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“Whatever you do, don’t press that button.”
“But Uncle, why not?”
“You really think I’m going to let you use my establishment as the backdrop to this quaint little family portrait of yours without getting anything in return?”
“This is a public venue, Quark!” Leeta exclaimed. “You can’t charge us for this.”
“Leeta’s right, Brother,” Rom said. “Odo himself will tell you it’s within our rights to—”
“Of course it is!” Quark laughed and clapped Rom and Nog on the shoulders. “I was going to say, the only thing I want in return is to be in the holophoto with you.”
Nog, Rom, and Leeta all gave each other a look. Obviously this was part of some scheme, but with the shared understanding that it was going to be more fun than what they had planned for the day, they spread out to let Quark stand with them in front of the flashing dabo wheel and pose. Nog rushed over to the bar and put his personal PADD down, tweaking the zoom and setting the timer, then ran back just in time to hear that crisp click and snap. Chief O’Brien had told him the camera application had been programmed to sound like “an actual shutter,” whatever that meant.
“Ooh, let’s see it!” Leeta was bouncing. Between her energy, Rom’s urge to fiddle, and Quark’s finicky demeanor, it was a wonder they had stood still long enough!
“Okay, okay, here it is.” Nog brought his PADD over to his family and showed them the screen. The focus was perfect and the lighting was all warm oranges. The hustle and bustle of the bar was almost audible—from the photo alone, not just because they were standing in the bar at the moment and it was, in fact, audible.
“Wow, we look so pretty,” Leeta said. “Especially you, Rom!”
Rom giggled bashfully. “Thanks.” He turned to Nog. “Your friends from the Academy are going to be overjoyed.”
“Hold on, Nog, it looks like you have a typo right… here.” Quark snatched the PADD and Nog could hear him retyping the caption. “Federation Standard is needlessly complicated, isn’t it?” Quark grinned.
“I don’t make typos, Uncle! Are you confusing me with Jake?!”
Quark made a flippant, “calm down” gesture. He was still staring at the post. “What is this?!” He asked, as if offended. He was pointing to Nog’s username, 1st_Ferengi_in_Starfleet.
Rom hissed protectively. “I thought you were over this, Brother. If you’re planning on shaming my son for—”
Quark rolled his eyes. “I was just going to point out that on Ferenginar, nobody needs these… handles. Just your account balance would be enough to make it obvious who you are.”
“Your account balance on Ferenginar would be zero!” Rom snapped. “Actually, it wouldn’t even be at zero because it doesn’t exist anymore!”
Leeta hugged Rom from behind. Nog heaved a long-suffering sigh. “There’s something to be said for freedom of expression. I learned all about the importance of that during my training.”
“What’s next for you? Surnames?” Quark asked.
Leeta and Rom squealed with excitement. “That’s such a great idea, I volunteer mine!” Leeta said.
Nog pretended to turn away from them in embarrassment but he was smiling. As an afterthought, he held out one hand, demanding his PADD back from Quark. Quark hesitated, but to no effect because a tendril shot out from behind him and tore it from his hands. With that unmistakable rushing noise, Odo shapeshifted into his usual form to loom over Quark. Everyone’s attention became focused on the Changeling.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Odo?” Quark asked, nervously. “This is after the time you usually drop in.”
“That’s because I was already here,” Odo said. He did not elaborate. Nog assumed the vagueness was intentional, since Odo always thought it was funny when Quark licked or palmed at everything in the bar to try and find him. Odo continued, “Now, I read this post you hijacked from Nog, and what did I find? It’s a barely-disguised advertisement for this establishment! How dare you attempt to frame your own nephew by making it appear he’s written an undisclosed ad?”
Based on the pregnant pause, it was obvious Quark was considering quoting the rule of acquisition that stated the importance of exploiting family members, but the glare from Rom was keeping him quiet. Nog could peer up and see the caption on his family portrait now. It read: “Your family could be as happy as mine if you visit Quark’s Bar, Grill, Gaming House and Holosuite Arcade!”
