The sheer mass of bodies flowing through the promenade made simple navigation a daunting task for one unfamiliar with the unofficial traffic rules.  It was ludicrously obvious that ENS Aaron Carson was an infrequent visitor to the promenade as his erratic path seemed to break each of those traffic rules.  He was trying to reach the Civilian Affairs office located on this level.  Apparently there was a dispute with a civilian regarding the readiness review drills and the civilian was not taking ‘no’ for an answer.  Carson wondered why he was ordered there since the admin department did not deal with civilian affairs.  But he went wherever the senior chief pointed him.

Carson weaved when he should have shuffled and bounced into a Tellarite.  Both beings stopped after the collision.  “My apologies, Sir, that was entirely my fault,” Carson quickly apologized.  The Tellarite grunted and walked away, muttering something unkind about ‘Starfleet clowns.’  Carson was now going against the flow of traffic and had a few more unintended personal encounters with random beings before finally reaching his destination.

Upon entering the outer office, Carson spied a Starfleet officer and a Ferengi civilian warily eying each other.  The Ferengi wore a fancy suit that Carson identified as the dress of a successful merchant.  He stopped, expecting the Starfleet officer to acknowledge him.  An awkward silence ensued when the room’s other two occupants continued their silent war of eye daggers.

“Um, excuse me,” Carson ventured, breaking the silence.  “I’m looking for Lieutenant Gray.”

The Starfleet officer disengaged the Ferengi.  “That’s me.  You Carson?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.  Come with me.”  LT(jg) Gray pointed Carson to an empty room behind the office divider.

When the doors closed behind them, Gray immediately started his tirade.  “He’s come in five times, each time demanding to speak to someone new.  He wants to file a claim for the business he lost during the evacuation drill.  He can’t claim that.  The DivO is finished dealing with him.  Next time he comes in we’re calling security.  But we’re giving him one last chance; hopefully you can make him see reason.”

Carson sighed and part of his soul died.  “I’ll see what I can do.  Are you okay with me taking him to a different location?”

“One hundred percent.  That’s perfect.  Convince him not to come back.”

Carson put on a smile that he hoped did not look too obviously fake.  He stepped out of the office and approached the Ferengi.  “Good afternoon, Sir,” he started cheerfully.  “I’m Ensign Aaron Carson, a yeoman in the station’s admin department.”

Renak’s ears perked up as the young ensign approached and, for the first time since coming to the administrative office, he smiled. “I’m Renak, Owner and proprietor of Renak’s Trade Emporium Bar and Casino.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Renak.  My colleague,” Carson nodded over his shoulder towards Gray, “says you’d like to speak with me.  Would you mind terribly if we picked another location to talk?”  Carson lowered his voice conspiratorially.  “They’re kind of hostile here.”

“I’ll confess that sounds considerably more interesting than this waiting room.” Straightening his crisp jacket, Renak gave a polite bow of his head. “You said you were going to take me somewhere less hostile.” He nodded towards the exit.

With Renak’s more extensive experience with promenade traffic, the two managed to make it to a lift without incident.

Carson ignored the questioning looks from the admin staff as he guided his guest into his office.  “Can I offer you a refreshment, Mr. Renak?  Water, tea, coffee?”

“No, thanks, Mr. Carson, I had breakfast before meeting with Lieutenant Gray. Rule of acquisition number 214: Never begin a negotiation on an empty stomach.”

With the pleasantries out of the way and both men seated, Carson settled into business.  “What would you like to discuss today, Mr. Renak?”

A faint smile crept onto his face.

“I take it Lieutenant Gray has decided that introducing a fresh face might prove less expensive than replacing another office door.”

There was just enough self-awareness in the remark to show he knew exactly how persistent he’d become.

Renak clasped his hands behind his back.

“I assure you, Ensign, I have no desire to become known as that Ferengi.”

He paused.

“…Though I fear that particular acquisition may already be complete.”

His smile widened briefly before settling into something more genuine.

“I realize the station cannot simply compensate every merchant inconvenienced by an evacuation drill. If that were policy, Starfleet’s accountants would mutiny before the engineers.”

