Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: I, the Constable by Paula M. Block & Terry J. Erdmann

Author:Paula M. Block & Terry J. Erdmann
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star Books

Chapter 15

His kidnappers paused at a landing where the staircase took a turn. “He’s heavier than he looks,” Rascoe complained, his exposed arms damp with sweat. “Why couldn’t this conversation take place downstairs?”

“You know why,” responded Bakke, who was panting just as hard as his counterpart. “Because ‘all business discussions take place in the tower.’ So catch your breath and let’s go!”

As the painful process again got under way, Quark decided that it was time to make a helpful suggestion. “You realize that this trip would be easier on all of us if you untied my feet and let me walk up the stairs?”

“SHUT UP!” the two kidnappers shouted in unison.

Idiots, Quark thought between the painful bounces. Wait—all business discussions take place in the tower? What tower? What’s that about? Who’s up there?

After another landing, and another pause, and yet another flight of steps, Quark worried that they planned to carry him to the roof and drop him off. Maybe that’s what these maroons call a business discussion, he thought. But on the next, and apparently final, landing, the pair stepped through an open doorway and dumped him onto the floor—which felt different. Surprised, he saw that it was carpeted.

Carpeted nicely, too.

Bakke shot a glare at Quark. “Stay here!” he ordered. Then he and Rascoe went through the doorway and headed back down the stairs.

“And where is it that you think I could go?” Quark shouted after them, determined to have a defiant last word.

Their voices floated up the stairwell. “SHUT UP!”

Alone at last, Quark looked around to see what fresh new purgatory he’d been delivered unto.

To his surprise, he was in a brightly lit suite, filled with tasteful furnishings—which told him that he’d been correct about a third “who” being involved in this illicit group. Neither Rascoe nor Bakke seemed the type to appreciate such decor. One half of the area was designated as a sitting room, with comfortable-looking puffed-fabric chairs in a deep, rich blue; elegant accent tables; and a golden yellow divan strewn with pillows. The other side resembled a traditional office, albeit a very swanky one. A cushioned executive chair sat behind a handsome desk of rich tickwood set on beautiful curvy legs. The desk was flanked by classic urns of live, rare fungi phyla: giant zygomycota and ascomycota that Quark knew to be expensive, not to mention delicious. A computer sat in the center of the desk, along with a number of padds that were neatly arranged, aligned with the edge of the desktop.

This is the kind of office I would have if I could afford it.

The distinctive sound of rain beating against a frosted window caught Quark’s ears. Thloppering, he thought. So I’m still on Ferenginar. I don’t know which part of the planet, but at least I’m alive. And being in this room is a lot better than being in that subterranean storage closet. I can see the light, and hear the rain, and smell the perfume.

Wait. Perfume?

Quark heard soft footsteps behind him and, with difficulty, he twisted around just enough to see who was entering the room.

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