Hogan vs. Quark
by 80sarcades
Welcome back! The negotiations continue...
Special Note: The other members of Hogan: ST-1 will be making cameo appearances in this story.*
Special Special Note: Hogan is usually portrayed in the series as being smarter than your average bear...or typical con artist. That doesn't count Marya and her antics.
Triple Special Note: No fictional women were harmed in the making of this fictional story.**
Life just keeps getting stranger and stranger, General Hogan decided as he looked up at the odd-shaped ship again. What's next? A phone booth that will be bigger on the inside than the outside? He shook his head.
Maybe it'll be a better color than orange...
Quark, as before, continued to be unfazed by the heavy guard. If nothing else it gave Hogan a new appreciation for the Ferengi negotiator. He doubted that he would as calm as Quark was if he were stuck on an unfamiliar world with no other humans in sight.
The interior of the claustrophobic craft was somewhat disappointing but the technology it held was a wonder unto itself. Watching mind-bending innovations such as solid objects vanishing into thin air before reappearing within a shimmering electric beam was an eye opening event. Still, there was something about the ship that bugged his trained senses.
He just wasn't sure what it was.
With a shrug, he and the other humans watched as Quark retrieved a small box from one of the console pedestals. Trigger fingers slowly relaxed as he popped the lid to reveal a silverly colored object nestled in a black foamy material.
"Do any of you have any cuts?" he asked. "Wounds? Anything like that?" A flurry of silent eyebrows rose as the Americans looked at one another in confusion. Finally, a deep voice spoke up.
"I do," Captain Kinchloe rumbled. The small crowd parted as he stepped forward to roll up his right sleeve. A light cut stretched up his forearm to the elbow.
"Where'd you get that, Kinch?" Hogan asked.
"A branch got me the other day when I was cleaning up," his aide replied. Robert chuckled.
"You never listened when I told you to duck," he joked before he cast a curious eye towards their guest. "What did you have in mind?"
"This." Quark removed the shiny device from the box. "If you'll hold out your arm..."
Kinch looked at his boss and shrugged before he complied with the negotiator's request. A slight hum filled the small chamber as the alien waved the device across the exposed flesh...
...and before the astonished eyes of the assembled humans the angry line slowly faded into nothingness. An awed General Hogan used his index finger to trace the dark skin where the cut had been. There was no scab. No rough spots.
Nothing.
"And if you like that..." Quark commented, his voice turning smug as he took advantage of their collective shock, "...you should see what a phaser can do."
The energy weapon had been nothing short of impressive. Hogan had watched the golden beam carve up a section of thick plate steel with relative ease. And if it could do that to living flesh...
The General shuddered at the thought.
After the successful test the American 'suggested' the meeting resume in the morning. No one, least of all the aliens, objected to the break. It would also give the humans time to 'soup' the film of the phaser demonstration and rush it to Washington D.C. via a F-80C fighter jet.
It's been a long day.
Only the guards, standing post around the alien craft, shared the hangar with the senior officer. The newcomers had long since departed for their temporary quarters. Yet the leader of the trio weighed heavily on the human's mind.
Quark's obviously got the goods to back his promises. We wouldn't have to worry about the Russians any more. Or anyone else.
So why am I worried?
Or am I just paranoid?
This whole situation is bizarre to begin with. These people, whoever they are, could conquer us without really thinking about it. Yet they want to give us a wish list of goodies beyond our wildest dreams. So what's the ultimate angle?
Do they want us to destroy the Russians? For what purpose? Or do they want us to destroy each other? Again, to what end? Somehow I have a feeling this is a lose-lose proposition no matter what happens.
Nothing about this makes sense.
Lost in his thoughts he barely noticed Captain Kinchloe's approach before his senses jarred him to the man's presence. Robert, grateful for the company, stood quietly for a moment before he finally broke the silence.
"What's your take on them, Kinch?" he asked.
"Personally, I don't trust them," the former radioman bluntly replied. He rubbed the sleeve of his covered arm. "It doesn't mean I'm not impressed with what they can do," he said appreciatively. "That weapon they used scared the hell out of me, though."
"Yeah," Hogan nodded, somewhat relieved to have a confirming opinion.
A slight frown pursed Kinch's lips as his eyes flicked across the outlines of the craft. "Something stinks, General," he said at last. "Quark might be telling the truth. Then again he reminds me of some of those Krauts that came into camp. A lot of those had their own agenda, too."
There's truth in that, he remembered. "So, what would you do if you were in my shoes?"
The younger man shrugged noncommittally before a mischievous twinkle entered his eye. "Is it too late to resign?" he asked innocently.
The general snorted. "And leave this paradise?" he chided. "Sorry, Kinch. You're in for the long haul."
"Can't blame a guy for trying."
The older man chuckled and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Yeah," he agreed. "Get some rest. We'll see where this leads tomorrow." He couldn't help but feel a bit envious as he watched Kinch's retreating back.
