JMJ

Chapter Four

Good Old-Fashioned Star-Cross

Who cared about fire rain when the lights of Ferenginar City made all rain glow in a million different colors?

That was a question Quark had posed more than once in jest over the counter of his bar when the natural phenomenon had been brought up. Sure, normally he was not one to discourage people from making themselves comfortable on Ferenginar. The more good publicity the better was the way he felt then and the way he felt now, but caring about the beauty of nature had never been one of his interests. Nature was nature. Even now, though he may have had a bit more respect for nature than he used to in his own way, he felt the city's glittering rain a more befitting atmosphere of the moment.

Either way, the thought was fleeting. He had a mission in mind. Though, bad news would be worse, he was too tired to deal with funny business. He hoped this wasn't going to turn out to be a false alarm.

Broik had been insistent.

A woman was what this was about was what Broik had told him. A woman wanted to speak with him in private. She had already paid an old-fashioned bribe to Quark's account, which he double-checked on his PADD. He wouldn't be surprised if it was Meegs' wife and Krax's lover Tinjoreek or whatever, but he wasn't going to make it easy for her if she was going to play games.

The only reason why Quark agreed to come out so late was because it was more often than not that business conducted in this fashion was the more profitable despite the risk. It had been at least a year since they began their hunt for the missing Keeoopii and their cohorts, and in the way Ferengi were known for, any viable opportunity was worth trying.

Broik did not sound under pressure of any kind as though he was being forced against his will to make the call to him. And he knew Broik well enough to trust him not to take a bribe that would risk his boss' life. This is was not so much because of loyalty. Loyalty was a dangerous thing to rely on, but even in the old days of DS9, Broik just was not the risking type. That was why he had never moved on from serving at the bar after he was over the age of boy-aid. It was difficult these days with the precautions devised by the Nagus and Starfleet to get into the city with a Keeoopii too, so it was unlikely that Broik was infected.

Unlikely, but not impossible, though, Quark thought.

The Ferengi had long ago made smuggling a refined art form, and between the Ferengi and the Keeoopii Quark knew 100% that if a Keeoopii or Ferengi was determined enough they could return the parasitical menace to the city. As he heard a high-chested wealthy businessman once laugh in the echoing high chambers of the Tower, "Laws are only meant to keep out honest people."

Quark had experienced with that only too well. Not that he did not trust Rom's and Starfleet's intentions but stopping everyone to be scanned for parasites all the time only truly served to slow business down and to make people feel safer about themselves. Perhaps it would be better for everyone to not let their guard down no matter what until this was solved instead of psychologically relying upon incomplete securities.

Well, Quark was not going unarmed. Aside from two pistols (one with a stun feature in case he suspected Keeoopii) hidden on his person, he had an alert to the Tower guard too. Oh, and there was a Hupyrian guard waiting for him in the hovercraft he was leaving behind just outside the Slice of Nines.

He crossed under the covered walkway using the outdoor entrance rather than the causeway entrance. He smiled only briefly at the ads that had just been designed last week for his second location on Lappa, but his grim expression returned as he glanced back out at the vehicle where the guard was waiting for him.

Maybe I should've brought him in here with me… he thought pulling at his raincoat collar.

But before he could go back, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped despite himself as he spun around with a gasp.

It was just Broik.

He sighed. "Well?"

Broik pointed behind him, and sure enough in the atmospheric lighting of blues and greens and reds with rumbles of distant thunder behind the slow electro-swing-like music from Tarahong, there she sat. There she stood up. Her earlaces jingled with beads in her fluid motion like a wind chime. She wore a long purple and teal vest buckled high-waisted with a wide chest-strap and a decaled silvery clasp with aquatic reeds. Her dress was an assortment of overlapping squares. Though her face was still mostly in shadow, her fluttering breath was enough for him to see with the precision of bat what stood in front of him.

Quark sighed again.

She didn't sound all too dangerous in herself. In fact, she rather seemed afraid of something else. Maybe him. Well, he was First Clerk, after all, and although he had changed into something less prestigious since the dinner, he knew his figure was as famous as it was infamous as the Grand Nagus' brother.

Quark laid his raincoat over a stool and he scratched at his ob-lappet despite himself. He still was not used to it, and he suddenly felt self-conscious about it in this unnervingly nostalgic atmosphere to a time when he spoke to many dark dealers after closing hours.

