Chapter 1

"Okay. Let's try this again."

Lt. Commander Alden, sprawled on the floor under the science table, sighed melodramatically. "Whatever you say, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Nog sighed. Then he yawned. It was 0337, almost an hour before the beginning of the alpha shift. And it was way too early for Alden's sarcasm. He didn't even know why the commander had insisted on helping fix the sensors that he'd blown up. Nog highly doubted it was from the goodness of his heart.

They'd been in Ops all night, along with Lt. Kaoron and several of Nog's engineering crew, trying to fix the damage done to Upper Pylon 2. After the weapons sail accident, the sensors on the pylon kept breaking down. And when they'd finally gotten them working again, the computer wasn't reading what the sensors were picking up, requiring more fixing, more recalibration. The levels had been climbing toward equilibrium the past few minutes, which meant that they were almost done. Hopefully.

Holding back a grumble, Nog returned his attention to the engineering panel in front of him, where electro-charge levels fluctuated in a relatively stable pattern. "Lieutenant?"

Kaoron nodded serenely from the science table. "I'll resume adjustment of the systems linkage at your mark."

"Okay. Starting... now." Nog held his breath. With his Ferengi lobes, he could hear the low-pitched whine of Alden's charger pulsing at a steady rate. Lets hope this thing stays fixed this time.

His eyes hurt from staring at the screen, and he tried to ignore it. It wasn't as if he hadn't been in situations like this before. He could handle being on call 26 hours a day, even on his day off. He could handle 20 systems crashing all over the station at once. He could even deal with various alien captains cursing at him in their own tongues as he estimated the length of time it would take to fix something before the captain’s ship could leave the station.

But constantly fixing the same components was getting a bit tiresome. He felt like he was running in circles. Chief O'Brien probably would have had this fixed hours ago ....

“Pryen to Ops.”

Pryen Bennu: one of Nog's Bajoran engineers. The man sounded as tired as the rest of them.

“This is Lt. Nog,” Nog called out. “Go ahead.”

There was a pause over the comm, and Nog could only guess what that meant. It was no secret that many of his staff were slightly incensed by Chief O’Brien leaving the station in Nog’s hands. Nog was used to it -- Starfleet crew had given him funny looks since he first attended the Academy. But he always figured that once he’d proven himself as a soldier and a Starfleet officer, the crew would accept him. He'd especially hoped the Bajoran engineers, with their spiritual culture, would be generous. And many of them were, but apparently that was not always the case. Bennu and his wife Maki were both engineers under Nog and neither of them seemed incredibly happy about it.

The pause was followed by a sigh, and then Pryen spoke. In the background, someone was complaining angrily in an interesting, squawking dialect. “I’m at Upper Pylon 1 with a Yridian shuttle captain who doesn’t seem to understand that his port nacelle will take at least three days to repair. He’s asking for a second opinion.”

Nog returned his sigh. “Understood, I’ll have someone down there immediately. Nog out.”

He quickly glanced down at the ODN levels -- they were holding steady -- then glanced around Ops. He couldn’t go himself, he was too busy handling the science table repairs. Finally, he located a tuft of flame-red hair peeking over the edge of the engineering pit. His second, Lieutenant Paul Jensen. A full lieutenant ranking to Nog’s junior grade lieutenant ranking.

“Mr. Jensen.”

The tuft hesitated, then moved toward the ladder. The rest of Jensen's head rose into view as the lanky human climbed out. “Yes... Lieutenant.”

Other officers in the engineering area, all Starfleet crew at the moment, stopped and watched Jensen approach Nog. Nog felt their stares, and even heard a few muttered snickers, and inwardly sighed. Most of the Starfleet engineering crew never took an order from Nog without a sigh, or a dirty look.

Then there was Jensen, who preferred nastier measures.

“I need you to go to Upper Pylon 1 and help Pryen with the Yridian captain,” Nog explained.

Jensen shook his head. “With all due respect... sir...” Nog quickly logged yet another taunting pause, and knew where this was going. Jensen continued. “I think the Yridian would accept your opinion more than mine. After all,” he added with exaggerated regard, “you’re the chief engineer.”