“Surely we can work something out?” Quark asked, haltingly.
“Oh, as long as you revise that caption to remove the advertisement, I won’t charge you.” Odo stretched his neck out intimidatingly. “All I want is to be in the holophoto with you.”
You’re slipping, Elim, Garak thought to himself, as his eyes widened at the sound of Doctor Bashir’s camera. Bashir’s obstinate dismissal of the epic historical mystery had been so spectacularly offensive it had left Garak open-mouthed, his fork and its dainty bite of food hovering in front of his face.
“Beautiful!” Bashir exclaimed, typing like the wind on his personal PADD. A moment later, he turned it around to show Garak the screen. There was Garak’s surprised eating face, juxtaposed with a tiny, Terran shelled-reptile taking a bite out of a strawberry. Garak had learned of strawberries and watermelons at the same time, but preferred the banded pattern of watermelon stripes to the dotted look of strawberry seeds.
Bashir barreled on. “You’re the splitting image of this baby turtle, my dear Mister Garak. I’ll caption it with a PSA on the importance of taking small bites the way you do,” he said, an utter hypocrite. Bashir’s post fell into the time-honored Cardassian tradition of celebrating one’s partner at their most unflattering of moments in order to demonstrate the depth of one’s love to the world. The touching gesture on Bashir’s part invited a loving retaliation from Garak.
As Bashir uploaded the post, Garak considered his potential strategies. Garak’s social media presence was normally strictly professional. Of course he had his secret, untraceable accounts he occasionally used to post his political cartoons mocking Dukat’s administration of Cardassia—such as that lovely cartoon Garak had made between fashion drawings, the one of Gul Ducuck begging the Founders to bring him his wife and children back—but the Garaks_Clothiers handle was used for updates on his stock and commissions. However, surely there was nothing unprofessional about posting a statement regarding the importance of taking breaks?
And so, Garak uploaded a photo he had discreetly taken of Bashir shoveling food into his mouth and captioned it with, “Rest is fuel for artistry. I had a wonderful lunch with my dear friend Doctor Bashqueer today!” Ah, the joys of Federation Standard. With a few lines of code Garak ensured that if Doctor Bashir used his personal PADD to open Garak’s post, Bashir’s name would be rendered as “Bashir,” while any other device would see the post with the pun intact. Garak beamed, eager to discover which of the good doctor’s friends would give the game away first.
Sisko interlaced his fingers and supported his chin as he gazed across the breakfast table. “What could be more interesting than a conversation with an old friend?” he asked Dax.
Dax barely glanced up from her PADD. “You’re not claiming to be the old man in this friendship now, are you, Benjamin?” She smirked and continued scrolling. “Jake’s always shocked to see how invested I am in meme culture… I think he still doesn’t understand that the older I get the funnier they become.” The screen was reflected in her shining blue eyes, and Sisko wondered what could have left her so enraptured.
“You understand them on a different level?”
“Exactly, you get it.” She set her PADD down and picked up her tray to bring it to reclaim.
Sisko slid the PADD toward him to see if he could still connect with the youth—or the elderly, as the case may be. But all he saw was a photo filling the screen, very difficult to parse. It looked a bit like two cashews, covered in slime, with a blue sac between them. Dax rushed back right as Sisko realized there were little eye stalks visible.
He stared up at her. “Are… are these two Terran slugs… you know…?”
“Uh, I’m needed in the lab.” Dax picked up her PADD and ran.
The magenta color of the shreds of umeboshi looked so nice against the chopped leaves in the hasperat as Keiko O’Brien sprinkled them in. She had to pause and take a photo, tagging Kira and asking her, “Is this sacrilege? 😛” Slowly, Keiko was branching out into being more comfortable sharing her cooking online, when before she used to stick to only discussing her botanical studies and lesson plans.
