Double Helix_ Vectors Part 7

"I don't appreciate all your insults, Kira," Corda said.

"I shouldn't have to tell you about the benefits of a quick and dirty surprise operation. We may not have big, powerful ships like the Carda.s.sians, but we can slip in and out of any place, and with the right plan, we could get workers off Terok Nor."

Corda's smile was cruel. "Just don't pick Kira to relieve me, Javi," she said. "Kira has no idea about the realities of war." "You don't know-"

"Ladies!" Javi said tiredly. "We fight Carda.s.sians, not each other." He ran that thin hand along the side of his face, tugging at his earring. "Maybe that wouldn't be a bad mission, Nerys. Going to Terok Nor. You could find out if the Carda.s.sians were ill, and if they were you could report back. But bring Kellec home." "If he wants to come."

Javi nodded. "One more thing. I've been studying the information we've received. It's only a matter of time before everyone on Bajor gets ill if this is as bad as it seems. And so far, whoever has gotten ill has died."

Even in the heat, Kira couldn't suppress a shiver.

Chapter Ten

NOG WAS SITTING on the bar, his feet dangling over the edge. He was kicking the front with one heel, then the other, with no apparent rhythm at all. Quark didn't know what was worse, the boy's idleness, his disregard for the bar's rules, or the constant bang, bang, bang echoing in his ears.

"Do something useful," Quark said, shoving Nog as he pa.s.sed. "And get off my bar." "There's nothing useful to do, uncle," Nog said. "There's always something useful." Quark picked up a dirty gla.s.s off one of the empty tables. Three groups of Carda.s.sians sat at various tables, but they certainly didn't look as if they were celebrating. They were at least drinking-to excess, always a problem with Carda.s.sians. Not that Quark could blame them. If there was really a disease going around that was going to make him turn green (which was only one step down from that hideous Carda.s.sian gray), he'd probably start drinking too.

Or leave. Sneak off. Find somewhere else where the threat of death wasn't hanging over everything. He might do that anyway. He'd hardly had any customers in the last few days. "But what, uncle?" Nog asked, still on the bar. "For one thing," Quark said, "you can get off my bar. Then you can polish it from top to bottom with an ear brush."

"You're not serious."

"I've never been more serious," Quark said. "And remember, you'll do that every time you sit on my bar."

"You could have told him that sitting on the bar wasn't allowed, brother." Rom had apparently come out of their quarters. He wore a hat the Volian dressmaker had made him. It was made of some stretchy black material and molded itself to Rom's skull. It made his head look smaller, but at least it hid his ears.

"I would have thought sitting on the bar would be an obvious mistake, wouldn't you?" Quark asked.

"Actually, no," Rom said. "Rules are easier to follow if they're clear." "Like not spilling things on the customers?" "Are you ever going to forget that?" Rom asked. "Not as long as you wear that silly hat." Quark brought the gla.s.s around back and set it beside Nog. "And wash this too, while you're at it."

Nog jumped off the bar, picked up the gla.s.s and started for their quarters.

"I want that bar shiny within the hour!" Quark called after him.

Nog didn't respond. He disappeared into the darkness as if he hadn't heard.

"I mean it, Rom," Quark said. "I want that bar cleaned in the next hour-" "I'll do it," Rom said.

"-by Nog. He has to learn too." Quark sighed and surveyed the bar. He hated this quiet. The Carda.s.sians were panicked and Gul Dukat had ordered that no more ships of any type could dock on Terok Nor. So not only were the Carda.s.sians dwindling, thanks to disease and general fear, but the others who came through here, the suppliers, traders, and shadier types weren't appearing either. Quark's supply of Saurian brandy was getting low, and so were some of his more popular but hard-to-find items.

Rom scratched the top of his head. "Brother, do I have to wear this hat? It itches."

"Yes, you have to wear the hat," Quark snapped. Then he lowered his voice. "I can't have you serving customers with that blister on your ear."

Rom's hand went involuntarily to his right ear and Quark turned away in disgust. Nothing, ever, would get the memory of that out of his brain. Rom said it didn't hurt, but it was the ugliest thing Quark had ever seen. It served Rom right for the mistakes he had made earlier-and for not telling Quark that he was allergic to Jibetian beer.

Who knew what that horrible mixture of fluids had done to Rom's ears, anyway? The ears of Ferengi were their most sensitive spot. If an allergic reaction was going to start, it would start there. And Rom's allergy to Jibetian beer was bad enough, apparently, to have put him in sickbay on a freighter when he was a young man. Of course, Quark had been long gone by then and hadn't known about it. And Rom, typically, hadn't bothered to tell him, even when he knew he'd be working around the stuff.