Nog stared up at the insolent human and tried to hold his temper. Being tired from the long night and dealing with a myriad of problems was starting to bear down on him. He stood from his chair and prayed his voice wouldn't break. “That’s right, I am chief engineer. And as the senior officer of the engineering staff, I order you to go to Upper Pylon 1 and help Pryen.”

He heard the hush of every officer in Ops, felt their stares. But Nog’s gaze never left Jensen for a second. Jensen smirked and snorted, then bent in closer to Nog. “Senior officer by title, never by rank.” And he stalked off.

“Ensign Kalcheb,” Nog called out abruptly. Somehow he had the morbid suspicion that Jensen wouldn't go where he was supposed to.

Jensen had been on DS9 almost 7 years now, and most of the crew knew him as a hot head, always arguing with O’Brien, never really accepting the fact that a non-comm such as the Chief could ever be in charge of an academy-trained officer like Jensen. Nog always wondered why O’Brien never had Jensen court-martialed for his insubordination. But then, Chief O’Brien, he suspected, never gave up on a crew member. There wasn’t an officer aboard the station that didn’t admire and look up to the Chief. Nog suspected Jensen, in his own way, did as well.

Nog wished he had that kind of respect.

“Yes, sir,” Kalcheb piped up nervously. The Tellarite scrambled to Nog and presented himself accordingly. Nog had to smile. Kalcheb was still quite green, fresh out of the Academy, and Nog often wondered if the Tellarite often thought of any authority figure as some sort of drill sergeant.

“Go with Jensen, please,” Nog requested loudly.

Jensen, halfway to the turbolift, turned and glared at Nog. “With all due respect, Mr. Nog,” he said, practically seething, “I know the way to Upper Pylon 1.”

“Just in case the Yridian captain wants a third opinion, Mr. Jensen,” Nog shot back. Then, in a lower voice, he said to Kalcheb, “And make sure Jensen goes where he is supposed to.” The Tellarite nodded. It would get back to Jensen eventually, Nog knew that. Kalcheb left Nog's side and joined Jensen in the turbolift, Jensen still glaring as they descended.

Nog sighed, unsure what he was going to do with him. O’Brien had told him before he left that if Nog ever got Jensen in line, he’d prove himself a miracle worker. “But if Chief O’Brien couldn’t do it, how am I supposed to?” he muttered.

“Lieutenant?" Kaoron interrupted Nog's worrying, sympathetically polite. "Progress on the pylon sensors?”

Nog looked down at the panel and frowned. The levels had stalled for some reason. “Check the ODN relay. The levels aren’t moving.”

Kaoron bent down and addressed the pair of legs jutting out from underneath the science table. “Commander, stop charging a moment. The levels aren’t moving.”

Underneath the table, Alden’s voice echoed cavernously. “They aren’t moving? What the -- but I can hear it! It’s pulsing at a normal ra-- uh-oh ....”

Nog’s head snapped up. The whining of the electro-charge within the relay began to rise in pitch, rapidly. The short Ferengi leapt over his perch, tumbling to the deck below. “Commander, get out of -- Kaoron, get him out! Drop the charger!” Nog yelped as the whine's pitch sprinted up, higher and louder. He barely heard the clang of the charger as it hit the deck, Kaoron yanking Alden’s legs as he scrambled out from under the table, banging his head on the rim.

“Damn it!” the first officer spat. Kaoron and Alden leapt back from the table as it sparked angrily, shorted out with sickly sputtering noises, and -- as a finishing touch -- started to smoke.

Well, great, Nog thought. Another all-nighter wasted.

Alden and Kaoron steadied themselves, simultaneously smoothing out their uniforms. Kaoron looked Alden over with calm concern. “Are you all right, Commander?”

Nog stood and strode to the table and picked up the charger, its terrillium fiber optic coil now charred, innards spilling out of the hilt. The heat it had absorbed in the overload began to burn Nog’s hand, and he let go with an angry hiss.

Perhaps it was the combination of lack of sleep and lack of a decent meal. Or the fact that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with his father on Ferenginar in three days. Or the fact that his crew didn’t particularly respect him. Or maybe he was just sick and tired of fixing the damned science table.