It's been a long time since you were a captain, too, he reminded himself. Back then you could still have fun. Well, that's why they pay you the big bucks, isn't it?
He then frowned. Seven hundred bucks doesn't cover this!***
Impulsively, he walked over and touched the surface of the alien craft. Like steel, but not, he judged. Like our visitors, there's more beneath the surface than meets the eye.
So how do I find out the truth? Or is there a truth?
Robert, his face outwardly calm, puzzled over the quandary before he walked outside for a breath of fresh air. The beautiful desert sunset offered no answers for his troubled mind.
General Hogan, slightly refreshed after a restless night's sleep, sat down across from the grinning-to-the-large-ears alien and his two cohorts. For the first time in his career he regretted not retiring from the service at the end of the war.
Even if the Ferengi were truly sincere - which was a long shot - and wanted to broker a deal there was another question: what would humanity trade in return? He had no doubt that truckloads of gold, much less Fort Knox itself, would be involved if certain politicians had their way.
So would the Joint Chiefs. I thought they were going to start cheering when I spoke to them early this morning. They'll take anything they can get…and who can blame them? Military spending has been slashed to the bone across the board. The only thing stopping Stalin from taking the rest of Europe – and he could, if he really wanted to - is the A-Bomb. It won't be too much longer before he gets the damned thing either. At that point we'll be back to square one.
To summarize the situation: for whatever reason, the Ferengi want to make a deal with us. If we meet their price everyone is happy. I believe Quark when he says they're a race of traders. Quite frankly, I have a hard time imagining them as soldiers. And that's the rub: they could be, if only indirectly. It'd be pretty easy for the Ferengi to use those phasers and hide behind those screens - sorry, shields - to take what they wanted.
Again, there is something wrong here.
Even more: if we know there's a problem would we want to solve it?
And that was what bothered General Hogan.
No one wants to listen.
He had outlined his objections but the reality was clear: I'm the kid in the candy store. The President himself told me to hammer out a fair deal. I can ask whatever questions I want but the endgame is simple: make the deal. It's Hobson's choice: I can - no, will - be blamed if anything goes wrong. However, I can't walk away from it.
It almost makes me wish I was back at Stalag 13. God, I really need a vacation!
Instead of speaking, Hogan looked at the Ferengi with narrowed eyes. Clayton's right, he decided. Quark is their version of a used car salesman. He's certainly smooth enough. Then again, he's got one helluva car on his lot...
"So, General," the alien began before he bared his pointed teeth in a triumphant grin. "I take it you're interested in what I'm offering."
"Maybe," Hogan allowed slowly, keeping his face neutral. "Depends on what you want in return."
"Do you have any gold-pressed latinum?" Quark asked bluntly. The American blinked.
"Gold pressed what?"
"They don't have gold-pressed latinum, Uncle," his nephew murmured The elder Ferengi grimaced slightly at being interrupted.
"I think I just figured that out, Nog," Quark growled before his face returned to its seemingly pleasant state. "Still, as I said everything has value. What else can you offer?"
"Gold bars, for starters," General Hogan said. "Beyond that, diamonds and rubies."
"That's all?" the alien blurted, his voice shocked. "And I thought Humans were more creative than that." A lustful, if not calculating, gleam then appeared in the visitor's eyes. "Sure you don't want to trade for some of those females out there?" he asked hopefully.
"No dice," Robert firmly declared. Quark gave him a puzzled look.
"What do dice have to do about anything?" his puzzled tones echoed. "We were talking about women..."
"...like that hu-mon female that gave me oo-mox," Nog said dreamily despite his Uncle's sudden scrowl. "She was a natural!"
"She was awfully cute, wasn't she?" Rom acknowledged with a knowing grin before his eyes turned wistful with memory. "And that hair..."
A unsettling, if not slightly nauseous, feeling crawled across Hogan's skin as he finally realized what 'oo-mox' was.
These guys make Congressmen look like saints!
"Will you two be quiet?" Quark's exasperated voice rang out before he turned back to a disgusted American General. "My apologies," he said formally before he shot another pointed glare toward his offending relatives. "My brother and his nephew seem to have forgotten that females and business do not mix."
"But Uncle!" Nog interjected. "The 94th-"
"I know what the rule says!" Quark snapped, cutting him off. "It's the same thing! Now be quiet!" He then flashed a seemingly friendly grin at their host. "Now then," he said returning to business. "What else do you have?"
Ninety-one minutes, twenty seconds, and 527.35 annoying milliseconds later...
The supposed chief financial negotiator for the Ferengi Alliance - also known as the proprietor of Quark's Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade though he wasn't about to admit that salient fact to his host - shook his head in exasperation as he declined another human offer of payment. Strangely, it gave the former prisoner of war a new appreciation for diplomats.
As in: they have the patience of Job. Either that or they just like pain!
