Caretaker - L. A. Graf [12]
"I'm sure your parents must be very proud, my boy. You know, on an occasion like this--" The ensign smiled politely and shook his head.
"I'm really not interested."
Paris winced down at the bar top. You should never say "interested" in front of a Ferengi.
"Interested?" the barkeep echoed, his beady blue eyes the very picture of mercantile innocence.
The ensign smiled again. "You were about to try to sell me something.
Right?"
Strike two, Paris thought. "Interested" and "sell" within the same five minutes. This kid was doomed.
And the barkeep was good. He pushed away from the bar, up to his full diminutive stature, so he could peer at the ensign as though from the height of great moral superiority. "I was merely going to suggest your parents might appreciate a memento of your first mission--" "--and you happen to have several to choose from."
The Ferengi shrugged as though this were only a minor consideration.
"I do carry a select line of unique artifacts and gemstones indigenous to this region. ..."
Paris ordered a Romulan ale from a waiter too stupid to keep out of his line of vision, then leaned back on his stool to keep the barkeep and the soon-to-be-penniless ensign in his sight. In that brief moment of inattention, a sizable case of sparkling gemstones had materialized on the counter. Paris couldn't help being a little disappointed--he'd been hoping to glimpse how a Ferengi swindler could produce such a large display box from up his sleeve with so little notice.
"Why, quite recently," the barkeep was continuing as he tipped and tilted the case to reveal every stone to its best advantage, "I acquired these Lobi crystals from a very strange creature called a Morn--" Even as one of the lumpy patrons at the other end of the bar glanced up in apparent recognition, the ensign waved the Ferengi off with a confident and knowing grin. "We were warned about Ferengi at the Academy," he explained--quite civilly.
Paris almost heard the clank of latinum pouring into the Ferengi's pockets.
Setting the tray down with exaggerated care, the barkeep cocked his head at the ensign in earnest disbelief. "`Warned about Ferengi,' were you..." He said it as though no one had ever spoken those words in front of him before.
The ensign nodded with cheerful confidence. "That's right."
"Slurs," the Ferengi clarified. "About my people. At the Academy."
The look of sudden panic on the young ensign's face was almost worth the price of the Romulan ale Paris hadn't yet bothered to touch. "What I meant was--" "Here I am, trying to be a cordial host, knowing how much a young officer's parents would appreciate a token of his love on the eve of a dangerous mission, and what do I get?" The Ferengi sniffed with barely contained anguish. "Scurrilous insults." A padd appeared in the barkeep's hand almost as miraculously as the gems had, and he was tapping out notes on its face before Paris had even finished smiling about the surgical skill of this Ferengi's technique. "Well, somebody is going to hear about this." He angled a positively predatory glare upward. "What was your name, son?"
"My... name?"
The Ferengi snorted at him. "You have one, I presume?"
"Kim," the ensign blurted, eyes wide. "Harry Kim."
"And who was it at the Academy who warned you about--" "You know," Kim interrupted, his hands a flurry of nervous excitement as he reached across to pluck at the Ferengi's sleeve, "I think a memento for my parents would be a great idea!"
"Oh, no no no." The barkeep pulled himself away as though too hurt to let himself be so easily assuaged.
"Really!" Kim picked up the case and made an obvious effort to study the gaudy contents. "One of these would look great as a pendant for my mother."
"Or cuff links for your father."
"Cuff links," Kim echoed enthusiastically. "Great idea."
"They're