Whatever it was, Nog snapped.

“This could have been you, Commander!” he shouted, gesturing wildly at the burned instrument on the floor. “Didn’t you notice there was something wrong?”

Alden inhaled sharply. “If I remember correctly, you were the one watching the levels, Lieutenant,” he shot back.

“Couldn’t you hear the pulsing react to sudden blockage?!” Nog sputtered, incredulous.

“Look, I’m not a Ferengi! I don’t have lobes the size of --”

“Gentlemen." Kaoron interjected with satirical Vulcan calm. "This will not help the fact that the entire time we spent fixing the table just blew up in our face... literally. I think we need to stop this and go back to square one.”

Nog sighed. Kaoron was right, as usual. Both he and Alden were acting like children. Thank the Nagus Colonel Kira isn’t here yet ....

“Yeah, well ....” Alden began, pouting, “he started it!”

Judging from his subtle expression, at another time Kaoron might have found that funny. “Regardless of who 'started it,' it is highly illogical to continue, as it doesn’t help the current situation. Lieutenant, I suggest we start again.”

Alden eyed Kaoron quizzically. “Are you sure you’re part Romulan? You’re too Vulcan for me.”

Nog sighed. “I agree,” said Nog, replying to Kaoron’s suggestion. Commander ....”

Alden glanced at the smoking console. “Shouldn’t we wait until the thing coo--”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think we’ll be requiring your assistance anymore,” Nog cut him off. He simply wasn’t in the mood for the commander’s hotheadedness, and he didn’t want to hear an excuse. Alden whirled toward Nog, his violet eyes flashing hotly, and Nog tried very hard not to flinch.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I could use the break anyway!” He stalked out of Ops through the side exit.

Kaoron watched Alden go, then turned to Nog with a bemused expression. “Wouldn’t using the turbolift have been easier?”

Nog shrugged resignedly. “I’ll take over underneath,” he mumbled, kneeling down.

“Who will monitor the ODN levels?” Kaoron asked.

Nog looked up at his station, then noticed Lt. Caryn Bilecki from the corner of his eye. She was plain, austere, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. The human engineer had been on the station for over seven years, and she knew the equipment and crew longer and better than anyone else, with the possible exception of Chief O’Brien. She, at least, was dependable, even if she wasn't particularly sympathetic toward Nog. He wanted to bump her up to his second in command and get rid of Jensen. Wishful thinking. “Lieutenant Bilecki?”

Bilecki looked up from the pit, all business. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Could you watch the electro-charge levels at my station, please?”

“Aye, sir.”

Nog grabbed another charger out of the toolbox and crawled under the disheveled table. Circuits and singed components spilled out in all directions. Much of the circuitry was burned considerably and would need repair before they could continue. He fumbled for his toolbox and felt it slide into his hand. Kaoron bent down into Nog’s view. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Nog grabbed a cutter and started slicing out the burned wire endings and re-fusing the pieces. He could see Kaoron’s foot tap in a slight display of frustration and briefly wondered exactly how much Vulcan made up the hybrid science officer. Between the stubborn equipment, the resentful crew, and Alden's unpredictable emotions, Nog might have gone insane hours ago had it not been for Kaoron's deadpan sense of humor.

"Let us know when you're ready to try again, Lieutenant," Kaoron said patiently.

Nog muttered. "Don't hold your breath. What a mess...."

Kaoron seemed to pause; Nog imagined him tilting his head. When he spoke, there was sincerity and a slight trace of mock gallantry in his voice. "Do not lose confidence now, Lieutenant. You shall be successful."

"Uh-huh." Was he talking about the damaged table or the respect of his crew? Either way, it was hard to share his confidence. Nog yanked a clump of burned wires out of the workings with some vehemence. "Logic dictates it, right?"

Kaoron smirked. "Of course it does."

***

It was 0558. Early -- too early for her taste. Dr. Girani Jennel walked into the Infirmary carrying several PADDs in one hand and a large mug of what could only be described as milky blue froth in the other. Her unadorned pale lips sipped at the drink as if the fluid was life itself, and she gave a soft sigh of relief as she placed the mug on the examining table, where other personnel were already gathered around, their own hot morning saviors in hand.