"There aren't that many customers, brother," Rom said. "Perhaps it would be better if you waited on them yourself."

"You're right," Quark said. "Perhaps it would be better. Then I wouldn't have to pay you." "But brother, how will Nog and I live?"

"Good question," Quark said. "And the answer is not very well if you refuse to do the work you're a.s.signed. Now, go see if those tables need refills."

Rom tugged the hat. Quark could see the blister as an added lump on Rom's ear. Quark grimaced in distaste. How the Volian had managed to make a hat while looking at that ear was beyond Quark. And of course, Quark had had to pay for it. Rom didn't have any latinum yet; Quark was keeping track of all of these expenses in his ledger, but he had no idea how expensive the whole proposition was going to be. Rom had arrived with Nog and then the bar's business had dropped off. Who knew how much an eleven-year-old would eat? And constantly. It was as if he was going to grow as tall as a Carda.s.sian. Or more likely, as if Rom hadn't fed him well before.

Rom reached the first table. Three Carda.s.sians sat there, bent over their gla.s.ses as if their posture would protect them from the virus floating around the station. One of the Carda.s.sians shook his head as Rom spoke to him. Rom smiled and bobbed a little, then backed away.

He stopped at the second table. There the Carda.s.sian, one of the pilots who had poured liquor on Rom, said in a loud voice, "If you're trying to protect your skull from getting drenched, you'd better make sure that hat is waterproof."

"No, actually," Rom said. "I'm allergic to Jibetian beer and-" "Rom!" Quark shouted. "-I break out-" "Rom!" "-so I'm wearing this hat-" "Rom!"

Rom looked up. "Brother, I-"

"One more word," Quark said, "and I will fire you."

Rom put a hand to his mouth. The Carda.s.sian laughed. Rom made his way through the tables and leaned across the bar.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered. "But if I can't talk, how can I take orders?"

"One more word about the ear," Quark said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. "Make up a story about the stupid hat. A story that doesn't involve pus." "Sorry, brother," Rom said.

Nog came out of the quarters, clutching an earbrush in his left hand. Quark's earbrush. His best earbrush, the one with the real scagsteeth bristles.

"Nice try," Quark said, "but you use your own brush." "He doesn't have one, brother." "Then he can use yours," Quark said. "He does anyway."

That was it. That was all it took. Quark's stomach actually somersaulted. "Or I did," Nog said, "until Dad got that-" "Enough? Quark shouted. "Enough! No one is ever going to mention that again. Do you hear me? No one!"

All of the Carda.s.sians stared at him as if he had gone crazy. The second group, the one that included the pilot that had been hara.s.sing Rom, seemed a bit bleary-eyed, and Quark realized they were drunker than he had initially thought they were. Getting them out of the bar would be difficult. Not that it mattered. He hardly had anyone in the bar as it was. "I heard you, brother," Rom said.

That brought Quark back to himself. He turned toward Nog. "You, young man, you put my earbrush back and never touch it again. I don't share earbrushes with anyone, and I don't let just anyone touch them." Then he glared at Rom. "How could you? Not buying your own son an earbrush."

"He had one," Rom said. "He forgot it when we left Ferenginar, and I-"

"Didn't have enough latinum to buy him a new one, I know," Quark said. "Believe me, I know."

He shook his head. How did it always end up that he was the one who paid for everything? He sighed.

"Get yourself an earbrush, Nog, but for now, use your Dad's." Then Quark thought of that blister, and all the germs it carried. "Never mind. Don't after all. Get a cleaning cloth. But I still want the bar spit-polished. You understand?" "You want me to spit on it?" Nog asked. , "No," Quark said. "It's a military term. I just want it so polished that it shines. Is that clear?"

Nog nodded. Why did everything become an impossible task with these two? Running the bar was suddenly three times harder.

The first group of Carda.s.sians got up and left their tables, mumbling something about sleep. The second group was still huddled over their drinks. He could barely see the third group, but they seemed to be deep in conversation.

Customers leaving and none entering. Things couldn't get any worse.

Quark took a padd. He would inventory his alcohol one last time, and hope it lasted-of course, with this drop in business, it would last easily. He glanced at Rom. "Just go away," he said.

"But brother, I haven't asked the other table if they wanted more to drink." "Ask them, and then go away." "Where are the cleaning cloths, uncle?" Nog asked. Five times more work, Quark thought. At least. Rom walked over to the last table. The drunken Carrda.s.sians at the second table cat-called him in soft tones. Quark didn't pay attention to what they were saying. He told Nog where the cloths were and was about to get back to his inventory when a Carda.s.sian at the third table stood up.

