Hogan vs. Quark
by 80sarcades
Welcome back! My apologies for the late update. I've had a number of personal issues to take care of which made me forget about this story...then I forgot again...lol. I then almost didn't finish it for reasons that will become soon apparent.
To recap: Three Ferengi visitors (Quark, his brother Rom and nephew Nog) have accidentally time-traveled to 1947 Earth. Given their luck, their ship crash lands in Roswell, New Mexico, where they become 'guests' of the United States Army Air Forces. General Hogan is sent to investigate the new arrivals. Naturally, Quark has a plan to con Hogan into releasing them. The General, of course, has his doubts about his visitor...which are blown wide open when Hogan finds a book describing the future Earth.
Two con artists, and one of them has finally been given a level playing field. God help Quark:-)
Note: This story was written before the wave of sexual harassment charges that reached from Hollywood to Congress and all points in between. Keep in mind that in 1947 the world was a bit...different...from the one we know today. Even so, be warned that Hogan's ultimate plan to defeat Quark might not be as 'PG' rated as you might expect.
Enjoy the story!
For a moment, General Hogan felt lightheaded before he controlled himself.
Dear God in heaven, he thought wonderingly before his shocked eyes looked at the title again. An electronic image of Earth - one he suspected was real - burned itself into his disbelieving mind.
What is going on?
He hit another of the lighted colors and frowned at the table of contents.
Cultures, customs, regions...history. He slowly 'navigated' his way to the latter page through trial and error and scanned the subsection in disbelief.
Middle Ages...Industrial Age...Wars...Space Exploration...United Federation of Planets...
Wait. What?
Robert's eyes backtracked to the beginning. The problem was readily evident as he used the buttons to drill to the details. A lifetime later he set the pad down, his reality shaken.
As far as I can tell, what they have for the Second War is accurate, he realized. More or less, anyway. It's just...the afterward that makes no sense.
He picked up the device again.
According to this, the United States and the Soviet Union entered into a 'Cold War' with each other. That jibed with current events.
The Communists are running the show in the eastern half of Europe. It wouldn't take much to heat it up, either.
From there history took a different turn. The war that resulted was not one he expected: a 'space race'. First prize: the moon. A color movie of an enormous white and black rocket - the size of which easily dwarfed the V2's he was familiar with by a long shot - climbing toward the blue sky was immediately followed by the image of a figure in an oversized white suit stepping onto the surface of a gray powdery world.
This has to be a joke, a disbelieving portion of his mind told him. The rational part, more attuned to reality, had only two words for its fellow cluster of cells:
Shut. up.
More text, followed by pictures and movies, flowed beneath his incredulous eyes. Fortunately, he was able to maneuver himself into one of the nearby cushioned chairs before his suddenly shaky legs gave way. Another World War, even more terrifying than the first two, glared at him from a future he didn't want to see. In its aftermath Humanity, or what was left of it, would make first contact with an alien race called Vulcans. Eventually a coalition of races, with humanity being the glue that held them together, would form the United Federation of Planets...
Slowly, General Hogan became aware of the sharp pain that coursed through his fingers as they dug into the pad's hard surface. He let a long shuddering breath escape from his nostrils as he struggled to bring his anger under control.
That little son of a… Robert bit off the mental curse and instead gritted his teeth at recalling Quark's now-obvious reference. A dual, if unneeded, set of thoughts popped into his brain:
They're from the future!
Our future!
At that moment a long-forgotten sense of danger jarred his nerve endings into alert focus. Hogan stood up and lazily stretched his limbs before he tucked the device underneath his back waistband and out of sight. As he did so his hard eyes swept the deserted interior in a practiced, yet nonchalant, manner. Nothing seemed amiss but the eerie feeling remained.
Just jittery, he supposed, breathing the familiar emotion into nothingness. Look at where I'm at now. I'm on an alien ship. A real, honest-to-goodness Flash Gordon craft. I saw a ray gun in action. And then, there's the book.
Proof – not that I really needed it, I guess – that I'm being rolled.
So what happens now? the General wondered. Let's say my initial hunch stands. Our friends are using these negotiations as a way to escape. What's to stop them from going to their own people in the here and now and then coming back to conquer us?
The answer: not much.
If the tablet is correct – and right now I believe it more than I do Quark - then the Ferengi are literally in the wrong time and wrong place. Which makes them not only a threat to the United States but to the whole world as well.
So once more play it out: We call them on their bluff and take the ship for ourselves. Eventually, some genius figures out how everything on the ship works. And if – no, when - we manage to duplicate their weapons...
