Alpha Centaurians. It feels practically salacious somehow. Perhaps a Ferengi soul became lost and found its way into this somewhat ample frame after its last incarnation.â
âThe majority of Ferengi donât believe in reincarnation,â Sabih began. âInasmuch as there can be said to be a major religion, itâs basically an extension of their nearly religious belief that the value of a life is measured in material gain. In factââ
âStop,â Finch said, snapping his fingers together like he was pinching Sabihâs lips together. Sabih ceased speaking. Finch never stopped staring at Nog. âOne of the virtues of a liberal arts education,â he said, âis that one can drone on endlessly about so many topics. Wouldnât you agree, Commander Nog?â
âYou donât have to call me Commander Nog,â Nog said, embarrassed. âJust Nog is fine. Or Commander.â
âYou honor me, sir,â Finch said, sitting upright, his back straight. The front of his jacket pouched out a bit,bumped from the inside by his belly. âAnd, please, call me Anatoly.â
âThis is lovely,â Chief OâBrien said, wiping away his foam mustache. The pint glass was one-quarter empty. âAnd you made it here?â
âIndeed yes, Chief,â Finch said. âOnly one of our wonders. A minor miracle. Would you care to hear about some of the major ones?â
Nog looked down at his beverage, which was still foaming, though in a much more desultory fashion than a couple minutes earlier. He set it down on the tray and wiped his hands together, checking to see if he had splashed any liquid on himself. âSure,â he said. âWhy not? Itâs not like weâre doing anything else right this moment.â
Chapter 5
Ops Center
Robert Hooke
âM ost of my tenants are what I like to call freeÂthinkers ,â Finch said, running through his recitation more or less on autopilot. The holodisplay unit at the center of the main comm unit lit up on cue and images began to flicker into focus: first, the thoughtful faces of individuals clearly engaged in rigorous intellectual exercises. âBeings who discovered they didnât fit neatly into the scientific or academic institutions of their homeworlds. Or, sadly, discovered that their talents, or their work, wasnât valued.â A new set of images followed, these more abstract: complex data displays, mathematical and chemical formulas, engineering schematics. âLab time is always an issue, even on worlds where they claim resources do not come between a researcher and his work. We understand each other here, do we not, Nog?â The Ferengi, who had been watching the display, turned slightly to meet Finchâs gaze. He nodded in a polite, but neutral, manner.
Finch resumed his spiel. âAmongst my cohort are a Tellarite cyberneticist who is developing a means for telepathic communication with autonomous robots. Do not chuckle, Chief OâBrien. Consider the applications in deep-space engineering.â A brief video of a Tellarite, wearing an elaborate telepresence rig on his head and focusing his gaze meaningfully, twinkled past.
âOne of our great successesâDoctor Nita Bharad of Earthâcan be seen here with her greatest achievements.â The image of a small, dark-skinned woman with a round, cheerful face and bright eyes, materialized. Finch winced inwardly. Bharad was, by any objective measure, a successful and appealing researcher, with scores of highly cited papers to her credit, but she insisted that any promotion that included her also prominently feature Ginger and Honey. OâBrien and Nog reflexively smiled back at Bharadâs image when she appeared and then recoiled as the surreal visages of her âpetsâ dropped into the frame, multiple eyes glimmering, mandibles flexing.
âWhat the hell? â OâBrien exclaimed.
âWait,â
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Martin A. Lee, Bruce Shlain