
Robert restrained a smile at Hammond's sudden ire at being overheard by the large-eared alien. "We'll be fine," he reassured the other human. "Just post some guards." He looked at his aide-de-camp. "Stick around, Kinch. I'll probably need you."
The Captain nodded.
The room itself was little more than a set of pale green walls with the standard government issue table and chairs that lent little to the depressing atmosphere. He barely glanced at the mirror set into the wall although he was tempted to raise an eyebrow.
Not something I expected but a good call. Quark, for his part, checked his appearance seemingly unaware that General Hammond and the other officers were on the other side of the mirrored surface. A cork board on one of the drab surfaces held a number of notices and other memoranda. The Ferengi representative eyed one of the items - specifically, a non-military one - with intense interest.
"At least you hew-mons know how to treat females," he observed approvingly, looking at the pinup on the calendar. He slid his index finger over the shapely legs of the scantily clad female figure. "I might even have the right buyer for this...if you're interested."
The former POW smiled thinly as he recalled Hammond's earlier words about Ferengi women. "You'd have a lot of takers in a prison camp," he lamely joked. Quark looked at him quizzically before Hogan waved him off. "Never mind," he said, glancing at the alluring form as old memories resurfaced. "Stuff like that kept us going once upon a time. Now...". He shrugged and gestured to one of the empty chairs. Quark sat down and fidgeted uncomfortably on the hard surface while the human took a seat on the other side of the table.
"So, what exactly is the 'Ferengi Alliance?'" the General inquired, more to break the ice than anything else.
"The Ferengi Alliance is a trading association that has existed for hundreds of years." Quark explained, warming to the topic. "You might think of us as a race of merchants. "
Hogan nodded. "And the Rules of Acquisition?"
"A guide to how we conduct ourselves in business transactions. In effect, our laws." He spread his hands in a friendly gesture of welcoming. "Our primary goal in society to offer our customers a market in quality goods and services."
"For a price, I imagine," the American countered. A familiar tingle vibrated his nerve endings and set him on alert. He didn't know why...
...but something's wrong. He shrugged. Then again, they are from another planet, he reasoned. Something's bound to be off.
The alien merely smiled. "The lifeblood of any contract." He then leaned in towards his human counterpart. "Then again," he whispered, "I find negotiating to be the best part of any deal. A true test of one's skill at life." A grin, punctuated by pointed teeth, cut across his orange face.
Hogan nodded. "I can understand that," he allowed truthfully. "I'm curious, though. What's the story on your companions? They don't seem like any negotiating team I've ever seen."
A faint hint of alarm passed through Quark's eyes although his face remained impassive. The tell was so quick that only the practiced eye of a knowing observer would have caught it. "Our Alliance relies on what we call the 'art of the deal', the alien explained. "To rise in our society you have to be quick enough to recognize opportunity as well as cunning enough to seize it at the right moment. Negotiations, as you might expect, are an art form best reserved for individuals only."
Quark leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Take our Grand Nagus, for example," he offered. "As I understand it your President is a political leader. He can influence the economy but cannot direct it. In contrast, the Grand Nagus is the supreme political and economic negotiator for the whole Alliance. No decision that affects our people can be made without him."
Robert's right eyebrow went up. "That's a pretty heavy load," he said. Surprisingly, the newcomer understood the reference.
"True," he said smoothly. "But with great responsibility comes great profit. That is what we live for. You have businesses that do the same thing, do you not?"
The human nodded at the valid point. Henry Ford would come to mind, he thought. Andrew Carnegie. A whole host of others.
"Normally, I would have presented my proposal to your leader by myself," Quark continued. "In this instance my nephew, Nog, and his father, Rom, asked to come with me. My brother doesn't have the lobes for business but on occasion he does prove to be useful. As far as my nephew..." The alien shrugged helplessly. "I'm trying to teach him the proper way to do business. However there are just some things that have to be handled one on one, so to speak."
The General nodded. "Well, I'll be honest," he admitted. "I'm interested in hearing more of what you have to say." Before Quark could begin his pitch the officer raised his hand. "Understanding, of course, that I can't make any agreements without the approval of the President."
"Of course, of course," the newcomer soothed pleasantly. "And I understand. The best negotiations are the most thorough ones. Now, just to be clear, I take it that you want the Americans to be the dominant force on the planet."
