Subtly – but not too subtly – Valdes moved towards the door, hoping Lorrot would take that as a hint to stop pontificating to an imaginary audience, and allow her some sort of progress in the ignoble mission of getting him to his quarters.

Larrot clutched at his chest as though she had fired a phaser into his lobes. “Comfortable?” he scoffed, following her toward the door with long, sweeping strides. “Captain, you wound me. Comfort is a baseline, a minimum. Wealth is not about surviving at the same temperature with a slightly thicker blanket. Wealth is about control, the control of ideas, of futures, of destiny! Do you think any of your Federation captains or admirals would be half as smug without their ships? Those hulls are capital. Assets.”

“We don’t see them as such.” Valdes argued, but didn’t quite believe her own words. After all, she was in that very situation right now – still a captain if you counted pips, but no longer in command of the Sirona.

“Of course,” Larrot continued, “I am not insensitive to Federation sensibilities. You prefer the words discovery, progress, advancement. Very well! But tell me – how many discoveries gather dust because there is no incentive to use them? How much progress has been lost because no one thought to package it, patent it, and sell it to demanding customers?” He spread his arms wide as they walked, his voice carrying far enough to make a pair of passing crewmen glance nervously before scurrying on.

Valdes lengthened her stride. The sooner this was over with, the better.

“You sell your views well.” she admitted, which only served to make the situation worse, and the Ferengi more dislikable.

“You may think me arrogant, captain,” Larrot said, as though anticipating the unspoken critique, “but arrogance is merely confidence with a healthy dose of latinum. In my classroom, I tell my students: humility is for those who cannot afford better.” He beamed at her, clearly pleased with his own wit.

“You will be working closely with Doctor Quence.” Valdes announced eventually. A pleasing thought as much as it was a good match – both spouted erudite gibberish which such regularity they would either keep each other entertained, or clash. Part of Valdes was hoping for the latter.

“Doctor Quence!” Larrot seized the name like a winning wager. “Yes, I’ve read his work – half of it brilliant, half of it, let us say, still waiting for the right Ferengi insight to make it truly profitable.” He rubbed his lobes as though savouring a future dividend. “Do you know what his problem is, captain? He thinks in abstract ethics. Principles. Admirable, but meaningless. What I provide is *applied* ethics!”

The turbolift doors slid open. Valdes gestured curtly inside.

“Yes!” Larrot stepped into the lift with a flourish. “A partnership forged in knowledge and sharpened by profit. The galaxy will not forget the names Quence and Larrot. Though, naturally, mine will be first.”

“Naturally.” Valdes nodded, though she assumed Quence would’ve something to say about it. And she would very much love to listen in on that conversation.