Thriss eased Dizhei up from her lap. Cupping Dizhei’s face in her hands, Thriss touched her forehead to hers. They entwined fingers through each other’s hair. Dizhei was like a zhaveyto her. Thriss decided she could yield—make an honest effort to get along with the group. “I believe the last time we fenced, you beat me. Every game. Don’t assume you’ll have an advantage this time.” Thriss smiled and Dizhei reciprocated.

In the doorway, Anichent appeared holding Quark’s evening menu; he sighed, visibly relieved.

Thriss assumed that Anichent was happy he didn’t have to take her on; their “discussions” usually ended after heated words or thrown furniture—and it wasn’t always her doing the throwing. Neither of them enjoyed being pitted against the other in the battle for Shar’s affection; both resented, justifiably, having to defend their places in Shar’s life.

She wasn’t entirely so self-absorbed that she didn’t know what Anichent really thought: he believed Shar’s unusually strong attachment to her would fade after the shelthrethbecause he saw her and Shar’s relationship as being comprised of physical urges, sexual chemistry. He clung to the hope that in the long run, Shar would choose a mindmate over a bed partner. What Anichent doesn’t see is that I am both,Thriss thought triumphantly.

Neither she nor Anichent spoke of what would happen to Dizhei, who nurtured and loved them all, regardless of what her own future held. She cared more about their collective concerns than her own. Thriss’ own zhaveyhad chastised her once for their overlooking Dizhei’s needs, chalking it up to youthful myopia. As time passed, Thriss recognized her zhaveywas right: Dizhei was the stabilizing influence that held their bond together.

Thank the gods for Dizhei,Thriss thought. One of us needs to keep their wits about them.

Quark leaned against the bar, both lobes focused on table 5 where Natima and Ro sat conversing. Normally, the layers of bar noise never interfered with his ability to follow whatever conversations were underway. He’d grown accustomed to filtering out the dings of the dabo wheel, the clatter of latinum at the tongotable, clinking glasses and the clicking heels of the servers as they raced across the floor to pick up their drink orders. But tonight, he swore Ro must have brought some privacy device to protect whatever female-talk she had planned with Natima. It was like that nightmare he had where he showed up at his vault to collect his latinum only to discover his vault was a front operation for a Bajoran Orphans Charity Fund. He’d given away everything he’d earned without realizing it. Talk about feeling naked before the universe! That same panicked sensation threatened to wash over him now as, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what those conniving females were up to. But oh, they’re lovely to look at, aren’t they?

Natima, her thick hair sparkling with merlot-colored gems woven into the twist down her back and extending to her waist, wearing that crisp, shimmering red-black gown, the square neckline showing off enough of her fine, feminine assets to bring back pleasant memories of springwine and oomox.And Ro, zipped to the neck in some stretchy blue thing that looked far too Starfleetish for Quark’s preference, still had that dark, sexy tomboy aura going for her. Too bad Garak wasn’t around to offer Ro some off-duty wardrobe advice. He might have been able to persuade her to try something more flattering. Quark shuddered when he recognized the lunacy of that last thought. A female reduces me to missing Garak?Quark poured himself a shot of whiskey, threw it back in one swift motion and waited for the burning sensation in his eyes to recede. With all the chattering, he could only pick up the slightest hint of the timbre of Natima’s voice or the higher notes in Ro’s laugh.

At least she’s laughing.

But what if she was laughing at him?

He’d thrown back a second shot before he’d even had a chance to consider how his staff might take advantage of his panic by pocketing their own tips. Quark made a mental note: Conduct locker and body searches before staff clocks out.

Several stools away from where he stood, he noticed an unfamiliar Starfleet officer sitting quietly, sipping spoonfuls from a bowl of what looked like plomeek soup and reading the latest edition from the Federation News Service. He scoped her out. A thin, platinum band on her left hand, fine age lines around her eyes and a centered sensibility evidenced by how easily she focused on her reading in this noisy room. Discerning her descent (she was a bit too—pointy?—to be all human) proved challenging. Before he’d drawn any conclusions, he found a pair of steady green eyes fixed on him.

“Hello,” she said. “You must be Quark.”

“And you must be a new customer I need to impress. Can I get you something to drink?” He sauntered down the bar and cozied up to the new kid on the station. Pretty. Nice hands. Definitely on the curvy side of female. Add a plunging neckline and she’d be a dabo girl to be reckoned with.

“Thanks. But the soup is fine until my husband gets here,” she said with a polite smile, and resumed reading.

And what in that padd could possibly be more interesting than me?Maybe it was his approach. He tried again. “I’ve quite a selection of otherworldly delicacies. Can I get something going for you and your husband, Lieutenant Commander—”

“Matthias. Actually, I believe he’s already eaten with our children. We’re meeting here before we attend Prylar Kanton’s B’hala lecture.”

“A lecture?” Quark couldn’t hide how underwhelmed he was by her choice of entertainment. “A spin at the dabowheel or a hand of tongowouldn’t be more fun? Who knows—you might get lucky.”

She tucked a loose amber-blond tendril behind her ear and took another spoonful of soup. “I’m certain the lecture will be very pleasant.”

Pleasant. We wake up in the morning so our day can be pleasant? What a sad, sad life.He sighed. With Bajor about to join the Federation and the Militia poised to be assimilated into Starfleet, the fun quotient around here will plunge. One more reason to search for business options elsewhere…

…A search that might be aided by one Ambassador Natima Lang,Quark suddenly realized, and reminded himself that he needed to keep her under his watchful eye.

“My house specialty drinks are the perfect way to toast your pleasantevening,” he suggested to Matthias. “A Warp Core Breech? Black Hole? Triskelion Tidal Wave?”

“I’ll pass. After all, once I’m done with the lecture—a pleasantpart for him since he’s an archeologist—the excitementbegins in the atrium with a candlelight dinner for two. The Chateau Mouton Rothschild we’re being served will be my drink quota for the night.”

Quark grimaced. “Why settle for something as pedestrian as a Rothschild when I can offer you the seductive delights of a thousand worlds?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Quark tskedand left Matthias to her soup. Having Natima around must be throwing my game off,Quark thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone zero for five on a sale. He resumed his perch within eyesight of Natima and Laren.

“You must be very fond of her,” Matthias observed, ostensibly attending to her padd.

Quark twisted toward the officer, but realized she wasn’t looking at him. “Are you talking to me?”

“You were involved with the Cardassian at that table, what, five or more years ago.” She paused, pondering her next words thoughtfully. “Things didn’t end well. You’re watching for an opening to go over there to find out what they’ve been talking about.”

Oh please don’t let me be dealing with a telepath. I’ll never be able to fix the wheels again!Panic threatened to flood him.