Saratoga (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Book 18) by Michael Jan Friedman

Author:Michael Jan Friedman [Friedman, Michael Jan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books/Star Trek
Published: 2000-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

JAKE COULDN’T HELP but be aware of how empty his quarters felt without his father around. He had hoped having Nog over for a Fretillian fizz would change that. Unfortunately Nog wasn’t very good company lately.

“He’s in trouble,” said the Ferengi, leaning back into Sisko’s couch. “I know he is.”

Jake shook his head. “You don’t know that. Your father might be doing a great job.”

Nog grunted. “I know my father. And I tell you, he is not doing a great job at all. Despite his good intentions, he may throw a …” He paused, searching for the right idiom.

“A what?” asked the human.

“You know,” said the Ferengi, looking annoyed. “An implement used by animals or something—small, hairy animals with bowlegs. You said they were your ancestors, though I think you were joking.”

Jake thought for a moment. Finally it came to him. “A monkey wrench,” he announced triumphantly.

“Yes,” said Nog, pointing at him. “A monkey wrench, exactly. That is what my father will throw into the negotiations.”

The human sighed. “You’ve got to have confidence in him, Nog—the same way you would want him to have confidence in you.”

The Ferengi peered up at him. “You don’t understand. My father is putting his career on the line—maybe even his life.”

Jake looked at him askance. “His life? What do you mean?”

Nog scowled. “I mean my father hasn’t exactly impressed anyone with his ability to transact business. And a Ferengi without a head for business has no future. He might as well be dead.”

The human scowled back at him. “You really believe that?”

Nog gnawed pensively on one of his knuckles. “No,” he said at last. “Not really. But all the rest of my people believe it, so what difference does it make what I think?”

“It makes a lot of difference,” Jake insisted. “I don’t think your father cares all that much what other Ferengi think. But I think he’d be hurt if he thought he’d disappointed you.”

His friend pondered the advice. After a while, it seemed to comfort him. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, “in a hu-man kind of way.”

Jake smiled. “That’s the only way I know.”

“You know,” said Nog, cheering up visibly, “I think I could use another fizz. How about you?”

The boy nodded. “Sure. I’ll get us a couple.”

The Ferengi held his hand up. “No. This round is on me.”

He looked scared for a moment, as he realized what he’d said. Instantly he amended it.

“That’s a figure of speech, of course.”

“Of course,” Jake assured him.

He watched Nog enter the cooking area. The Ferengi didn’t often offer to serve anyone—he always said he did too much of that in his uncle’s bar. So this was a rare occasion.

And maybe, the human thought, a small expression of Nog’s gratitude. Not that it was necessary. Jake wasn’t looking for thanks. Seeing his friend’s spirits improve was reward enough.

Besides, talking about Rom’s predicament made the captain’s seem petty by comparison. Nog’s father was involved in a tricky situation, with his reputation hanging in the balance.

Jake’s

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