He stole a glance at Broik whose brow was a myriad of troubled wrinkles.

"Go home," he told him quietly. "I'll lock up."

"You sure?" asked Broik with care.

"Yeah. You should've made her come back in the morning."

"I told her you'd be busy in the morning, and that's when she insisted."

Quark was looking again at the woman who spoke not a word, but waited patiently for them to finish. She must've paid Broik a bit to make him stay open for her to wait for Quark. He shook his head.

But Broik bowed his head and withdrew nonetheless, picking up a little more and reaching for the causeway door. He lived just above the restaurant. When was Quark going to sell it to Broik?

Slice of Nines was roomy, full enough when actually open especially at the bar, well-cared for and lovingly crafted, quaint even with its space bridge décor and station themed like some amusement park with an attached gift shop and a single holosuite behind what looked like a beaming station— nothing like the old bar. It was hardly profitable in the old sense of Ferengi notion, though it did at least pay for itself and was successful enough to give Quark a nice slice of extra cash, but it was more than that really. It was a place where Quark could collect his thoughts— a second living room away from his residence in the Tower. A place where he could express his artistic side when he was feeling too stressed to deal with politics by creating a new recipe. Even with the strange woman there, he felt more at home within these walls than anywhere at the Tower, and if he was going to conduct business with someone like this and not some official, big time boss, or alliance diplomat, he admittedly felt better about it here than in his First Clerk Office.

Sure, it encouraged a sense of what Humans called Noir or what Ferengi simply called "playful atmosphere" with a wink and a nod. The mysterious woman seemed to soak in the aura about her to look more atmospheric than was good for her, and Quark could not help but smile. He shrugged broadly to break up the ambiance just a little, but also just to admit to himself that he liked the atmosphere like this.

Was he a romantic or what?

He chuckled.

"Tch! So, here I am!" he said good-naturedly. "Now let's talk about what you need me here for so desperately that it couldn't wait to make an appointment at the Tower, hmm? You came here all by yourself?"

"Did you?" asked the woman with a smile in her voice as he motioned her to a table near at hand and where no one could see them from the causeway doors. The street doors could see nothing but a back entryway.

She was not as young as she first appeared from further away. Slight and trim though she was she had to be close to the same as Quark, more by the sound of her than the sight. Old enough to know better but not old enough to drop in the middle of it, and just the simple phrase was spoken in such a manner than he knew she had history to back up her age. Experience but baggage. Just like him.

Well, that's a good start, he thought. Hopefully we can come to an understanding easier than I thought.

He brought with them a bottle of wine before they he sat down himself, and he had the glasses half full to encourage a sip enough to simply get comfortable but nothing more. As he finished pouring he took note in the woman staring at the blue clasp on his chest, a symbol of the Hidden Profiters, the gree lily pad. He looked away and brought no mention to it.

"Thank you for coming," she was saying meanwhile. "I didn't know that you were at an especially critical moment at the Tower or I wouldn't've come."

Quark brushed a hand aside. "Well, exact dates at the Tower aren't exactly publicized these days."

"Understandable. Tensions are as high as ever, especially with your high-strung involvement."

The amused affection she spoke with made him curious.

"'High-strung'?" Quark chuckled idly. "Is that what they call me?"

"They call you other things…"

"I'm sure they do," said Quark seating himself promptly; combating her mysterious tone with candid grace, he sipped at his wine and motioned her to do the same. "Tulaberry. Now there's a history."

The woman winced playfully, but said nothing as she took her sip. As Quark looked at her, he thought briefly of turning up the lighting. There was something in her voice that sounded familiar, but he could not be sure. Maybe it was just her tone. Women who thought themselves wily while hiding some secret stress all sounded the same after a while.

"But to business," he said then clearing his throat. "First thing's first. Are you here on behalf— or rather against your…" he shrugged grinning from ear to ear, "ex?"

He knew nothing about her, but she seemed far too good for someone like Meegs even if they were the same age, but Meegs was no older than Pel's friend Bennar and dweebier too. He expected even before he spoke that she was not Tinjoreek.

"Ex?" the woman said wrinkling her nose. "I don't understand."

"Meegs?"

