Meanwhile, on three matters
May. 7th, 2004 05:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakSchedule from Hell Week: continuing until Sunday. Still, there is a bit more breathing room this afternoon, which means another installment of Quark's Day, see below. Also, I'm in the process of catching up with my mail and everyone's postings.
1) Yet more![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
babficathon stories! Woo hoo, to quote the estimable Captain Sheridan. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eye_of_cat wrote a lovely Delenn/Lennier story which manages to be set in late season 2 and still fit with canon. And we've got a new Londo/G'Kar tale. The fandom is growing, oh yes it is.
2) Politics: bothhobsonphile and honorh pointed out to me that Loyalty Day and National Day of Prayer were not in fact invented by Bush but were already established holidays since years. Which is a relief in one way, and in another of disturbing historical fascination. Am still rooting for Civil Disobedience Day. Speaking of mixed feelings, yesterday in between Berlin appointments I managed to catch a bit of Scott McClellan's session with the press. 'Twas the first time I felt sorry for one of Bush's people (he was so in a thankless no-win position there). Still, the way the press grilled him was an affirmation that the media felt no longer the need for obedient restraint. The general indignation in the US about the entire torture/months of silence affair is, in fact, a demonstration that cynism a la Rumsfeld (who topped his euphemisms on the occasion of the Baghdad lootings - "untidy", I think, was the word back then - with the more recent well-I-did-not-read-the-report-but-I-looked-at-the-summary excuse) is the exception, not the rule. Meanwhile, another American friend of mine mailed me this article, which sums up the Bush Administration so far.
In the early afternoon, all the Starfleet people were usually gone back to their work stations; the clientele mostly consisted of the incoming travellers, Bajorans, and Morn. It was either the time for some profitable calls, or some quick oomox before the serious gambling started. Today, Quark went for the calls. The Federation retaking Terok Nor had changed things on the market, after all; people were actually interested in Federation-related shares again, and Quark never had sold all of his. Moreover, now that Jadzia had entrusted him with the catering of her bachelor party, there were a lot of orders to place. No matter how undeserving he thought Commander Crunchhead was of her, there was no way this party would be anything but perfect.
His establishment’s reputation was at stake, after all.
Quark was going through the list of friends of all species she had given him when looking up information about their respecitive eating habits when Chief O’Brien showed up. In Quark’s experience, engineers tended to go in two varieties; gratingly cheerful and babbling stuff that noone could understand, or surly and with a distinct why-are-you-bothering-me-again air. He had no problems assigning those roles to his brother and O’Brien, in their respective professional capacities. Now O’Brien, off-duty, was perfectly willing to babble, only it was about darts, his kids or whatever nw game he and Dr. Bashir had come up with, and Rom, when not busy with some engineering problem, for the longest time rather cringed than spoke up at all, though that had changed in the last year or so. Still, you could usually tell why there were around by their demeanor.
Consequently, when O’Brien marched in briskly and then suddenly started to look unsure and shuffle his feet, Quark got confused. And impatient, since he wanted to continue with the party-planning.
“Anything I can do for you, Chief?” he asked less than graciously.
“It’s about my holosuite reservation on Friday,” O’Brien said.
“If you want to cancel, it, go ahead,” Quark muttered. “There are about a thousand requests waiting in line.” Which was true. You’d think that with the Galaxy Class Starfleet vessels and their holodecks, nobody would missed Quark’s holosuites that much, but apparently Starfleet frowned on the use of entertainment programms on ships that were flying battle missions. Not to mention their rather puritanic restrictions on the kind of programms you could run even in peace times. Since all of this meant very busy holosuites and more profit, however, Quark wasn’t about to complain.
“Err,” O’Brien said, and a faint blush crept up on his cheeks. Uncharitably, Quark thought that redheads needed to have pale skin like Major Kira to carry off that one in a flattering manner. Not that Kira was the blushing type. “I was actually hoping… Quark, I need to book another hour.”
Automatically, Quark went into negotiating mode, then told himself in this case it wasn’t necessary. He was outbooked as it was for Friday.
“You and Dr. Bashir want to continue fighting the tula berries on Saturday, that’s fine by me, though there would be weekend rates,” he replied. “But Friday is full.”
“Jerries, Quark,” O’Brien corrected. “And I don’t need the other hour for that. I need another programm as well. It’s not for Julian, it’s for Keiko. She’s coming back on late Thursday, and I was planning, you know, on a nice evening. Something special. To show her how I’ve missed her.”