Carson smiled at the humor but suppressed a frown of confusion.  If the Ferengi acknowledged the situation, why was he continuing to ask for some kind of compensation from the Civilian Affairs people?  “I’m sorry, Sir.  I’m not following.  If you agree that Starfleet cannot compensate you for losses due to the drills, I don’t understand the source of your frustration.”

“My frustration has never been with the officers.”

“It has been with the process.”

He sighed quietly.

“I arrived on Starbase Bravo with every intention of becoming a long-term member of this community. I invested my savings into opening my Trade Emporium, Bar & Casino because I believe in this station.”

His ears lowered just slightly.

“When the evacuation alarm sounded during business hours, I did exactly what Starfleet expected of me.”

“I secured my establishment.”

“I evacuated my customers.”

“I followed every instruction without hesitation.”

A small shrug.

“And in doing so…”

He glanced toward the Promenade outside.

“…I lost an entire afternoon’s business.”

Renak chuckled softly.

“I know.”

He held up a hand before Carson could answer.

“No one forced my customers to purchase elsewhere.”

“No one intentionally deprived me of profit.”

“But merchants have a difficult habit.”

He smiled knowingly.

“We measure our days differently.”

“To me, every empty chair represented a missed conversation.

“Every customer who never returned represented an opportunity that would never be counted. So you see, it’s not just the profits I lost due to the drill but the opportunities, Information, potential new suppliers, and new imports and exports to sell, new foods, and drinks to add to the menu. For someone like me, that all adds up to a tremendous loss. Not to mention the time already lost with Lieutenant Gray and his folk, and as the rules of acquisition state, time, like latinum, is a highly limited commodity.”

The yeoman nodded slowly, trying to pretend he understood the merchant’s problem.  “If I’m understanding, you’ve lost some opportunities from the drills.  But you’re not asking for compensation in the form of credits or latinum.  So what, exactly, are you asking Lieutenant Gray for?”

Renak blinked.

For just a moment, genuine surprise replaced the practiced smile he usually wore.

Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upward.

“Ensign…”

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.

“You know…”

His ears twitched with amusement.

“You’re the first person who’s actually asked me that.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice—only honest appreciation.

“I’ve spoken with Lieutenant Gray several times, filled out forms, explained the circumstances, and answered a great many questions.”

He spread his hands.

“But no one has ever stopped to ask what I was actually hoping to accomplish.”

Renak regarded Carson with newfound respect.

“That alone tells me you’re either an excellent administrator…”

A pause.

“…or dangerously close to becoming one.”

His smile broadened before settling into a more thoughtful expression. Profit lost isn’t always measured in today’s ledger.”

“Sometimes it’s tomorrow’s relationship.”

Renak glanced toward Carson.

“So what was I asking Lieutenant Gray?”

He paused deliberately.

“I wanted someone to acknowledge that civilian merchants are part of this station’s community.”

Another pause.

“And perhaps…”

He smiled.

“…to ask us how future drills could be conducted with a little more communication.”

His expression brightened.

“A simple advance notice to registered businesses that an exercise would occur sometime during the week.”

“A briefing explaining how commerce is expected to resume afterward.”

“Perhaps even a liaison between Promenade Security and the merchant association.”

“And perhaps a slightly accelerated customs process for deliveries for registered businesses.”

Carson pulled out a PADD and entered the six requests made by the merchant.  He repeated his list to Renak to ensure he had recorded it correctly.  “Mr. Renak, mind you, I have no authority in these matters, but your requests seem reasonable to me.  With your permission, let me write this up and pass it through channels to Civilian Affairs and Security.  This way it can’t get blocked prematurely by someone who might be having a bad day or has pre-existing biases.  Does that sound like a plan you can work with?”

“Ny all means, Ensign, please do.”

“Excellent.  I’ll get started right away.”  Another crisis averted.

Carson hesitated.  Despite the grandiose gesture, he was merely throwing the problem back into CA’s and Security’s laps.  It sounded like the Ferengi was just asking for someone in the bureaucracy to stop and care.  Carson had no illusions–he and the Admin department were the embodiment of bureaucracy.  But real change often started with one person taking the first step.  It did not need to be a life-changing, monumental step; sometimes just caring for a stranger was sufficient.

“And Mr. Renak, if you ever feel like you’re being ignored again, please don’t hesitate to call upon me before tensions escalate.”

“I will keep that in mind, as this has far more productive than any of my previous meetings.”