For twenty minutes, Prynn tried to concentrate on administering first aid, tried to focus on Shar’s hand and on nothing more. When she finished doing what she could, she headed out to resume her work on the transporter. But even as she started for the aft section of Chaffee,she peered back over her shoulder—not at Shar, not at the camp, but off toward the horizon. She did not know why, but she could not shake the image of her father walking away from her.

42

Treir slid the plate onto the bar. “Here you go,” she said, referring to the small, lightly browned cakes, covered in a thick, fruit-filled glaze. “Skorrian fritters in a Kaferian apple compote.” Morn looked at his breakfast approvingly. Treir reached below the bar and pulled out a set of dining utensils wrapped in a linen napkin. She set the package beside Morn’s plate, then reached down and patted his hand. “Now, don’t eat too fast,” she teased him. “I know one of your stomachs must still be filled with all that Maraltian seev-ale you had last night.” Morn rolled his eyes, nodding his head in agreement.

Treir smiled and moved down the bar, away from Morn. She poured herself a glass of water, then peered over toward the dabo table. The late morning tended to be the slowest time of day in the bar, between breakfast and lunch for most of DS9’s denizens, but that had changed today. Word of Hetik’s presence in the bar must have spread through the station like the Symbalene blood burn. A dozen people—mostly women, but a few men, too—surrounded the dabo table now, a situation remarkable not only because of the time of day, but because in recent weeks, Quark’s had not seen so many gamblers at one time even at night. And she felt certain that business would only continue to increase in the days ahead.

“Thirteen through, thirteen through,” she heard Hetik say, announcing the outcome of the latest spin and play.

“Bastion?” somebody called raucously. When it was busy, the dabo table was by far the loudest spot in the bar—and maybe anywhere on the station.

“Sorry,” Hetik said. “No bastion.” A collective groan went up among the gamblers, but a groan that nevertheless held a note of enjoyment. Win or lose, these dabo players were having fun, another detail that boded well for future business. The thick clink of gold-pressed latinum rang through the room as Hetik collected the winnings of the house.

A distinctive-looking woman at the far end of the bar signaled to Treir with a wave. Treir walked over to the woman—tall, with a rough, grayish skin, a long, narrow neck, and strikingly luminous eyes—and took her order for a refill of her drink. She picked up the Melkotian woman’s empty glass and moved back down the bar to find the bottle she needed. To her surprise, she saw Quark standing in the doorway, and to her delight, she saw him looking over at the dabo table with an expression of satisfaction on his face. Then he looked around, saw her, and smiled.

Treir quickly replenished the Melkotian woman’s drink, went back to the end of the bar, and set it down before her. When Treir turned back around, Quark had come around the bar. “Is this all Hetik?” he said as he approached, inclining his head in the direction of the dabo table.

Treir smiled and shrugged. “What do you think?” she said. Quark glanced back over at the pack of gamblers, his astonishment seemingly surpassed only by his conspicuous glee. “So,” she said, reaching out and playfully brushing a fingertip across the top of his bald head, “do you have the contract for our agreement about Hetik?”

“Contract?” Quark said, turning back to her. “Forget it.” He waved a hand between them, as though physically dismissing the notion.

“Are you sure?” Treir asked, deciding that, at this point, she wanted more than simply Quark’s easy acceptance of her new hire. “I mean, I already told Hetik that he would only be here for another six days.” She had not really done that, but she wanted Quark to acknowledge her worth.

“You what?” Quark said, the sharp, toothy smile disappearing from his face.

Treir slid a hand languorously along the edge of the bar, dipping her body down until the entire length of her arm rested flatly on the smooth surface. She leaned her head against her biceps and peered innocently up at Quark. “Is that a problem?” she asked. “I realized after you left last night that you really didn’t want Hetik here, so I told him this morning that we would be letting him go.”

Quark stared at her for a moment, his mouth dropping open. He was obviously aghast. “Let’s not be…” He paused, and then smiled. “Treir,” he said, his voice dripping with as much charm as he could muster.

“Quark,” she said in a low, throaty tone, flirting along with him. She lifted her head from her arm, and eased off the bar toward Quark. She glided a hand around his back, and brought her lips near his ear. “Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes, of course,” he said, his arm coming up around her waist. “Hetik can stay.”

Treir purred in Quark’s ear, and then said, “And what else?”

“Your idea to hire him was a good one,” he admitted, with only the slightest hint of reluctance. Then he turned his head and looked up into her eyes. “You’re an asset to the bar,” he said seriously.

“Well, that’s almost a declaration of love,” somebody said. Treir looked over and saw the station’s chief of security standing a short distance down the bar. Treir got the impression that she had been there for a few moments.

“Laren,” Quark said anxiously, dropping his hand from around Treir’s waist, though Treir left her arm around his back. “I mean, Lieutenant Ro.”

“Good morning, Quark,” Ro said, the corners of her mouth threatening a smile. She seemed entertained by the scene Treir and Quark had been playing out.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Treir said. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Ro said. “Finish your business first.”

“Uh, we were done,” Quark said.

“Actually, Iwasn’t done,” Treir told him, running a finger slowly along the top of his ear.

“Oh no?” Quark said, gazing back up at her, his hand returning to her waist. His attention seemed far away, his euphoric moment an obvious by-product of her touch.

“If I’m such an asset to the bar,” Treir suggested, “then perhaps I’m underpaid.”

Quark grinned, and Treir suspected that he actually appreciated her audacity. “I don’t think so.”

She raised her free hand to the base of Quark’s neck and straightened the silver bauble strung between his lapels. “Well, then,” she said, “perhaps a position change.”

Quark reached up and toyed with her necklace—a bold move, Treir thought at first, considering that Ro was still here. But then she realized that her initial assumption about Quark’s interest in the lieutenant—that it had only to do with Ro being DS9’s chief of security—must have been correct after all. “What sort of a…position…did you have in mind?” he asked, continuing his flirtation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she told him. “Junior partner sounds interesting to me.” She skimmed a finger down the edge of one of his lobes.

“I don’t know about junior partner,” Quark said, “but maybe we can discuss a merger.” Treir winked, but before she could say anything more, Ro interjected.

“Quark,” she said, her voice harder now, evidently no longer amused at the byplay. Treir looked over at the lieutenant and saw only seriousness on her face. “Colonel Kira wants to see you in her office as soon as possible.”