“Well, then use the booking you already have,” Quark said, and wondered, not for the first time, why humans still felt the need to wine and dine their females if they were already married. Admittedly he himself had been known to give in to the odd urge and do this for Grilka after their divorce. And while Natima had never married him, they had been a couple for quite some time, during which he still would pay for holoprogramms and flowers. But then, those exceptions only proved the rule. A contract was a contract was a contract. Marriage was a contract. One only needed to look at Rom and Nog’s mother Primadora to see how it ended if one allowed the female to constantly renegotiate the contract clauses.
“But that’s the Battle of Britain!” O’Brien protested. “Julian and I need to be there.”
O’Brien was whipped. On two fronts. And that was putting it charitably.
However, a man whipped was a man ready to be exploited.
“I don’t know, Chief,” Quark said slowly. “What with all the stress Rom has been under lately, I’m not even sure the holosuites will be able to run smoothly. They really could need a complete overhaul.”
One thing O’Brien decidedly was not, however, was slow or stupid. He caught on immediately.
“I might get there with my team,” he said warily. “But we’re working double shifts as it is, what with the mess the station is in right now. Next week…”
Quark inspected Jadzia’s preliminary guest list again.
“Next week you can book an entire evening for yourself and Mrs. O’Brien,” he said absent-mindedly. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“Fine,” O’Brien hissed. “Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Quark gave him a toothy grin. “What a coincidence,” he said. “I’ve just remembered that Nog and Jake cancelled their hour on Friday.”
If O’Brien felt guilty for costing Nog and Jake their booking, it wasn’t enough to make him pull back. He muttered something about Quark not having changed at all during the Occupation, and left. Quark changed the reservations, then called Nog to tell him. Five minutes later, his nephew stormed into the bar.
“That’s it,” Nog yelled. “Uncle, I’m not your wage slave anymore. I’m a paying customer. You can’t do this to me.”
In between quoting the appropriate rules to Nog, Quark felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that Nog had been in combat, too, these last months, without any chance to relax around these Starfleet types. In truth, the boy looked older, and not in a good way. When Nog first had returned to the Station from the Academy, his obsession with soldierely rules had bewildered and mystified Rom, but Quark had been reminded of his own first year on a Marauder, of the overeagerness to prove oneself. It had passed. Now, though, there was a grimness in Nog’s expression that hadn’t to do with playing soldier at all. He didn’t want to imagine what the boy had seen.
You should have stayed here, Quark thought, and not for the first time. I’ll get my own moon one of these days, and then Rom can have the bar, and you would inherit it from him. Nobody ever expect a barkeeper to play hero. Provided he does what’s right and serves his customers well, nobody ever wants to kill a barkeeper. Nobody expects him to kill.
Unless the world has gone mad, and so have the heroes, another voice in his head, sounding not at all like himself, reminded him. With an effort, he shoved it back and tried to concentrate on the angry young man in front of him. Nog was just in the middle of a rant that would have done his grandmother proud.
“…and I have the same rights as everyone else! And don’t think I won’t complain to Captain Sisko, because I will, and he will listen to me. He cares about his people.”
Sisko undoubtedly would be thrilled to see him again today. He might even allow Odo to do whatever lawenforcer harrassment Odo had in mind to polish up his tarnished image. Still, it wouldn’t do to give in to a younger relative’s demands too easily.
“As long as they do what he wants,” Quark said, playing for time. “I didn’t see him do anything to rescue Jake these last months.”
“That’s low, Uncle,” Nog returned, obviously even more indignant on his idol’s behalf. “Jake made his own decision to stay here. The Captain couldn’t risk endangering everyone’s lives to retrieve one civilian.”
All of which was quite true, and Quark wouldn’t have brought it up if he hadn’t needed to save face by some more conversation before telling Nog he’d get his holosuite hour after all, but now that the words were spoken, he felt compelled to follow them up. Jake had spent most of his time at the bar during the second occupation, interviewing people, hanging out with Kira, or helping out as a waiter, and that had given Quark more than enough opportunity to observe him. Most of the time, Jake had been lonely and scared, and not that good at hiding it behind what youthful bravado he could muster.
“Maybe,” Quark said tersely. “But I can tell you this, nephew – there is no way I’d let a member of my family in the hands of the Dominion.”
“Not if you could sell us to them for a profit first,” Nog said heatedly, and the bitterness and conviction in his words stunned Quark. For the first time today, he felt at a complete loss of words, and not as a means of playing for time, or outbluffing an opponent. Surely Nog couldn’t really believe that?