"At the moment we are," Robert countered. "We have the atomic bomb. That's something the Russians don't have. At least for now."
"That's true," the alien agreed. Oddly, Hogan was surprised to see a look of disgust - or what he thought was disgust, anyway - pass over Quark's face. He decided to call him on it.
"I take it you think there's something wrong with the A-bomb?"
Quark waved his hand. "I'm just surprised that you haven't blown yourselves up," he admitted candidly. "Honestly, nobody who's sane sets those off in a planetary atmosphere. Why..." A look of horror passed over his face as brain finally caught up with what his mouth was saying. The officer couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the seemingly human reaction.
They may be aliens but they'd make lousy poker players!
"Don't worry about it," Hogan grinned. "I don't like them either."
"Honestly, humans..." This time, the American was surprised to hear him pronounce the last word correctly. "You like the strangest things. Root beer, for instance. Baseball."
"To each their own," the officer replied. "Though I prefer a good Coke myself."
"Even worse," the alien muttered. "However, just having the atom bomb won't be enough. Eventually, those Russians," - Quark emphasized the last word - "will develop their own bomb. What will happen then?"
Hogan shrugged. "I guess it'll be a standoff," he said noncommittally. "Not a 'hot' war, but more of a cold one."
"And it doesn't have to be," the orange being reassured him. "Before that happens you can have the best energy weapons in the quadrant on your side." He motioned his hand toward the door. "They'd be a lot more effective than those ones your guards carry."
"Ray guns, huh?" At Quark's puzzled expression he elaborated. "Flash Gordon had those, too."
"Flash Gordon?" Quark asked quizzically. "Don't know him." He brushed the name aside before shaking his head. "Then again, never mind. I don't want to know." At that moment he slapped his hands together with a thin-sounding clap that echoed around the room. "A good offense is the best defense anyone can ask for," he declared. "Take your basic weapon, for instance. One of the best all-purpose phasers out there is the Bajoran Type II phaser rifle."
"Bajoran?" Now it was Hogan's turn to be confused.
"Good fighters. Lousy drinkers." Quark momentarily grimaced before turning back to the topic at hand. "Besides, you couldn't find a better weapon anywhere for the price," the Ferengi continued. "It's lightweight, easy to use and is guaranteed to fire under all conditions. There are only two settings: one to stun and one to kill."
The General pursed his lips in thought. "I'm surprised," he admitted honestly. "The weapons we have aren't as...selective."
His guest merely sighed in commiseration. "My people will deal in a lot of things but primitive weapons aren't one of them. Phased energy, on the other hand, does have its uses. You use chemical propellants to power your weapons, correct?"
"Ammunition," Hogan supplied. "Yes."
"Which is only good as long as you have a supply on hand," Quark went on. "Phaser rifles only need a simple charge and are easy to maintain." He interlaced his fingers and gazed kindly at his counterpart. "I'm sure you can easily imagine the cost savings in not producing ammunition," the Ferengi pointed out. "Not to mention, of course, the additional equipment your soldiers can then carry into battle."
The General nodded noncommittally before he pointed out the obvious problem. "The Russians aren't dummies," he countered. "Sooner or later they'll get their hands on one of those phaser rifles." He gave the alien a pointed stare. "They could probably back-engineer one given enough time."
"Not unless they can get past the built-in safeguards," the being politely retorted. "With our help you'll already be developing the next generation of human weapons by the time they begin to understand the basics of phased weaponry. Not to mention, of course, that we can provide you with shields to defend against anything they might come up with."
Hogan remained silent, his face quietly thoughtful.
Quark leaned back in the chair and let a warm smile flow across his lips. "We've been monitoring your planet for quite a while," he smoothly lied, suddenly remembering half-forgotten details he had picked up here and there from his errant nephew. "Your country just came out of a war. I'm sure the destruction and lives lost are immeasurable."
"Too many," the human replied, remembering friends long since gone. Viewing the ruined cities of Germany as well as the concentration camps had been sobering to say the least.
Man's inhumanity to man.
Makes you wonder if we should survive as a species.