The woman laughed with disbelief, and then frowned through her smile as she studied Quark with care. She was listening in that female way. There was nothing he could do to stop her, but he had not the slightest idea what she could possibly be looking for. For a moment in the silence, Quark could only listen back; he could decipher nothing but that flutter of anticipation. Her brow clouded, and she tensed just enough to prove her confusion.

"Who do you think I am?" she asked then.

Quark paused once more. "N…ot anything to do with Meegs, I'm guessing," he said trying to smile again. "Forget about that. Forget about that! It's not important." He shook his head with full seriousness. "Then who are you?"

He took another sip gently as she fidgeted and gathered her thoughts for the obvious uncertainty such a simple question gave her. He might have laughed had he not been drinking meanwhile. Part of bringing the glass to his lips was to hide the fact that he was not taking her as seriously as he probably should be. He couldn't help it. She was not making any sense. Maybe it was just that music in the background making the whole thing so ridiculously atmospheric, it was making the both of them silly. Or maybe he truly just already had more than enough to drink at the party with the Aploos'.

"My name is Sharlezeed," she said simply.

Quark choked.

He almost spilled his drink as he set down his glass. He nearly missed the table where he set it as his eyes went wide upon her and he recovered himself— at least from choking, but not at all from his shock. He stared at her hard, unable to believe that he had not recognized her before. It was a ghost from the past, and he hated those. He had had so many visitations from such phantoms of his foolish roving as a teen and young adult over the more adult side of his life that he should not have been so caught off guard. But no preparation had prepared him for this. His father visiting him from the grave might have been the only thing more shocking, and the two personages really were more interconnected than they should be anyway…

#

Oh, that howling!

There was nothing like Rom's howls, and there was a reason for that. The universe's own sense of hearing would be thwarted had it been otherwise. One person howling like that was bad enough, and he had to be so loud about it and so earsplitting and out of tune in its alarm-like constancy that Quark wished he could wrench his hands right through the screen and pull his tonsils out.

But this was a serious matter if his mother was calling him at the sub-nagus' palace where he served as golden boy, which among Ferengi was a literal position and one sought after with gruesome passion and competitiveness.

Ishka was so envious of his success here. He could feel it every time he spoke to her. Ever since he left before she wished him too. Too young, too naïve, too soft-headed, is what she had called him, and that had only pumped his legs and ambition more to flee the house as fast as possible. His only regret was leaving that female alone with his father. And what did she want now?! To complain about Father?

"What about, Father?" he snapped so she could hear him over that incessant howling in the background. "And what's Rom's problem?! Can't you tell him to shut up?!"

"Rom's grieving," Ishka darkly. "As if you even deserve to know why."

She was really upset if she was talking like that. It made Quark's face soften with concern.

"Oh, Mother!" sobbed Rom hurrying up at the mention of him. His face was flushed almost completely yellow. Tears stained his face, and they kept streaming from his swollen eyes. "Please duh—don't talk like that! He has to know!"

A cold chill danced like chilled eels up Quark's spine.

"What?" he breathed. "What happened? Is Father bankrupt? In prison?"

He could not help but fear that such information about his father's reputation might go ill for his own position so recently earned.

"He's dead!" snapped Ishka, a choke uncharacteristic caught her throat.

Quark's brain stopped working. He stared at the screen but was not looking at anything on it. Rom went on howling; though it quickly turned more into whimpering. His mother was still yelling and trying to hold back the sobs herself. He could not register anything for a moment. He had never felt so blank. It was surreal. So…

"How…?" Quark cracked out unsure how he managed it; the voice seemed to come from him of its own accord.

"In the storm…" said Ishka solemnly; she looked more like a mother now.

She looked at him with sorrow with a love for him, even, that she rarely showed.

He felt a longing to hold her and melt like gelatin in her arms. He held back the choke himself as he waiting patiently for the details.

"He was coming back from a… a poor… a business arrangement. The storm was near a glebbening."

"I saw it was bad up there, but what was he doing out?"

"I told don't him not to go," said Ishka. "He insisted. He drowned, Quark."

"Drowned!" snapped Quark. "Who did it?!"

"There was no foul play. There would have been no profit in it for anyone to have drowned him on purpose! Don't be like that. I'm warning you. He was stressed. He shouldn't've been out. The mossy rocks at the river's edge caught him up. There was nothing that could have been done, and no one's to blame."

