Matthias must have noticed his discomfort because she quickly clarified her comments. “I spent five years doing field research in inter-species anthropology. Studying the body language patterns and brain stem physiological reactions of a number of Alpha Quadrant sentients. Most individuals fail to realize how much their unconscious reactions reveal about them.”

Being a man whose work it was to know what his customers wanted without asking, Quark appreciated her area of study. “Remarkable that you can know so much without reading my mind.”

“I didn’t say that,” she teased. “I have some Vulcan ancestry, but it’s a few generations back on my father’s side. Your secrets are safe, Quark.”

“Secrets? I have no secrets. My life is an open book.”

“True. Ferengi aren’t particularly complicated to decipher.”

“Not particularly complicated?” Quark felt like he’d just been insulted.

“No,” she said, unapologetically.

“So you can just look at whoever happens to walk into the room and after a relatively short observation figure who and what that person is about.”

“More or less. Some sentients are more obscure than others.”

“You don’t say?” Now that’s a talent a good businessman could learn to exploit.“What about him?” Quark asked, indicating Morn, who sat in his usual seat, nursing a tall mug of frothy ale. The Lurian turned toward Matthias and blinked blearily.

“He falls into the obscure category,” she said.

Impressed, Quark considered asking Commander Matthias if she could share a few tips that would enhance his already formidable skills in the fine art of behavioral profiling, but before he could open his mouth, in walked a Bajoran man with smooth pate and a thick, but neatly trimmed brown-black beard. Decently tailored clothes for an academic. Quark watched as the man cast a glance around the room, smiling when he spotted Matthias; he moved speedily to her side. The husband, I presume.

Their animated whispers held no interest for Quark. Before he could ask the husband if maybe he wanted a spin at the dabo wheel, Matthias pushed away her half-emptied soup bowl. Holding hands like newlyweds,Quark thought cynically, as they left the bar presumably to hear Prylar Kanton’s scintillating lecture on the wonders of B’hala.

Morn watched him, straight-faced.

“What are you looking at Mr. Obscure?” Quark snapped, sending his best customer scurrying off for cover behind the new dabo boy, guessing correctly that Quark’s glare wouldn’t find him there. Quark spent a good part of his day pretending he didn’t have a dabo boy.

“Table 6 wants the Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” Treir said, sidling up beside him.

Quark also spent a good part of his day pondering those staff members most likely to exploit any weakness on the part of management. “We don’t have a Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” he answered, waiting to see what angle Treir was coming from. She had to have one: she wouldn’t be Treir if she didn’t.

“I invented it after I realized that the gentleman at table 6 will cough up one bar of gold-pressed latinum for the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.” She indicated an assorted group of humans, smuggler or mercenary types, huddling in a corner of the bar.

Quark grinned. Holosuites going for five times their usual rates. Latinum for bogus package deals, and two gorgeous females sitting right in his eye line. Maybe things weren’t going so bad, even if he couldn’t understand a single word those females were saying!He composed himself. This was business, after all. “By all means, offer them the Special.”

“See, the thing is, if I become the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special, I want fifteen percent instead of my usual five percent,” she said, dropping seasoning tablets into half a dozen Black Holes.

Treir, there isn’t a tar pit big enough or dark enough to hold your evil mind.“No deal.” He wasn’t in the mood to take more punishment at female hands than he had to. He’d figure out his own bogus package deal and charge more.

“Fine. I’ll tell them to check out the Fifth Moon Casino on their way home to New Sydney. Their Dabo-Dom-Jot special is only 45 strips, anyway.”

“Ten percent,” he countered.

“I would have settled for eight, but thanks for the bonus.”

An incongruity in Treir’s tale occurred to him. “How could the Fifth Moon Casino charge 45 strips for their Dabo-Dom-Jot special if you invented it?”

Her white teeth shone against her jade complexion.

Whatever temporary stupidity was afflicting him had better go away in a hurry. He’d be giving every dabo girl vacation days before the night was out. And there was the legitimate possibility he was worrying about nothing. He needed intelligence, but he wasn’t about to waltz over there and talk to Natima and Ro directly. “Excuse me, ladies, somebody here mention my name?” What an idiot!If they weren’t laughing about him already, they’d certainly be laughing about him after that.

Quark needed a spy.

“Treir, you haven’t had a chance to see if table 5 needs their drinks refreshed. I happen to know the Cardassian ambassador has a fondness for Samarian Sunsets.”

“Translated: Have I heard any good gossip eavesdropping on your girlfriends?”

“You got your extra five percent. I’d say that’s worth something.”

Treir sighed. “Natima said something about someone never guessing that she was faking it because if she let things go any further, he’d find out that—”

Quark held up a hand to silence her. “I’ve heard enough, thanks. Go be the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.”

“I need to change first,” she said. “Oh. And Councillor zh’Thane’s party is up next for the holosuites. You might want to send a ten-minute warning to the group in there now. Never know if they’re in a compromising position.” She sauntered into the backroom.

He mulled over Treir’s tidbit. His stomach tightened. He imagined every possible permutation of conversation that might lead to those comments from his former lover and the object of his present pursuit and he liked none of them. From the rear, the sounds of the cellar hatch slamming closed and storage clattering to the floor gave him one more reason to worry. What was Treir doing back there?

Treir emerged, a florescent pink hairpiece mounted on her head, a short spangled dress dangling beads and pearlized bells. The outfit had much in common with an exploding wedding dais.

“Um, Treir. About what you’re wearing…” Quark began.

“They were talking about the oddest place they’d ever hid a weapon, by the way,” she whispered in his ear as she pranced by.

In that moment, Quark had enough. Either that, or the whiskey had finally unbound his courage.

A Ferengi’s gotta do what a Ferengi’s gotta do,Quark recited in his mind, steeling himself to face Natima. The 100th Rule of Acquisition. He slid a tray off the rack, ordered up a couple of drinks and started off on what he hoped would appear to be a leisurely stroll across the floor.

“He’s coming,” Ro said, quietly. Because Lang’s chair only half faced the bar, Ro had kept Quark under surveillance. Once they’d transcended the usual swapping of histories and small talk, the status of their dealings with Quark had come up. Ro explained her still ambiguous intentions toward him; Lang related the story of their affair. Resolving that neither woman had any reason to compete with the other, they closed the book on Quark in just under five minutes by placing a small wager on how long he would be able to endure watching them from a distance before his curiosity—or anxiety—drove him to check on them.

“He lasted longer than I thought he would,” Lang said.

“You think he’s built up a good head of paranoia?”

“Probably. I’ll pay you after we settle up our bill.”

“That’s all right. Winning’s enough for me.”

“Ah! You enjoy the game more than the prize. I respect that.” Lang grinned, raised her glass of kanarand clinked a toast with Ro.