"No one wants war," Quark continued, pleased that his guess was correct. "In the early history of my people we fought among ourselves before we realized that trade was the glue that bound our people together. I'm sure, with the right amount of luck, your people will do the same thing. Who knows? Maybe they'll even form a Federation of some sort." With a supreme effort he managed not to roll his eyes at the nauseating thought.
General Hogan, for his part, was still unconvinced. "Maybe so," he said carefully, keeping his doubts hidden. "That would be one hell of an enterprise to pull off. Two hundred years from now, who knows? We might have our own ships out among the stars. I guess we'll see." He looked into the eyes of the chief negotiator for a long moment. "So," he finally spoke, his voice solemn, "For the right price you'll be able to provide everything we might need." As expected, the subtle sarcasm flew over the being's bulbous head.
"When it comes to defending your home, yes we can," the Ferengi promised grandly. "No reasonable deal will be refused." His wide grin reminded Hogan of the old story of the Cheshire cat.
"Think about what you'd gain in return," the stranger promised. "Surveillance satellites, for instance. You'd be able to look in on those Russians whenever you wanted without fear of retribution. Drones, transporter systems, shuttles that repel gravity...you'd be light years ahead of anyone on this planet. You'll own the planet. You Americans would be able to do as you will. All we have to do is settle on a fair price."
Horsetrading. Now this, I understand. "I'd have to get the President's approval first before we can do anything," the General carefully allowed. "If he approves, trading shouldn't be a problem. Then again I'm not sure what we can offer you."
"Oh, I'm sure we can find something," Quark said, waving his hand dismissively. "The one thing I've learned in trading is that everything has value." He leaned in, his toothed face almost predatory in anticipation. "I'm sure some of those hew-mon females of yours would be acceptable. That is, if you're willing to trade for them."
"No chance," Hogan's cold glare matched the alien's gaze. After a moment Quark broke away, clearly disappointed.
"Pity," he mumured, his tone sincere for once. "That nurse I met earlier was interesting if not overdressed. You hu-mons give your females too many rights. You let them run around with clothes on, for instance, instead of keeping them at home where they belong."
"I think it makes them more mysterious, if not interesting," the General countered, dismayed at the strict misogynistic streak.
What kind of people keep their women at home? he wondered.
We do, a new part of his mind whispered. The thought made him frown.
Mike was telling me about the WASP's* that flew planes during the war, he remembered suddenly. There were female test pilots, too. They loved to fly. Not that it did them any good in the long run. When the war started winding down the Army cut them loose.
Let's be honest: I wouldn't want a woman as my pilot. Then again, I don't like anyone flying me around. I'd rather do it myself. On the other hand it was stupid then and stupid now to get rid of experienced pilots just because they were women and then expect them to stay at home.
So let's turn it around: what if the women were running things and sent me home to stay at home? Would I like it?
No.
So why should anyone else?
Instead, Hogan forced a cheerful grin. "As a matter of fact it's a lot like your ship," he continued, inwardly disgusted with the new line of conversation. For the moment he would play along with his visitor.
And hope they make soap that can clean my soul.
The Ferengi cocked his head in puzzlement.
"Think about it," he went on, leaning towards the Ferengi. "She's pretty on the outside. However, if you really want to know her...". He let the final words dangle suggestively before a small smirk crossed his handsome face.
Quark laughed heartily and slapped the table with his right hand. "Now you're talking," he chortled knowingly before he looked at a specific portion of the wall. "I'm sure your friends behind that glass would agree as well."
Hogan managed to mask his surprise...barely. "It wasn't something I planned on," he said honestly if not unrepentantly. "But if you have it, why not use it?"
"Advantage is the pillar of fortune," Quark said, automatically reciting the 196th Rule of Acquisition. "I think i'm going to like you hu-mons." He grinned before he extended the next hook.
"Now then, I assume you'd like to see a sample of the merchandise?"
A/N: Nothing to see here, folks. Move along, move along...
Wait! I was just kidding!
The WASP's - Women Airforce Service Pilots - were a courageous group of civilian women who ferried military aircraft from one place to another during World War II. Their history is fascinating to read. Sadly, our government failed to recognize them as veterans until long after the war.
There really isn't an official 196th Rule of Acquisition from the DS9 series that I could find (though there probably is one based on the books, etc.) I just made it up.