He was green, like so many others had been in the last few days. Quark knew now that that was the beginning of the disease. He had been denying service to anyone who was green, but apparently the Carda.s.sian had changed shades while he was in here.

The Carda.s.sian raised a hand, looked at Rom, and toppled over backwards. His companions didn't seem to notice. Neither did the drunks at the next table.

Quark walked over. The Carda.s.sian was on his back, moaning, a hand on his stomach. The other three at his table had pa.s.sed out but they, at least, were a normal gray.

"Brother," Rom said. "We need to call for help."

"Oh no we don't," Quark said.

"But, he's-"

Quark put a hand over Rom's mouth. "I'm going to ban you from ever speaking in this place again."

"Bartender?" One of the Carda.s.sians at the other table said. "You got any blood wine?"

"Yes," Quark said, even though what he had probably wasn't any good. He just didn't want the Carda.s.sian looking at him.

"Get me shome," the Carda.s.sian said.

"Nog!" Quark shouted. "Blood wine?"

"What?" Nog asked.

"Blood-oh, never mind." Quark turned to Rom and said very softly, "Stay right here, and cover his face."

"With what?" Rom asked, but by then Quark was already gone. He got the blood wine, and brought it back to the drunks.

"You know," he said to them, "you gentlemen look like you could use a free hour in a holosuite. Why don't you come with me?"

"Free?" Rom asked. "Brother, have you lost your mind?"

"What did I say to you about talking?" Quark snapped. He helped the Carda.s.sians up, and guided them away from the sick Carda.s.sian. He was careful to keep their backs to him, by talking to them the whole way, expounding the virtues of the various programs, hoping that Nog wasn't listening too closely to some of the programs.

He got them up the stairs and into one of the suites, the door closed behind them. Then he came back down the stairs.

The Carda.s.sian's companions had well and truthfully pa.s.sed out. "What should we do?" Rom asked. "Take his feet," Quark said. "We're carrying him to the medical section?"

"Are you nuts?" Quark asked. "That's what medical people do." "Then why aren't you calling them?"

"Why are you still talking?" Quark asked. "Pick up his feet."

Rom walked to the Carda.s.sian's booted feet. "Can we get this disease?"

"If anyone can, you can," Quark mumbled.

"What?" Rom asked.

"No, we can't," Quark said.

"How do you know?"

"Because we would have had it by now."

"They don't have it," Rom said, looking at the three pa.s.sed out at the table.

"Ferengi don't get Carda.s.sian diseases," Quark said, although he had no idea if that was true. "Oh," Rom said. "Are you sure?" "Positive."

"All right, then," Rom said, and crouched. He grabbed the Carda.s.sian's feet and lifted them.

"Nog," Quark said. "Keep a lookout. Let me know if you see any Carda.s.sians or Odo."

"Odo?" Nog asked.

"The obnoxious shape-shifter who has been hara.s.sing me"-then Quark realized that Odo hadn't been in the bar in almost a week. "Never mind. Just let me know if you see anyone."

"All fight," Nog said, and bent over the bar, continuing his polishing.

"At the door, Nog," Quark said. "Go to the door. Like a lookout."

"Oh," Nog said. "You didn't say that."

"What do I have to do? Put it in writing?"

"That might help," Rom said.

"Shut up."

Nog scrambled to the door. He stood there like a small sentry, looking just like Rom had at that age. Sincere, honest, clueless. Quark sighed. He hoped Nog understood what he was looking for.

"Brother..." Rom said, still holding the Carda.s.sian's feet.

Quark nodded. He picked up the Carda.s.sian by the armpits, and nearly staggered under the weight. Who knew that Carda.s.sians were so heavy? Or that they smelled like this? Up close, the Carda.s.sian's green skin looked even more noxious. His scales were flaking. Quark's stomach, already queasy thanks to Rom's ear blister, threatened to revolt.

"I don't know how much longer my back can take this, brother," Rom said.

Quark didn't know how much longer his stomach could take it either. "All right," he said, "here goes."

He stumbled backward, kicking a chair as he went. The Carda.s.sian's b.u.t.t dragged on the ground, his uniform leaving a polished streak mark on the dirty floor.

"Everything I do creates more work," Quark mumbled. "What?" Rom said. "Nothing. Just lift him higher." "I can't, brother." "You could if you weren't holding his feet." "What do you suggest?" Rom asked. "His knees?" They were halfway to the door. Quark wanted this guy out of the bar as quickly as possible. If he made Rom switch positions, quickly might not happen.

"No," Quark said. "Let's just keep going."

At that moment he backed into another table. Pain ran along his spine and he bit back a curse. "Are you all right, brother?" Rom asked.