Kira responded a few seconds later. She must have been stuck in one of those diplomatic talks she was trying not to scream in anymore. “Not at all, just makes me want to 🥵💦” she posted.
Keiko blushed, probably equally red-faced. Molly was setting the table close by! Keiko private-messaged Kira, “Nerys, everyone can see what you said!!! That’s not appropriate!”
“You mean what I said about Quark being a toad? I already edited it.”
“No, the ‘🥵💦!’” Keiko typed furiously. “Anyone looking in my replies can see that!”
“What’s wrong with salivating because it’s spicy??? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Keiko sighed. “Rewrite the reply so it’s just text. Will explain later.”
When Damar unlocked Weyoun’s personal PADD, he had explained, “I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you that people’s use of social media is strictly policed within Cardassian space… but now you should be able to access or post whatever you want. Usually this is a privilege reserved for the highest-ranking officials of the Central Command, so be grateful.”
“Thank you, Damar, I understand,” Weyoun had answered, too bewildered to devise a barb. In truth, Weyoun had not understood at all. Of course he had researched social media and extranets and understood them on a conceptual level, but being able to participate in such a system? To be able to post content or respond to others’ posts freely? This, Weyoun realized, was why many cultures conceived of such systems as interconnected webs. Nowhere within Dominion territory was there an infrastructure to support “social” media. Of course the words of the Founders were sent to touch the farthest reaches of Dominion space, but the gods themselves or their chosen proxies were to relay these words. If ever one of the Dominion’s subjects required clarification, it was a mark of shame, for the Founders were perfect and to not understand their orders was yet more evidence that solids, unable to link, were inherently lacking.
As Weyoun approached his quarters he mulled over this, enjoying the sound of his PADD charms bouncing against each other with every step he took. Before he reached the door, he heard the sound of the Founder Leader changing form ring out through the halls, heralding her arrival. He paused, listening carefully to her purposeful footfalls as she drew near. Her eyes glinted in the light like shards of glass. At first, it seemed she would pass Weyoun, but when she looked at what he had clasped in his hands she blocked his path. “What is that?” she asked, tone laced with disgust.
He bowed shallowly. “Founder, you grace me with your presence,” he spoke quickly, not wanting to keep her waiting for an answer. “This is my personal PADD.”
“I meant what is dangling from it, Weyoun.”
Weyoun lifted all of them, as if they were an offering to her. “Many species throughout the Alpha Quadrant attach these PADD charms to their PADDs in order to personalize them.”
“What purpose could this personalization possibly serve?” Individuation, the Founder had explained many times, was yet another chaotic, meaningless facet of solid life.
“It serves the purpose of making my image read to others as friendly and accessible, as opposed to militaristic,” Weyoun said. This was, after all, the same reason Vorta were permitted to have a greater degree of individuation between them than Jem’Hadar. Weyoun placed his favorite charm, the squishy pink regnar, in his palm and showed it to the Founder. “For example, this charm is modeled after an animal species that lives on Cardassia Prime. By keeping it on my PADD, the Cardassians may feel more comfortable in my presence.” The fact that he had thought of none of this when he received the squishy was irrelevant.
“I see.” Icy suspicion colored her voice. “Now, if I were to gather up all of these charms and tell you they were a corrupting influence on you and must be destroyed, how would you feel?”
The answer was obvious. “I would be honored that you chose to grace me with your wisdom.”
Her features softened, perhaps literally. It was difficult to tell with such poor eyesight. “Very good, Weyoun. This war must feel as if it’s dragged on so long, and yet you remain immaculate.” Without waiting for a response, she shapeshifted into a glistening arc and launched herself down the hall.
Weyoun entered his quarters and immediately crouched down amidst his trove of cultural artifacts to study. He logged on to his account—its handle was Clone_Ranger—ready to take a photo of his collection, post it, and ask the viewers to choose an item they identified with and tag themselves.
Damar would be so proud.