They looked at each other, and Quark could see the resentment of a lifetime burning in Nog’s gaze. He couldn’t understand it. Yes, he had been a good Ferengi and exploited both Rom and Nog, but that hadn’t been just about profit. It had been to take care of them, the way his father Keldar had never managed to take care of Quark and Rom. Nobody was ever going to taunt his family about their head being a philantropic failure, oh no.
“You and Jake can use the holosuite on Friday,” Quark said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Just two hours later.”
He’d have to cancel Morn’s booking for this, which was always his last resort, but one he had been planning to use anyway. After some negotiating, as a Ferengi should. Obviously, Nog didn’t remember any longer what Ferengi did in such situations. Or if he did, he had brought out a negotiation ploy that he never should have used.
Nog looked at him, silently, obviously still waiting for something else. If it was for some ridiculous human-style declaration of sentiment, he was waiting in vain. If Nog didn’t understand by now how Quark felt about his family, he never would.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Quark said finally.
Nog nodded, still silent, and left. With a grimace, Quark poured himself a Somerian Sun Spot, but the drink felt to work its magic, or maybe there was something wrong with his taste buds. He couldn’t taste anything at all. He decided to get all disagreeable things over with at once, and readied himself to tell Morn about a change of plans for Friday night. As it turned out, Morn was in the middle of a vivid conversation with a richly dressed stranger. Or rather, the stranger was talking, with wide, espansive gestures, but judging by Morn’s fascinated expression, Morn didn’t want to miss a word.
Maybe the bad news could wait, after all. Quark shrugged, and went back to ordering items for Jadzia’s bachelor party.
1) Yet more
babficathon stories! Woo hoo, to quote the estimable Captain Sheridan. eye_of_cat wrote a lovely Delenn/Lennier story which manages to be set in late season 2 and still fit with canon. And we've got a new Londo/G'Kar tale. The fandom is growing, oh yes it is. 2) Politics: both
hobsonphile and honorh pointed out to me that Loyalty Day and National Day of Prayer were not in fact invented by Bush but were already established holidays since years. Which is a relief in one way, and in another of disturbing historical fascination. Am still rooting for Civil Disobedience Day. Speaking of mixed feelings, yesterday in between Berlin appointments I managed to catch a bit of Scott McClellan's session with the press. 'Twas the first time I felt sorry for one of Bush's people (he was so in a thankless no-win position there). Still, the way the press grilled him was an affirmation that the media felt no longer the need for obedient restraint. The general indignation in the US about the entire torture/months of silence affair is, in fact, a demonstration that cynism a la Rumsfeld (who topped his euphemisms on the occasion of the Baghdad lootings - "untidy", I think, was the word back then - with the more recent well-I-did-not-read-the-report-but-I-looked-at-the-summary excuse) is the exception, not the rule. Meanwhile, another American friend of mine mailed me this article, which sums up the Bush Administration so far.In the early afternoon, all the Starfleet people were usually gone back to their work stations; the clientele mostly consisted of the incoming travellers, Bajorans, and Morn. It was either the time for some profitable calls, or some quick oomox before the serious gambling started. Today, Quark went for the calls. The Federation retaking Terok Nor had changed things on the market, after all; people were actually interested in Federation-related shares again, and Quark never had sold all of his. Moreover, now that Jadzia had entrusted him with the catering of her bachelor party, there were a lot of orders to place. No matter how undeserving he thought Commander Crunchhead was of her, there was no way this party would be anything but perfect.
His establishment’s reputation was at stake, after all.
Quark was going through the list of friends of all species she had given him when looking up information about their respecitive eating habits when Chief O’Brien showed up. In Quark’s experience, engineers tended to go in two varieties; gratingly cheerful and babbling stuff that noone could understand, or surly and with a distinct why-are-you-bothering-me-again air. He had no problems assigning those roles to his brother and O’Brien, in their respective professional capacities. Now O’Brien, off-duty, was perfectly willing to babble, only it was about darts, his kids or whatever nw game he and Dr. Bashir had come up with, and Rom, when not busy with some engineering problem, for the longest time rather cringed than spoke up at all, though that had changed in the last year or so. Still, you could usually tell why there were around by their demeanor.
Consequently, when O’Brien marched in briskly and then suddenly started to look unsure and shuffle his feet, Quark got confused. And impatient, since he wanted to continue with the party-planning.
“Anything I can do for you, Chief?” he asked less than graciously.
“It’s about my holosuite reservation on Friday,” O’Brien said.