It was a horrifying thought. Even worse was the nauseating image that followed: a whole planet laid to waste by those golden beams of death.
My God! Hogan thought, almost physically shaking from the cold wave of fear that doused his soul. And we would do it, too. We're good at building things that can help us…or kill us. Look at what we did with airplanes. If we could go from the Wright Brothers to aircraft that can carry tons of bombs - much less atom ones – in the space of forty years then who's to say we couldn't do the same thing with their technology?
The human race would be extinct.
He withdrew the futuristic pad from his waistband and studied the gray exterior for a long moment. This time, his thoughts were resolute.
I can't let that future happen.
So how the hell do I accomplish that?
The American absently tapped his finger on the nearby chair as he considered the problem.
I need a way to get rid of these guys and keep our people happy at the same time. A way to convince them to go back to the future...if they can. Let's assume they have a way back. If humanity has spread that far – what did this thing call it? The Federation of Planets? - then there are whole worlds of humans out there instead of just one planet. Logically, that means they can go and con somebody else.
I should feel lousy about that. Actually, I do feel lousy about it. No man should push their problems onto others because they're unable – or unwilling – to face them. But if I don't the future - our future - won't happen.
Damned if you do; damned if you don't…
A long, drawn out hiss of frustration escaped the human's throat as he considered the alternatives. All of them never made it off the mental drawing board.
How the hell do you convince a con artist to go back to the future? he wondered, frustrated with his inability to see the solution.
Hogan racked his brain as he tried to come up with a suitable answer to the impossible question. Just then a taste of sour bile foamed in his mouth as a long-buried option came to mind.
Dear God, he shuddered involuntarily. That would be worse than the cure...
Some time later General Hogan exited the ship in a depressed frame of mind. For the third time in his life he felt a sense of utter disgust in being a man. Some of his sex, knowing what he knew, would use the knowledge he held without moral reservation.
And if the rest of the Ferengi are like Quark... A twisted grimace lit his lips as he beckoned his aide to follow him back to the empty office.
Can I live with it though? He sighed, already knowing the answer.
I'm going to hell.
His stomach twisted briefly at the unsettling thought before he briefed Kinch on his findings. The tablet, once explained, was merely the icing on the cake. Through it all his aide's face blanched slightly but otherwise showed no reaction until Hogan finished detailing his ultimate plan.
"You're serious..." he muttered softly in disbelief. A trusted friend, he knew exactly what Hogan planned to use.
And it frightened him.
It was only by accident that he came into possession of 'The Knowledge' as he darkly called it. That night was forever burned into his memory in searing detail...
Germany
September 18th, 1943
"Kinch..." Colonel Hogan mumured.
The black sergeant turned away from the lock on the steel door and hurried down the wooden stairs. His lockpicking skills were nowhere near Peter's level but he was getting better by the day. Given time, he'd be able to open the lock.
The Colonel didn't have that luxury.
The makeshift pressure bandage on the officer's side was already soaked with more blood than Kinch ever wanted to see in any lifetime. The Senior POW's pale skin, contrasting sharply with the dark floor of the basement, reminded him of his Uncle Morris' off-color Panama hat.
He's going to die, James realized, even though he refused to believe it.
It wasn't enough for the Colonel to just simply die, he angrily thought. No, he had to suffer first.
The traitor wanted it that way.
"We'll get out of here, Colonel," he promised, though he felt like a damned liar for saying so. "Just hang on." He was about to say more when the Colonel stopped him.
"No, Kinch..." Hogan shook his head, the truth evident in his eyes. He laid a weak, blood-stained hand on the other man's arm. "Leave me," he ordered, his firm voice reduced to a bare whisper. "Get out of here..."
"We both will, Colonel," the enlisted man said with more confidence that he truly felt. "Just hang on," he repeated. "I'll try the lock again."
At that moment Hogan used his remaining strength to grab onto the front of the other man's tunic before raising himself up slightly. "I trust you, Kinch," he gasped resolutely through pain filled eyes.
"I trust you..." the officer repeated, this time weakly.
At that moment his grip faded and he slumped back to the dirty floor. Words, barely audible, passed through Hogan's lips as he struggled to say something to his second-in-command. Kinch leaned down, trying to understand him…
…and it was at that moment The Knowledge was passed onward. Before Kinch could fully comprehend the message - much less ask what it meant at all - the Colonel passed out.
At that moment the basement door opened with a dull metallic thunk.
