SCE 50 - Malefictorum (c) by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2011-01-02T07:59:50.108000+00:00

Chapter

9

Corsi strode into the dissonant cacophony that was Quark’s Bar both anticipating and dreading what she had to do. It looked just like she remembered it: bar full of people of many different species, dabo tables in full spin, drinks and food free-flowing—for a reasonable price, of course. The enormous yellow and orange Cardassian glasswork that she’d learned had always stood in the rear of the bar still glowed, lending its odd shading to the various complexions that filled the bar.

The crowd was just what she wanted. There was no way Quark would risk making a scene in front of so many customers. She’d never actually interrogated an ambassador before, but she had interrogated Ferengi. Getting the slippery businessmen to divulge anything they didn’t want to without offering monetary gain was usually just as difficult as it sounded.

No sooner was she through the door than a tall, lithe Orion female almost clothed in a diaphanous white dress whose hem barely passed her hips greeted her. An aroma of cinnamon followed, strong enough to plow its way through the general smell of the mass of people, as well as their respective dinners and drinks. Her flaming red hair was pulled up on her head, ornately braided strands dangling around her slender green neck. “Welcome to Quark’s,” she said, her voice perfectly balanced between loud enough to be heard over the gambling patrons and not loud enough to be yelling.

“Hello, Treir,” Corsi said, matching her for volume. Judging by the woman’s reaction, she hadn’t expected the newcomer to know who she was. Corsi smiled. “One Hundred Ninety-fourth Rule of Acquisition. It’s always good business to know your customers before they walk in the door.”

The Orion frowned. “Let me guess. You’re here to see Quark.”

“Got it in one. If the ambassador isn’t available, let him know he’s interfering in a Starfleet investigation. His government might not like that too much.”

Was that a snort of derision, or did one of the dabo tables give out? “That would require the ambassador liking his government. I take it you haven’t heard—”

“About the problems he’s had with the Grand Nagus? Or about the fact that the Grand Nagus’s first clerk owes him a favor? Or are you talking about the fake Grisellan icons?”

One red eyebrow rose. “You’re well-informed,” she said, having the decency to sound surprised.

“Just knowing my customer.”

Before Treir could say another word, the nearly slavering Ferengi ambassador appeared behind her. “Welcome to Quark’s,” he said, the tone in his voice far more of a “Can I show you my collection of Risean art?” than a real welcome. “It’s always nice to have our Starfleet friends pay us a visit. Treir, has our guest asked for anything to drink?”

“No,” the Orion said.

“Well, the couple at table three have. Could you take the order to them?”

Treir glared at the Ferengi before walking off.

“I’m here on business, Ambassador,” Corsi said as she pulled Caitano’s altered padd out of her shoulder bag. “Does this look familiar?”

The Ferengi’s oversized lobes perked.

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