The lights in the Captain’s personal office were dimmed.  That was exactly the way the corpulent Ferengi commander of the freighter Anatori liked them.  It suited his mid-afternoon ear-rubbing schedule.  He sighed as his timer buzzed and gave his Orion assistant a small kiss on her hand before dismissing her with a wave and sitting up.  He checked the chronometer and drew out two glasses and a tray of expensive whiskies from the cabinet behind his desk, setting them on the table.  Returning to his chair, he lounged for a few minutes until the door chime rang.

 “Come in, sit down…”  Captain Grek motioned to the figure in his doorway with a flabby hand.  He leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly as the freighter slipped through the stars, pondering which of the many multicolored bottles of alcohol that sat before him he should open.

The man who walked in wasn’t young, but he had an air of youthful nervous energy about him, a still unbroken innocence that hung in his vivid green eyes.  Half Cardassian, half Bajoran – Grek had always thought it was a particularly unfortunate combination of species.  “Greetings, Grek.” He murmured as he slipped in, taking a seat across the desk from the fat Ferengi.

 “No need to sit so far away, Mr. Zel.  Come!”  He gestured his guest forward.  “Let us have a drink.  What would you like?”

 “Water.”  Zel Rohan raised his eyes fractionally, just enough to watch Grek’s expression fall.

The Ferengi Captain drew in a long breath.  “Why, Mr. Zel… it is traditional to start negotiations with a clear head.”  He paused, wetting his lips with his tongue, “I have it on good authority that you are particularly fond of Aldeberan whiskey.”

Zel nodded slightly.  “I am… but it is my tradition to finish the negotiations with a drink, rather than start them with one.”

 “I assure you this is an excellent vintage.”  Grek chuckled slightly, choosing a bottle filled with deep green liquid and pouring a decent libation into each of two glasses.  “You should live a little Rohan.”  The Ferengi picked up the first glass and pushed the second one forward.

 “Oh, Mr. Grek, I think I have lived enough for several lifetimes so far.”  The hybrid indulged in a small smile before continuing.  “And the craziest thing is I would like to go on living, so I try to keep a clear head when silly things like negotiating come around.”

The Ferengi sipped his drink a little contemplating that.  It wasn’t the first time he thought that Rohan would have had the lobes for business if he were just willing to be ruthless.  “How pragmatic of you, Mr. Zel.  But suit yourself!”

 “I assume you didn’t call me here simply for a drink, Captain.” The Cardassian hybrid watching his companion carefully, green eyes glittering.  “So, what is on your mind.”

“How do I put this delicately, Mr. Zel?” the Captain started, steepling his fingers in front of him.

Zel perked up one eye ridge.  “Do you put anything delicately, Grek?”

The corpulent Ferengi chuckled.  “No, I suppose I don’t.  Then to get to the point, Rohan, you owe me latinum.”  He paused, letting the obvious statement sink in as far as it could.  “A lot of latinum.”

“Which I have been steadily repaying you.” He countered, folding his hands, in front of his chest. 

“But, Mr Zel, you see…. I’m greedy.  I need the money in rather short order.”

Zel’s eyes glittered lightly, his voice keen.  “Who’s trying to kill you?”

Grek shot him a dark look back.  “I never said anyone was trying to kill me.”

Zel shrugged, “why else would you be calling in your debts if someone wasn’t after you for money?”

“Ahh, but my debts aren’t the question here…. Yours are.”  Grek leaned forward, giving the smaller man a warning glance, eager to change the subject. 

The smaller man took in a short breath, catching the implication clearly.  All in all, the last thing Zel needed was to stick his nose into Grek’s business and end up owning the man more than he already did, so he buried his innate curiosity for the time being and went with the subject change.  “And you have a way for me to repay them, I assume?”

The Captain smiled evenly.  “You’re very perceptive, Rohan.  In fact, I do have a job for you.”

Zel straightened up in his chair and tensed, suddenly paranoid.  “What sort of job?”

Waving one meaty hand in the air, Grek tried to dismiss the other man’s fears.  “You’d be surprised, this one is completely legal.”

“I didn’t know you went for legal business, Grek.” The hybrid snapped back, perking a brow ridge.

“Mr Zel, you insult my integrity!” The Ferengi started smoothly.  “I am seeking you out because of your vaunted piloting skills.”

“You need something moved?”

Grek smiled a sharp-toothed grin.  “Many somethings in fact.”  He paused, and decided to add a little flattery to the deal.  “Didn’t Lathor Hiek bill you as ‘pilot so good you could fly through the rings of Antares without disturbing a single stone’?”

The little Cardassian hybrid nodded slightly.  “He did.  But Hiek couldn’t pilot a ship out of a spacedock in the middle of nowhere with the autopilot on.”

 “Rohan, how hard is it for you to accept that I have something that wants to be moved and you’re the person I want to move it?”

Zel sucked in a short breath.  “Captain Grek… what I want to know is why you want me to move it.”

The corpulent Ferengi shook his head a little.  “I am offering you a unique opportunity to erase your debts to me for very little work – legal work at that, and instead of being grateful, all you can do is turn your nose up and look for a catch.”

Zel Rohan paused and stared directly across the desk, into Grek’s eyes and replied in his stoniest voice, “With you, Grek, there is always a catch.”

Grek looked up from over the edge of his glass and finished off the bright orange liquid before speaking.  “Let me put this in another way, Rohan.”  He paused just enough to stare the hybrid in the eyes.  “Do you have any idea how much your kidneys are worth on the black market?”

Zel blinked, doing a double take.  “What?”

“Kidneys, you know, those things you have in your body behind your stomach…” The Ferengi prompted.

