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Just then the sound of breaking glass startled all of them.

“You said I could have half of every order I took myself! You promised me!” Zetha was screaming. “Father only gave me permission to come with you so I could add my earnings to my dowry, and you lied!”

The remains of a vase Selar had purchased on Tenjin crunched beneath Citizen Jarquin’s feet as he and his guards, slowed by the low ceiling in the gangway, followed the racket into the cargo bay. What they saw was a furious Zetha, backed against one of the containers by an equally furious Tuvok, whom she held at bay with an honor blade.

“This is not the time!” Tuvok was arguing. “Will you carry on like this where the human can hear? It’s unseemly!”

“Unseemly? Stealing my dowry is unseemly!” Zetha snarled, waving the blade back and forth as if she really did intend to cut him as he loomed over her.

As if totally unaware that they were being watched, Tuvok feinted right, then left, seizing Zetha’s wrist and wresting the knife from her grasp. Snaking one long arm around her waist, he lifted her bodily off the deck as she kicked and clawed and tried to bite him. He set her down, grabbed her hair and held the honor blade to her throat.

“Will you stop now?” he demanded quietly, but with a Romulan-worthy rage still etched on his face. His eyes took in the three Quirinians, and the glare he gave them eloquently expressed his feelings at being publicly humiliated by a mere girl. “Will you?”

“Y-yes!” Zetha whimpered convincingly. She’d been clawing at the arm that held the knife, but stopped now, let her hands drop limply to her sides, surrendering.

Tuvok thrust her from him and she staggered a little before she could gain her feet. As if noticing the watchers for the first time, she stood on one foot staring at them, not knowing what to do.

“Ungrateful veruul!” Tuvok spat at her, tucking the knife into the sash of the sleeping robe he’d somehow found time to change into. His feet were bare, as if he really had been roused from bed. “Any girl your age would be grateful to see the worlds you’ve seen under my patronage, and all you do is carp about a dowry!”

“May I have my knife back?” Zetha dared, coming to her senses, straightening her clothes and running her fingers through her tousled hair, defiance on her face.

“You’ll get it back when you get your honor back!” Tuvok waved her off. “Leave me! And clean up the broken glass!”

She bolted from the cabin.

Tuvok laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. He addressed his uninvited guests for the first time.

“Gentlemen, forgive me. I apologize for that little scene. Young people, hm?” Tuvok tightened the sash of his robe, folded his arms and leaned casually against a container that contained mostly replicator parts and stem bolts.

“You see why she needs a dowry,” he went on. “Few men would have the patience for her tantrums if she didn’t come with money. I ought to toss her out the airlock for such behavior, but her aunt would never forgive me. And to think my wife slept through all of this! Citizen Jarquin, what brings you all this way to speak to me?”

Forward at the controls, Zetha looked at the welter of lights and toggles in dismay. Maybe if Selar hailed in from the surface, the Vulcan could talk her through the process of beaming her up. The very thought of scrambling and descrambling someone’s molecules visited her with such fear she couldn’t move her fingers. Then she realized Sisko still had the earpiece with him. Even if Selar did hail in, she could hardly let her voice be heard aloud in the control cabin with the Quirinians on board. Damn the human, anyway! Well, maybe Jarquin would be content to talk to Tuvok and leave Selar out of it. Maybe…

“This is somewhat embarrassing,” Tuvok, immersed in his role as Leval, was saying sheepishly. He found an empty storage crate, upturned it and sat down, scratching his head and yawning once more for emphasis. “The tax laws on the homeworld… well, let me begin from the beginning. Let us say for the sake of argument that