Quark began to shake. Anger was taking over. He did not believe her. He did not want to. She always thought Keldar was a loser. Of course, she thought it was his own fault, even if she did love him. Even if it had been a full glebbening!

"Moogee!" sobbed Rom.

"Quark! Don't do anything you'll regret. Just calmly explain that there's a family death and you'll be allowed up for the funeral."

"I know procedure!" snapped Quark.

"Give him a good buy on his remains!" sobbed Rom. "Please, Quark! You have the most latinum now! You'll have to do it! You'll have to get the seal of authenticity too! For Father's sake! You're head of the family… Now..."

"Shut up, Rom!" Quark snarled.

"I'm only telling you this to calm you down, Quark," Ishka went on. "This didn't just happen to you. It happened to every one of us. Now stop being selfish or I won't have you come at all!"

"You need me to come! Rom's right. I'm the only one with the money!" snapped Quark. "Unless you're also planning on keeping Father from the Divine Trea—!"

Ishka let out a scream and turned off the transmition.

Quark pounded consul. Breathing heavily in his rage, he stared out above the blank screen. Then suddenly his head dropped into his arms. He held his hands over his head behind his ears and began to cry…

But the tears eventually ran dry. Without supper, he fell asleep there eventually, but the predawn light was filtering in from a deeply set round window now. He might have stayed in there longer, but he had work to do.

He supposed he should apologize to his mother at some point, but he was sure his mother would be calling again. No matter how much she hated Quark, she needed him at the funeral. Quark was the head of the family now, and although he would have given anything to preserve Keldar's life, he felt the power with relish to have that position in his hands. The family would be run differently now with him in command.

He threw off his ob-lappet as he stood up from the chair he had slept at on and off restlessly all night. Then he cleaned himself up for the day.

He sighed as he went out of his room in Sub-Nagus Gloobram's Palace. His morning hours would begin soon. He wandered about taking his time back the Gloobram's reputable side in the quietude of the vast empty halls.

Gloobram. Strong and well-known in so many systems. Rich, subtle, refined and the most powerful man in the Lagoran Highlands. A boy could do worse at Quark's age to be the most trusted right-hand man of such a figure. A boy could do far, far worse considering the fact that that very same boy was betraying Gloobram behind his back and not for profit for the Divine Treasury… It seemed Quark had paid for it though. Non-profit gain for non-profit loss. He had lost his own father before his time, and Quark was not even out of his teens.

Quark would check the new inventory for Gloobram. Yes, that would be a good thing to tell him. Besides the task of counting money would probably calm him enough to request leave for a funeral. The private computer base for the inventory was accessed best from the ground floor, anyway, instead of up in the catwalks. Near his sister's quarters.

Why she was here at the palace instead of with her mother and father was unclear. Of course it was not Quark's business to know about that. He knew more than he was supposed to already.

He heard her tiptoeing along the other side of the wall from him in this secret passage only few employees were allowed to enter, because it happened to be alongside the corridor from her apartment. There was a long curtain shadowing a small entryway through which only she could come from her locked doors.

She popped her head out from behind the curtain ducking low and smiling with her earlaces dangling just before he reached the spot where the two curtains met.

"Sharzee…"

"Yes?"

"I shouldn't be talking with you," said Quark looking away with some annoyance even though he perfectly well could have avoided her had he taken the catwalks above.

"You're not a stranger. Even my brother calls you his brother."

Quark smiled despite himself. If only he was his brother instead of Rom.

"But if Gloobram was my brother then that would make you my sister, wouldn't it?" he said wryly. "You can't win."

"I already have won," said Sharlezeed in her little fairy voice.

Quark sighed miserably.

Sharlezeed cocked her head. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

#

Yes, definitely Sharlezeed.

The sister of his first boss, she was cause of everything that had gone "wrong" for him in the eyes of thousands of years of Rules of Acquisition. The cause of everything that had in the end brought him where he was today, which he did not regret in the least. The beginning and the end of everything. Here. In this restaurant. No longer a little girl but all grown up and saddened by time, she sat. Sadder and more torn than he was— at least at the moment.

He had to be dreaming.

Except in dreams one did not feel one's mouth go dry when one was gaping like a dead fish.

Fully back in the present, he clamped his mouth shut.

"I knew I should have put proper lights in this place instead of insisting on fake emergency lighting," he said.