Plus, I can't stick our visitors in a deep dark hole underneath the stockade, he thought wryly. It would set a bad example for the troops. Besides, these guys might be smart enough to find a way out!
One thing he was sure of, however: he was quickly running out of items to send over the target. Quark, as precise as a flak gun, had shot down every offer made short of the British Crown Jewels.
And God knows I know someone that could get them if it came to that!
"Let's take a thirty minute break," he finally announced, forcing a charming smile onto his weary face. "Given time I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."
The negotiator's return grin was equally magnanimous. "Of course," he allowed graciously. "Whenever you're ready."
Hogan, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, 'accidentally' let his chair noisily scrape against the floor as he stood up and was rewarded by a simultaneous cringe from all three of the big eared aliens.
"Sorry," he said apologetically. Quark looked at him with a sideways glance but otherwise said nothing. The General ordered the officers waiting outside, save for his aide, to grab some coffee before he walked down the hallway to another nondescript office. The government-issued nameplate on the desk inside read 'Captain John Smith'.
Idly, Robert resisted the urge to see if a certain Luftwaffe Colonel's reports were among the pile of papers laying on the flat surface. Kinch, following behind, closed the door.
"Got any ideas?" the general asked, all traces of humor gone as he sagged against a bare wall.
A deep sigh echoed around the room before the captain's gaze met his. "Frankly, no," he said bluntly. "If Fort Knox didn't get them what will? Maybe we're going about this the wrong way." Hogan eyed Kinch with interest.
"How so?"
"It's pretty obvious they don't value what we do. They also seem to have a pretty good understanding of us...I mean, humans." The junior officer shrugged. "I'd almost suggest offering them some of my Aunt Grace's lemon cake if it'd help."
Robert looked at his former second-in-command with a jaundiced glare. "I'd never thought I'd see the day you'd try to poison anyone, Kinch," he joked as his lips split into a weak grin. "That cake was awful."
The black officer was unrepentant, though smiling in agreement. "Everyone has different tastes. These guys, though..." He frowned. "The only real denominator is that they like women. And that's the strange thing."
Hogan raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, they really perk up whenever a woman is around," he pointed out. "That nurse, for example."
"So do most of the guys around here," Hogan observed.
"Yeah, but...". Kinch struggled for the proper words, "...it's like an exotic flavor to them, you know? Even at that you'd think the obvious differences would be a turn off but they aren't. It just gave me the feeling that they've been around women before. Human women," he corrected.
The general pursed his lips in considered thought. "Maybe it doesn't matter to them," he offered, though he didn't believe it himself. "Or they've seen a lot of alien women themselves."
"Maybe," the former radioman agreed although his tone suggested otherwise. With a derisory snort he changed the subject. "So what else can you give them?"
"We'll probably have to bring out the big guns," his friend said. "Think Peter could get us the secret formula for Coke?"
Kinch laughed. "We'd probably have better luck getting Marya to make a house call."
This time, Hogan couldn't help but laugh darkly. "Those big heads of theirs would probably implode if she showed up," he said laconically, almost cheerfully picturing her effect in his mind's eye.
A man can dream, can't he?
"Not an option," he sadly declared. "Besides, LeBeau would kill me." The diminutive Frenchman had never gotten over his love for the Russian spy. "Let's go take a look at their ship again," he suggested. "Maybe we can pick up a few clues."
A/N: The mystery deepens. Will Hogan find what he's looking for? Is Quark up to something evil? Is there a guy actually named Captain Obvious? Stay tuned for the next chapter where Hogan offers Quark his own personal harem! (Just kidding...maybe.)
Would any of the kind ladies from the audience like to volunteer to serve our Ferengi guest? I'm sure he'd welcome any takers. I'd try it myself but my little black dress was absolutely ruined at the cleaners last week, so...
*Sorry, but I was just trying to get your hopes up before I crushed them, Major Hochstetter-style. There's no such show as Hogan: ST-1 and none of the other characters will be making an appearance. However, it'd be cool to see a younger Richard Dean Anderson play Colonel Hogan. Especially if he was able to channel a snarky Jack O'Neill into the character.
**...but then again it depends on your definition of harm. The women in this story play mostly bit parts and are paid way less than Alice from The Brady Bunch. Not to mention that they look pretty darned good in a dress - it's the 1940's, after all! Naturally, it goes without saying that a woman's place is in the home...
(The author pales as he catches sight of an angry female mob in the distance. Knives, glittering in the noonday sun, sparkle dangerously as they quickly advance on his position)
...Uh, the White House! Yeah, that's right! The Russians stole the election from President Hillary! Uh...Girl Power!
(With that, the unseen author raised a fist in simulated sisterly solidarity before he cowardly ducked around a corner and into the next chapter)
***The base pay for a Major General in 1947 was $733.33 per month. Obviously, the dollar was worth a lot more then.