A series of confident footfalls sounded throughout the chamber as the traitor closed in on the helpless prey below. A gun, loosely held in one hand, remained on target even as the individual holding the weapon smiled.
"So, Papa Bear is dead...or almost so," the traitor remarked, catching the minute movement of the Colonel's laboring chest. "No matter. A fitting end to such an illustrious career, don't you think?" The figure's mocking Germanic laughter filled the small chamber.
"At least he'll die honorably," the American retorted, standing to defend his fallen boss. "That's more than I can say for you."
The figure looked nonplussed. "The fortunes of war are sometimes just that...collecting fortune. Not that I would expect a schwarzer like you to understand such things." The weapon swiveled upward ever so slightly. Strangely, as he stared into the dark muzzle, Kinch felt an odd sense of calm permeate his frightened body. At that very moment he remembered the Colonel's message.
"Any last words?" The traitor pleasantly asked.
"Yeah," his would-be victim replied, feeling oddly silly despite the threat of imminent death. "I need you to ask me a question."
A raised eyebrow, accompanied by a bemused expression, greeted the unexpected statement. "Very well," his nemesis allowed. "And just what would you like me to say?"
Dutifully, and feeling somewhat foolish, Kinch repeated Hogan's final words.
Then all hell broke loose.
Back in 1947...
Even now, just recalling the memory sent a chill through Kinch's heart.
The General survived, he reminded himself. The traitor...
He didn't want to think about that particular person's fate. Even now, it made him feel...a bit squeamish.
The resistance deals with their own…good or bad, James reminded himself. Not you.
Slowly, he met Hogan's eyes.
"There's got to be something else we can try." His measured voice, much like his eyes, were almost pleading in intensity even as he realized there was no escape from the moral black hole that awaited them.
The senior officer sadly shook his head. "We're almost out of options," he said lamely before he waved his hand in a cutting motion. "Forget that. I don't think we had any to begin with." Hogan's depressed sigh echoed against the drab walls of the small office. "Quark's nothing more than a con artist but right now he has leverage. If I let the Pentagon know that he's conning us then we'll be ordered to seize the ship." Despite his best efforts he couldn't stop the parade of potential future devastation that marched through his mind.
"It's bad enough imagining what we can do with atom bombs," Hogan said softly. "It won't be too long before the Russians have their own. It'll be a standoff then." The older man paused, collecting his thoughts. "With larger versions of those phasers they showed us and more ships like these...well..." He took a deep breath before letting it out in one long rush. "I wouldn't put it past some of the people in our government to take care of the Russians. Permanently. That's not the future." He tapped the otherworldly pad laying on the table. "This future."
"I'm not disagreeing with you," his aide said. "It's just…" A faint, if not sad, grin suddenly appeared on the man's face moments before a deep chuckle rumbled outward into the room.
The General raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny, Kinch?"
"I thought I'd done it all at Stalag 13," James grinned, though his eyes showed otherwise. "Never thought I'd commit treason." He then held up a hand to forestall his boss' response.
"You're right," he said simply. He picked up the tablet and started thumbing through the golden pages once more.
"Funny, isn't it?" he queried rhetorically. "Doing all this for a future we'll never see?" He quirked his lips as another entry intrigued his curiosity. "Martin Luther King speech, 1963," he muttered quietly, his eyes drinking in the golden text. "Maybe I was wrong."
"Martin Luther King?" Hogan parroted. "Don't think I've heard of him."
"Neither have I," the other man replied before he handed the tablet back. "But we all will."
The senior officer studied the face on the screen for a brief moment before he keyed one of the small squares beneath the text. Suddenly, a man's powerful voice enveloped the small room:
...I have a dream...one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed...we hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal...
"One thing's for sure," the General, now deeply thoughtful, murmured as he turned the video off. "If the future gets any brighter we'll all have to wear sunglasses." Both men chuckled before Robert's voice turned grave. "That is, if we can get rid of our Ferengi friends."
Kinch, in the same frame of mind, nodded soberly before a sour look entered his eyes. "I still don't trust those Ferengi," he said forcefully. "What if…what if it gets out?" The thought of what his boss was proposing as a solution to their problem was reprehensible to his mind. That wasn't to say that he didn't agree with the overall plan Hogan had in mind if events played their course.
But if everything goes wrong…
The General laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "They won't get it," he promised firmly. "And if we're lucky we'll teach Quark a lesson he'll never forget."
A/N: I couldn't help but give Kinch a life or death mission. The poor guy usually misses out on all the 'fun'...