“If you want to cancel, it, go ahead,” Quark muttered. “There are about a thousand requests waiting in line.” Which was true. You’d think that with the Galaxy Class Starfleet vessels and their holodecks, nobody would missed Quark’s holosuites that much, but apparently Starfleet frowned on the use of entertainment programms on ships that were flying battle missions. Not to mention their rather puritanic restrictions on the kind of programms you could run even in peace times. Since all of this meant very busy holosuites and more profit, however, Quark wasn’t about to complain.
“Err,” O’Brien said, and a faint blush crept up on his cheeks. Uncharitably, Quark thought that redheads needed to have pale skin like Major Kira to carry off that one in a flattering manner. Not that Kira was the blushing type. “I was actually hoping… Quark, I need to book another hour.”
Automatically, Quark went into negotiating mode, then told himself in this case it wasn’t necessary. He was outbooked as it was for Friday.
“You and Dr. Bashir want to continue fighting the tula berries on Saturday, that’s fine by me, though there would be weekend rates,” he replied. “But Friday is full.”
“Jerries, Quark,” O’Brien corrected. “And I don’t need the other hour for that. I need another programm as well. It’s not for Julian, it’s for Keiko. She’s coming back on late Thursday, and I was planning, you know, on a nice evening. Something special. To show her how I’ve missed her.”
“Well, then use the booking you already have,” Quark said, and wondered, not for the first time, why humans still felt the need to wine and dine their females if they were already married. Admittedly he himself had been known to give in to the odd urge and do this for Grilka after their divorce. And while Natima had never married him, they had been a couple for quite some time, during which he still would pay for holoprogramms and flowers. But then, those exceptions only proved the rule. A contract was a contract was a contract. Marriage was a contract. One only needed to look at Rom and Nog’s mother Primadora to see how it ended if one allowed the female to constantly renegotiate the contract clauses.
“But that’s the Battle of Britain!” O’Brien protested. “Julian and I need to be there.”
O’Brien was whipped. On two fronts. And that was putting it charitably.
However, a man whipped was a man ready to be exploited.
“I don’t know, Chief,” Quark said slowly. “What with all the stress Rom has been under lately, I’m not even sure the holosuites will be able to run smoothly. They really could need a complete overhaul.”
One thing O’Brien decidedly was not, however, was slow or stupid. He caught on immediately.
“I might get there with my team,” he said warily. “But we’re working double shifts as it is, what with the mess the station is in right now. Next week…”
Quark inspected Jadzia’s preliminary guest list again.
“Next week you can book an entire evening for yourself and Mrs. O’Brien,” he said absent-mindedly. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“Fine,” O’Brien hissed. “Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
Quark gave him a toothy grin. “What a coincidence,” he said. “I’ve just remembered that Nog and Jake cancelled their hour on Friday.”
If O’Brien felt guilty for costing Nog and Jake their booking, it wasn’t enough to make him pull back. He muttered something about Quark not having changed at all during the Occupation, and left. Quark changed the reservations, then called Nog to tell him. Five minutes later, his nephew stormed into the bar.
“That’s it,” Nog yelled. “Uncle, I’m not your wage slave anymore. I’m a paying customer. You can’t do this to me.”
In between quoting the appropriate rules to Nog, Quark felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered that Nog had been in combat, too, these last months, without any chance to relax around these Starfleet types. In truth, the boy looked older, and not in a good way. When Nog first had returned to the Station from the Academy, his obsession with soldierely rules had bewildered and mystified Rom, but Quark had been reminded of his own first year on a Marauder, of the overeagerness to prove oneself. It had passed. Now, though, there was a grimness in Nog’s expression that hadn’t to do with playing soldier at all. He didn’t want to imagine what the boy had seen.
You should have stayed here, Quark thought, and not for the first time. I’ll get my own moon one of these days, and then Rom can have the bar, and you would inherit it from him. Nobody ever expect a barkeeper to play hero. Provided he does what’s right and serves his customers well, nobody ever wants to kill a barkeeper. Nobody expects him to kill.
Unless the world has gone mad, and so have the heroes, another voice in his head, sounding not at all like himself, reminded him. With an effort, he shoved it back and tried to concentrate on the angry young man in front of him. Nog was just in the middle of a rant that would have done his grandmother proud.
“…and I have the same rights as everyone else! And don’t think I won’t complain to Captain Sisko, because I will, and he will listen to me. He cares about his people.”
Sisko undoubtedly would be thrilled to see him again today. He might even allow Odo to do whatever lawenforcer harrassment Odo had in mind to polish up his tarnished image. Still, it wouldn’t do to give in to a younger relative’s demands too easily.