There was a conference room among the medical suites in the habitat ring; it was simply easier to meet in the Infirmary, that way more staff could get together, and if an emergency occurred they wouldn’t have to sprint to the Promenade to get to work. That had been Dr. Bashir’s idea. Six of the seven people due to be there, including her, were now present and turned to greet the Bajoran doctor as she arrived.

“How can you drink that stuff, Jennel?” said the only human male in the room, with pretended disgust.

Girani's eyes sparkled at the light teasing. With a defiant look, she gulped a large portion of the liquid in front him, then gave a wide blue smile and said, “How about a morning kiss, Mark?” She leaned in playfully as he shrank away in mock horror and everyone laughed. Still grinning, Dr. Girani moved to the far end of the conference table and laid all the PADDs down before reaching into her lab coat and retrieving a cloth to wipe her mouth.

She surveyed those before her, taking a mental role call. Each of the three shift doctors were there -- Starfleet doctors Mark Levets and K’Pak of Vulcan, and Dr. Rigel Tohn, Bajoran. Then there were two of the three head nurses of each shift, Raal Jord from Bajor and Sandra Ottene, Starfleet. So they were only missing one more. Girani glanced at the chronometer and frowned. “Has anyone heard from Da’nessa?”

Most of them exchanged bewildered looks then shook their heads. It was Jord that piped up, hiding a smile, “Perhaps she found out what Yarmen has been planning for so long last night?” Sandra gave him a mischievous grin in response.

Girani glanced from Jord to Sandra and back again. "Care to fill me in on the joke?"

Before anyone could say anything, Jabara Da'nessa walked in briskly, fastening the last pins into her braided blonde hair. She paused when she noticed the curious looks directed at her and blushed, then took her seat. “I apologize,” she said, her gaze cast down at the table. “Not very professional, but….”

Tohn regarded her critically. "But...?"

“It would seem that only the minority is informed, Da’nessa.” Even K’Pak managed to look mildly curious.

Jabara rolled her eyes under the scrutiny, but she started to laugh, giving way to her apparent joy. “After so many years, Yarmen....” She trailed off and turned her head, revealing the glitter of a Bajoran pledge earring.

Shouts of joy and congratulations filled the room. Girani leaned across the table to examine the earring. "It's lovely, 'Nessa! Though hardly in line with uniform protocol...."

Jabara returned a defiant smile. "Ah, yes, and this medical staff is so devoted to protocol."

Jord laughed. "I'm just amazed that ol' Yarmen actually got around to it. Took him long enough -- I was ready to give up on him."

K’Pak lifted her shoulder in a delicate shrug, her voice calm and thoughtful. “On the contrary, it is not unexpected. Wani Yarmen has been devoted to you for seven years; marriage is only logical. After all, you deserve his commitment after he has had yours for so long.”

They all gazed at the Vulcan with blank expressions, but Da'nessa had known K'Pak long enough to recognize a display of friendship when she saw it. She laughed, prompting similar reactions from the rest of them. “You know, K’Pak, you’re right. You’re absolutely right!”

K'Pak betrayed the barest hint of a smile.

“All right, all right, people,” said Girani, returning to business. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about this later, we need to get this briefing over with. Now, there are a couple of things we need to establish, though most things will go on as usual while Dr. Bashir is away on Cardassia. And before anyone asks, no, I don’t know when he’ll be back. He said he’d contact me at his earliest opportunity after he arrives."

“And speaking of which....” Girani entered a command into her PADD, transmitting a communiqué to the rest of them. She watched as everyone opened the file before continuing. "Starfleet Medical feels that his departure requires a temporary posting to complement our staff. They have sent Dr. Alexis Monrow, lieutenant, a multi-species specialist and biochemist. Apparently they believe Bashir's absence is going to be for an extended period of time, and feel that with our high traffic flow, she will be sorely needed in an emergency. Considerate of them, I'd say,” she finished dryly.

Most of the looks around the table were reserved, professional, until Mark cringed while looking over the PADD. “Did you see these qualifications? She could be a CMO practically anywhere -- why would she be taking temporary positions?”

