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Ten years, and several false starts later—it had taken years to pay off the massive debts incurred by his failed attempt to open an establishment on Tellar; apparently too few Tellarites found Klingon food sufficiently appealing to keep a restaurant afloat—he found himself thriving on Cardassia Prime. The expansion of the Cardassian Union had led to a great curiosity among the natives as to the wonders of the galaxy, including the types of foods eaten by all the new species they were encountering every day.
For the first decade or so, business had been good. He finally paid off all his debts, both the ones incurred on Tellar and those he took on in order to get this place going, and the restaurant started to show something resembling a profit—or at least made enough for him to live comfortably.
At last, he had won. He had brought Klingon cuisine to Cardassia.
Sadly, of late, Cardassia seemed less and less interested in the Klingon cuisine he offered. The growing number of incidents between the two governments had resulted in a downturn in business. The regulars like the Hallitz family weren’t the problem—it was the walk-in business, the curious thrill-seekers, the adventurous tourists, and, of course, the occasional visiting Klingon, desperate for a taste of home. Those were fewer in number with each passing month, and Kurrgo could not survive on his tiny base of regulars alone—especially since the price of importing the necessary ingredients had skyrocketed on account of the strife between the two governments. Most of that, of course, was artificial gouging by that damned Ferengi, but he was also the only one who was willing to cross both borders and acquire the necessary foodstuffs for Kurrgo.
As he said good-bye to a retired doctor who came every night for a bowl of taknargizzards, Kurrgo thought, Speaking of whom, that little troll should have been here yesterday with that fresh supply oftarg s. Where is he?
He looked around. And where is Larkan? He should have been here an hour ago.It was the height of the di
After seating a couple—Gran Marits with his latest conquest—the young Cardassian errand boy that Kurrgo had hired the previous month came ru
“Finally,” Kurrgo muttered. He went into the back, and Lig’s big-eared, small-eyed face appeared on Kurrgo’s battered old viewscreen. The image started to lose focus until Kurrgo slammed the comm unit on the side. Then Lig came into full view, making Kurrgo regret going to the trouble. The Ferengi’s face was easier to look at when you couldn’t see it.
“We’ve got a big problem,”Lig said without preamble. “My ship’s been impounded.”
“What? What for?”
“Apparently, the tariffs on goods coming from Klingon territory have quadrupled in the last week. The customs officer made some comment about how we have to pay a higher price if we want anything that comes from ‘those murderers’ entering Cardassian space.”
“Murderers?” Kurrgo slammed his fist into the table. “What are they talking about?”
“Don’t you watch the newsfeeds?”
Kurrgo snarled. “No, but I have heard people talking. I thought it was just talk, though, not action.”
“It is now. The tariff has gone up by a thousand leks.”
“So why have they impounded your ship?”
Lig’s eyes went wider than Kurrgo had thought them capable of getting. “Because I don’t have a thousand leks in my pocket, you idiot! Plus, they’re levying additional fines for violating the tariff law, not to mention storage charges for the impound.”Smiling grimly, Lig added, “There are so many additional charges, you’d think this was a Ferengi customs-house.”
“I’m glad you admire them.”
“Mind you, they didn’t say anything until they found thetarg s. Until then, everything was business as usual. As soon as they saw that, though, they started double-checkingeverything, down to the stembolts. And let me tell you, the extra charges all applyjust to thetarg s.”
Kurrgo sighed. “What are you going to do?”
“What amI going to do? I’m going to sit here and wait for you to come and pay all these fees so I can have my ship back. Then you can have your blessedtarg s and I can get out of this madhouse.”
Kurrgo was outraged. “You expect meto pay yourtariffs? I thought that was covered in our agreement!”
“This is a special case.”
“No, Lig, it is not.” Kurrgo leaned into the viewer. For emphasis, he grabbed a carving knife. “I have already paid for those targs. Our contract obligates you to pay anytransportation fees or tariffs. You are within your rights to charge me for the goods based on what you’ll have to pay, but you ca
Lig sighed. “Leave it to me to go into business with the one Klingon who actually reads his contracts.”
“I’m a businessman just like you, Lig. Except, of course, that I’m better with a knife than you.” He started twirling the knife in a manuever that looked like he was about to cut his—or somebody else’s—hand off. “And if I don’t get my goods, I will declare you in breach and report it to the FCA.” He smiled, twirling the knife some more. “Liquidator Gant is one of my more reliable customers.” Gant was one of the Ferengi Commerce Authority’s agents in charge of external affairs, and he had developed a taste for bregitlung. Every time he visited Cardassia Prime—which was usually at least three times a year—he had all his meals at Kurrgo’s.
“Fine, sic Gant on me,”Lig said, sounding less intimidated than Kurrgo would have liked. “It doesn’t change the fact that I can’t get at my ship and you can’t get at yourtarg s unless these fees are paid, and I can’t pay them. Either you come here with the money, or we both lose.”
Much as Kurrgo hated to admit it to himself, the little toDSaHwas right. “I’m in the middle of the di
“Just send him quickly. I’ve got perishables in there.”
Kurrgo felt a momentary panic. “Aren’t the targs in stasis?”
“They are, yes. What, you think you’re my only client on Cardassia? If that were the case, I’d’ve gone out of business years ago. As it is, if these tariffs keep up, there may notbe a next shipment.”
Only the fact that Lig had been making the same threat for years prevented Kurrgo from worrying overmuch about him making it again.
At least until he added: “I’m serious this time, Kurrgo. The way things are going, a Ferengi can’t make an honest living going back and forth between Qo’noS and Cardassia. I may have to find a less—troubled trade route.”Before Kurrgo had a chance to reply to that, Lig signed off.
Damn him and his oversized ears.He summoned Amon to his side, handing him a blank credit chit. “Take this to the customs-house. Lig will meet you there. Find out from the customs officerswhat fees need to be paid. Pay everything directly to them. Do not put a single lek into Lig’s pocket, is that understood?”