“I know what they are.  I couldn’t imagine why you would want them.  Last time I checked, Grek, I was a hybrid, and that’s not worth much to the medical trade.” The Cardassian hybrid snapped back, a feeling of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, but fortunately for me Mr. Haylon Aza could give a hang about the medical trade, and he is willing to pay handsomely for unusual kidneys.”  Grek paused and grinned while he refilled his glass.  “Would you like to know how much yours are worth?”

Zel kept his tone light.  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

The Ferengi took a lazy sip of brandy before speaking.  “Slightly more than what you owe me.  Of course, I would be gracious enough to give you the remaining amount to help you cover your hospital costs should you survive.”

“Lovely.” The Bajoran/Cardassian muttered.  “Should I even ask what he does with these kidneys he buys?”

“He eats them.”  Grek grinned.  “Mr. Ava believes that kidneys contain the soul of the race, and that he can consume the power of different species by eating the kidneys.  Of course the more unusual the species… the more money they fetch.”  He let that sink in before adding, “Last time I checked there aren’t too many of your unfortunate heritage still running about the galaxy.”

Zel felt his shoulders sink down as he leaned back into the chair.  “Great, just great.  So those are my options.”

“I’m afraid so.” The Ferengi Captain nodded.

He sighed a very long sigh, not particularly liking the position he found himself in.  “I guess I have no choice then.”

Grek didn’t answer immediately, instead pouring himself another glass of whiskey, and pushing the first one he had poured in Zel’s general direction.

Zel perked a brow at that and picked up the glass of Aldeberan whiskey.  He downed the entire shot in one fell swoop and waited until his head stopped spinning to take a breath.  “Right then, what am I flying?”

Grek grinned, tossing over a personal display screen of ship specs.  “You’ll be flying a Triton Mark 4 runner.  Fast little ship, it should be perfect for the job.”

Barely bigger than a runabout, it was a long-range hotrod. All speed and maneuverability, only enough defense to get you through space without shattering. Exactly the kind of ship Zel liked.

“Assuming nobody is taking pot shots at me, sure.” The little hybrid returned.

He also wasn’t sure about these blackouts that were reported, but they mainly were affecting Starfleet – which, other than the Syndicate, would be the most likely people to chase him while he was doing work like this. The blackouts were recent, and nobody knew much about them, but it might just provide the opportunity Zel needed to get this job done cleanly.

“Legal work, Zel.  Legal.  Nobody should be taking potshots.” Grek offered a calm grin, Zel, on the other hand kept an expression of extreme suspicion glued firmly to his face. 

“And just what am I running?”

The Ferengi leaned back, waving his hand in the air as he pulled out geometrically cut jar filled with shimmering opalescent powder.  “This is Space Dust.”

“It looks like glitter.” Zel returned, unimpressed.  

“Ah” Grek held up a meaty finger. “In its raw form it’s not especially impressive. Unless you ingest it, which people do. But it really shines when it’s mixed with something stronger. Tastier.” 

He pulled a bottle of Acturian Fire-water and poured a generous shot. Capped the bottle and then took a tiny pinch of the opalescent powder, sprinkling it over the liquor.

Almost instantly it flared into a rainbow of colors that turned the drink a neon purple when all was said and done. Zel could smell it from here, fruit, effervescent and it set his nose hairs tingling. Grek pushed the shot glass forward. “Try it. In another year it’ll be known as the best damn drink in the Galaxy.”

“I thought that title was already held by the Samerian Sunset… or the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, depending on who you ask.  Taste is relative.” Zel replied, watching the liquid as if it would come alive, ooze out of the bottle and try to kill them all.

“Tcha.  You haven’t tried it.” Grek wagged a finger at him.

“I can’t believe it’s that good… and legal.” The smaller man returned dubiously.

Grek’s grin increased.  “Well, it’s not illegal.  Not yet anyways.”

“Brilliant.” Zel surmised flatly.  “What’s it do?”

Grek once again gestured towards the sample, urging Zel to drink. “It’s a titillating experience. I can’t really describe it, you just have to experience it.”

“Will it kill me?”

“Not any more than Aldeberan Whiskey will.” 

The hybrid took the short glass, eying it with an intensely suspicious gaze.  He sniffed it, he swished it around the glass, and finally he tasted it.  Both of his brow ridges perked upwards in surprise.  It had a light, sweet fruity taste with a spicy bite.  All in all it was good, but nothing to write home about, until the liquid hit the back of his throat.  Heat blossomed through his mouth and chest, quickly fading from a burn to an intensely pleasant warming sensation. And then energy surged through his body, and for a moment he felt like he was twenty-five again. He might have leapt up and run laps around the freighter if he kept drinking. “That’s… quite the drink.  What’s the catch?”

“Oh, all the typical garbage.  It’s addictive, it’s got heavy trade regulations and taxes, it could cause heart issues if used in vast quantities. Could cause mental impairment if you drink too much.” Grek waved a hand in the air, while energy drinks and other stimulants were nothing new, Space Dust had gotten a surge in popularity over the last few months, which exploded once the blackouts hit. Grek wasn’t really sure why, but he was never one to question such things as long as he got his cut of the profits.  “Same thing as every other good drink in the universe.”

Zel held the glass up to the light, quietly pondering the drink, the job and how much he would miss his kidneys if they were suddenly and viciously ripped from his abdomen.  “And your share?” 

“Seventy / Thirty.  That should be plenty for you to pay off your debts.”

He paused and thought that through.  “Right then.  I suppose we have a deal.”  

Zel paused, slid the mostly untouched glass of Space Dust cocktail back to Grek and eyed the Aldeberan whiskey again.  Grek was right, the vintage was excellent.  “And pour me another drink… I’ll need it.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Zel… my pleasure” The fat Ferengi chuckled, pouring two more glasses full.