Jabara frowned. She'd worked with Bashir for as long as he'd been on the station, and over the years she'd become fiercely loyal. “You don’t think that Starfleet would be….”

"Trying to replace him?" Tohn finished, his brow creased. "A few years ago, after the whole resequencing thing came out, I wouldn't have put it past them. But at the moment, I think I’ll give this Monrow the benefit of the doubt and say no. If they'd wanted to get rid of him, they'd have done it then."

"Unless they were waiting for the war to be over," Mark muttered.

“I agree with Tohn,” said Girani decisively. “My guess is that Starfleet is beginning to see our importance here in this sector. In any case, we need a xenobiologist, and Starfleet made it clear that Monrow will not be overriding Bashir's command or mine. Da’nessa, I’m assigning you to help our new doctor get settled in. Prophets know how upset Dr. Bashir can get if someone disrupts the way his infirmary operates, and you know his routine as well as any of us.” She paused to glance around the table. "I know Julian would appreciate it if we do all we can to welcome her and help her adjust, which I’m sure we can all do. Correct?"

They nodded their agreement. “When does she arrive?” K'Pak asked.

Girani checked her PADD for confirmation, businesslike once more. “Later on today, on the USS Bradbury, I believe. All right, next item on the agenda….”

***

Nog’s shoulders slumped a little as he walked through the entrance of Quark’s, while the sudden rise in ambient noise levels almost made his lobes shrivel. It was bad enough he’d had to rearrange an already busy schedule to come here and fix his uncle’s holosuites. It was worse that he wasn’t even going to have some peace and quiet to concentrate in.

He was used to the sight that greeted him when he entered the bar, but anyone entering the place for the first time would have gasped either in disbelief, admiration, or disgust. Sometimes a mixture of all three, Nog thought, remembering all the times he’d worked here. Today seemed to be a usual lunchtime scene -- the DS9 crew and Bajoran citizens were mostly sitting at tables, tucking into the meals that Quark’s replicator had provided for them and bravely ignoring the taste. Klingons, and members of various other races, tended to mill about with their drinks firmly clutched in their hands, avoiding the scurrying waiters. Meanwhile, a few patrons chose to try their luck at the Dabo tables and win enough to pay for a slightly more substantial plate of food and a bottle of wine. Either way, if they won or lost, Nog knew that their latinum would end up in Quark’s pocket eventually.

He glanced up at Ensign Eudoxia Pedorina, wishing his human assistant didn’t tower over him quite so much.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” He led the way towards the bar, knowing that Pedorina would follow him like a slim, blonde shadow. The rowdy atmosphere of Quark’s would keep her close to him. She was never the most demonstrative of people, quiet and happy to be by herself. From what Nog could tell, she wasn’t yet used to the station’s premier watering hole either; she’d only been on the station for about four months.

Lucky her. The vehemence with which Nog thought the words almost surprised him, and he felt his jaw clench as he pushed past two Bajoran traders. He couldn’t deny the words though, couldn’t make himself believe that he’d never thought them. There had been a few times over the past two months, and the last day or so in particular, when he’d wished that he was still an ensign under Chief O’Brien’s command. Life had been so much simpler then. He received an order, carried it out to the best of his ability, reported back to O’Brien and received another order.

But giving orders was something that he wasn’t yet used to.

Moving closer to the bar, he finally caught sight of his uncle, pouring out a sickly orange-colored drink for a Yridian. It was a familiar sight that Nog took comfort from, reminding him of the days before Rom had become Grand Nagus, and he was struck by concerns about the difficulty with communicating with Ferenginar in the past few days. His father, now the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance, had been an engineer under the Bajoran militia for a number of years. He wanted to talk to Rom about his experiences with the engineering crew, hoping to get a few pointers in dealing with non-Ferengi. His father had never been in charge, but he certainly had to get his crew to accept him as he was. And everyone who worked with Rom liked him.

He attributed his inability to contact Ferenginar with the recent problems with the station’s subspace communicators, but he wanted to be sure. He decided to mention it to Quark -- if anyone could understand, he would.

Nog laid his toolbox down on the bar’s polished surface, and his eyes instantly met Quark’s scowling face.