“As long as they do what he wants,” Quark said, playing for time. “I didn’t see him do anything to rescue Jake these last months.”
“That’s low, Uncle,” Nog returned, obviously even more indignant on his idol’s behalf. “Jake made his own decision to stay here. The Captain couldn’t risk endangering everyone’s lives to retrieve one civilian.”
All of which was quite true, and Quark wouldn’t have brought it up if he hadn’t needed to save face by some more conversation before telling Nog he’d get his holosuite hour after all, but now that the words were spoken, he felt compelled to follow them up. Jake had spent most of his time at the bar during the second occupation, interviewing people, hanging out with Kira, or helping out as a waiter, and that had given Quark more than enough opportunity to observe him. Most of the time, Jake had been lonely and scared, and not that good at hiding it behind what youthful bravado he could muster.
“Maybe,” Quark said tersely. “But I can tell you this, nephew – there is no way I’d let a member of my family in the hands of the Dominion.”
“Not if you could sell us to them for a profit first,” Nog said heatedly, and the bitterness and conviction in his words stunned Quark. For the first time today, he felt at a complete loss of words, and not as a means of playing for time, or outbluffing an opponent. Surely Nog couldn’t really believe that?
They looked at each other, and Quark could see the resentment of a lifetime burning in Nog’s gaze. He couldn’t understand it. Yes, he had been a good Ferengi and exploited both Rom and Nog, but that hadn’t been just about profit. It had been to take care of them, the way his father Keldar had never managed to take care of Quark and Rom. Nobody was ever going to taunt his family about their head being a philantropic failure, oh no.
“You and Jake can use the holosuite on Friday,” Quark said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Just two hours later.”
He’d have to cancel Morn’s booking for this, which was always his last resort, but one he had been planning to use anyway. After some negotiating, as a Ferengi should. Obviously, Nog didn’t remember any longer what Ferengi did in such situations. Or if he did, he had brought out a negotiation ploy that he never should have used.
Nog looked at him, silently, obviously still waiting for something else. If it was for some ridiculous human-style declaration of sentiment, he was waiting in vain. If Nog didn’t understand by now how Quark felt about his family, he never would.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Quark said finally.
Nog nodded, still silent, and left. With a grimace, Quark poured himself a Somerian Sun Spot, but the drink felt to work its magic, or maybe there was something wrong with his taste buds. He couldn’t taste anything at all. He decided to get all disagreeable things over with at once, and readied himself to tell Morn about a change of plans for Friday night. As it turned out, Morn was in the middle of a vivid conversation with a richly dressed stranger. Or rather, the stranger was talking, with wide, espansive gestures, but judging by Morn’s fascinated expression, Morn didn’t want to miss a word.
Maybe the bad news could wait, after all. Quark shrugged, and went back to ordering items for Jadzia’s bachelor party.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 08:41 am (UTC)Hehehe...
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:32 am (UTC)Ha ha ha!
The conflict between Nog and Quark was very well realized here. Nice work.
Politics: Just so you know, the military wasn't "doing nothing" during the past year. There were a number of internal investigations and discipline hearings. Just because they weren't parading these soldiers out to the gallows in full view of the public and the press doesn't mean they were sitting on their laurels and effectively condoning their behavior.
My apologies, but I grew up in a military family and am quite familiar with how the military works. And, quite frankly, it insults me when people 1) present this case as representative, 2) misleadingly suggest that just because the military didn't throw its doors open to the press, that must mean they wanted to keep this silent and do nothing about it.
And by the way, the "looting in Baghdad" story was exaggerated.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:57 am (UTC)I do think, however, that Rumsfeld and possibly several other people in the upper hierarchy just wanted the bother go away. Different thing.
Nog and Quark: that came as a surprise - originally I had meant this to be the comic interlude with O'Brien only. But there you go - angst is my passion...
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 09:43 am (UTC)I definitely remember plugging "Wave All Your Fingers at Your Neighbour Day" here, for instance. And that's by no means the silliest one I've seen :)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 06:16 pm (UTC)My two favourite lines have to be:
O’Brien was whipped. On two fronts. And that was putting it charitably.
As it turned out, Morn was in the middle of a vivid conversation with a richly dressed stranger.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-07 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-10 02:56 pm (UTC)And now, the nagging editor returns.
about their respecitive eating habits respective?
his kids or whatever nw game he and Dr. Bashir new.
programms programs.
but the drink felt to work failed?
Like I said before, feel free to tell me to knock it off.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 06:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-11 06:58 am (UTC)