“It’s about time,” Quark said darkly, setting down the vial of liquid as the Yridian sloped off. “Do you have any idea how many Bajorans I’ve had to turn away because the holosuites aren’t running? Too many. How are decent people supposed to make a pilgrimage in a place like this?”

“I came as soon as I could, Uncle,” Nog said truthfully. He neglected to mention that the holosuites had been right at the bottom of his priority list.

“I plan on making a huge profit from the visit of those two vedeks. One of them is going to be elected Kai; people from all over the sector would come to visit a holosuite used by not only the Emissary, but the next spiritual leader of Bajor!” Quark moved the bottle to its rightful place behind the bar, before spinning back to the two engineers. “But no, some person goes and overloads the station’s systems, and then Kira tells me that she can’t spare a repair team. Don’t you go worrying about my livelihood, Colonel. And I thought Sisko was bad.”

Nog patiently listened to his uncle’s rant, uncomfortably aware that Pedorina was listening to every word of it as well. She didn’t need to hear about his uncle scamming the Bajorans. Besides, visits from two of the vedeks running for kai had been postponed because of the current disrepair of the station -- more pressure and embarassment for Nog. He cleared his throat.

“Do you want us to look at the holosuites, then?”

Quark stared at him irritably then called over one of his Ferengi waiters to tend the bar until he returned. That done, he led Nog and Pedorina up to the second level and the holosuites. There wasn’t much light up on the second level. It was a haven for couples having a romantic dinner at one of the upper tables, and for people who didn’t want to be seen coming out of a holosuite. Nog, however, could have found his way to the holosuites with a blindfold on. How many times had he come up here with Jake Sisko to watch one of his baseball programs? He shook his head. He was supposed to be working, not reminiscing about the good old days.

“I could finally sell the rest of my stock of commemorative earrings,” the elder Ferengi grumbled, leaning up against the wall as Nog knelt down and removed the heavy bullkhead which protected the sensitive holosuite controls. “Is this going to take long?”

Nog tuned out Quark’s mutterings, a trick his father had taught him, while he opened his tricorder and scanned the machinery. Pedorina said nothing, but he could feel her watchful presence at his shoulder.

“I think it might.” He studied the tricorder’s readings again before snapping it shut. “The problem is with the imaging processor. It was linked to the main computer system. When the system overloaded, it must have created a power surge in the imaging processor, most likely because you have the programs running continuously.”

Quark turned an interesting shade of pale orange. “Are you saying that my holosuite programs have been wiped?”

“No, the only damage is to the processor. The programs will still be stored in the core memory interface. But most of the processor’s components have burnt out.”

Nog thought about the programs in the holosuite -- not only the baseball programs, but Vic’s program ran continuously. If the programs had been wiped, it may have taken Vic with them. How many people would be crushed if that had happened? Not to mention Nog himself. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time there since the war ended -- maybe when everything was fixed, he’d pay Vic a visit.

Quark looked suspicious. “Why would that take long to solve? Just replace them.”

“It isn’t as simple as that,” Nog replied, swallowing a sigh. “Like the computer systems, this is a Cardassian unit, jerry-rigged to function with Federation parts. We might have to do some… experimenting.”

“Oh, wonderful.” The barkeep rolled his eyes as Nog turned to Pedorina. She was still peering into the holosuite mechanisms, hands clasped firmly behind her back.

“Ensign I think we should start by trying to fix this unit rather than trying to acquire another. The damaged components are only small ones, so it may not be too hard to work with them. Could you go down to Engineering and pick them up?” Nog held out a PADD, the lists of parts required on display.

For a moment, the ensign simply looked at him, and Nog felt an uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck. Then she took the PADD and gave him a nod.

“At once, sir.” Pedorina clasped the tricorder in her hand as she made her way towards the spiral staircase, and Nog let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He turned back to the holosuite’s innards and tried to look busy.

“If it works, then we might have this running again in an hour or --”

“Nog,” Quark interrupted softly. “Did you see that?”

The engineer tapped a flickering light display with a blue fingernail, hoping Quark wasn’t going to say what he thought he was going to say. “See what?”

“The way she looked at you.” When Nog looked over his shoulder, he saw Quark move towards the railing, obviously watching Pedorina leave. “She didn’t like taking orders from you.”

“I think you’re imagining things, Uncle,” Nog replied uneasily, turning around to face Quark but not moving towards him.

“I am not. I’ve had to suffer over eight years of staring at human faces, and I understand them better than they do themselves.” Quark faced him, scarlet-rimmed eyes staring. “She didn’t like you telling her what to do.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nog said flatly. “She came from Starfleet Academy. They wouldn’t have posted her here if she had some kind of problem with authority--”

“This has nothing to do with your rank, Nog!” Quark hissed, suddenly moving to grab his arm. “If you were a Human lieutenant--" he seethed with that Ferengi hew-mon pronounciation, "Then she wouldn’t have a problem! But you’re a Ferengi! They still don’t trust you!”

Nog pulled his arm away. He’d seen Pedorina’s look too, but he was desperately trying to ignore it. Pedorina was a very sweet person, and before he had become chief engineer, she had attempted to initiate one or two conversations with him, but didn’t get far before blushing and walking off.

It was the idea of his officers not trusting him that hurt. He'd suspected as much for some time now, but he certainly didn't want to admit that to someone like Quark.

“That’s not true!” he retorted, wishing he believed it. “They do trust me! What about the battle against the Dominion on AR-558? They trusted me to scout ahead for them!”

“Yes, and look what happened to you there!” The other Ferengi shook his head in frustration and tossed a gesture toward Nog's artificial leg. “Why do you think they chose you to scout ahead?”

“Because of my hearing; because I would have heard the Jem’Hadar coming before anyone else heard--”

“What about Bashir? He’s genetically enhanced. I bet he can hear just as well as any Ferengi! Why didn’t they choose him?” Quark leaned closer. “They chose you because you were expendable. Why risk a Human life when there’s a Ferengi you can send out instead?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Nog said, gritting his teeth until he could feel the jagged points cutting into his mouth. “Dr. Bashir was needed in the base. I was the logical choice.”

“Well, what about when you first joined the Academy? I remember you telling Rom how all the other students were wary of you. They didn’t want to associate themselves with a Ferengi, did they?” Quark’s voice lowered. “Your engineering crew are the same. They think they’re too good to be ordered around by a Ferengi. Well, don’t bother with them, Nog. There are always places for engineers on Ferengi Marauders. That’s where you’re needed! Why spend your entire career serving people who won’t accept you because of what you are? Why waste your life like that?”

Quark had just echoed all of Nog’s worst nightmares. The young Ferengi was suddenly gripped by the anger of knowing that his crews hadn’t accepted him as chief of engineering, that perhaps they were prejudiced towards him, and the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You’re a fine one to talk about wasting a career, Uncle. At least I haven’t devoted my life to running some crummy little bar that barely turns a profit.”

He could tell from Quark’s eyes that the words had stung, as his uncle drew back. He wanted to take back the words, suddenly feeling cold and hollow, but found that he couldn’t speak.

“Fine. Carry on with your Starfleet ‘friends,’ but don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all turns sour.” Quark started down the staircase, glowering. “You always have to do it the hard way. Just like your father.”

Nog watched him go, the last traces of his anger burning away to be replaced by a nagging concern which turned his stomach to jelly. His father! He had meant to tell Quark about not being able to contact Ferenginar, but had completely forgotten. For a moment he thought about running down the stairs after him, but he could imagine the cold look that he’d receive, the clipped words. No, better to wait until his uncle had calmed down. If he ever did.

Suddenly klaxons sounded a yellow alert, and Nog looked up instinctively at the flashing lights. “Kalcheb to Nog.”

The Ferengi glanced at the broken holosuite again, and slapped his comm badge with more force than he’d meant to use.

“Nog here.” His voice sounded strained.

“A situation has developed in Operations.” The Tellarite’s nervous voice slid out of the badge and shattered against his nerves. “We need your help.”

“I’m on my way.” Pedorina would have to deal with the broken holosuite by herself, Nog thought, as he started towards the staircase. Then he changed his mind, and exited onto the second level of the Promenade instead.

Chapter Two

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