From: Jamie LeBlanc (plainsimplegarak_at_yahoo.com)
Date: Tue Jan 29 2008 - 21:52:03 PST
“Coming Soon to a Station Near You!” (Continued from
“Secrets are What Stories are Made of”)
~*~*~*~*~*~
Location: DAMARCUS VII
Stardate: 2.80130.0045
Scene: Swanky Penthouse Office
Time Index: several hours after Justin’s post
~*~*~*~*~*~
Alton Giele sat back in his penthouse suite
overlooking the verdant plains of DAMARCUS VII. The
colony world was home to some of the richest elite of
the Federation, and Giele was no exception. A savvy
businessman, he had taken his familial inheritance and
invested it into business ventures that had made him
almost embarrassingly rich. Now, lazing in his
retirement, his children firmly set in respectable
careers and having children of their own he stayed in
his beautiful home, acting as an information service
and marketing director for countless business schemes.
Giele had his ear on the pulse of the business
world, both legitimate and otherwise, and this morning
a particularly juicy rumor had crossed his desk. The
talk of the seedy underbelly of business was that Mr.
Zane Rixx had escaped Starfleet custody, and was alive
and well. It had surprised Giele some, for he hadn’t
yet gotten the news that Rixx had been arrested in the
first place. A pity, he thought, he had never liked
Rixx in the first place.
And so now, sitting in his luxuriant office, he
wondered if, even though this news was late in hitting
his ear, he could still profit from the situation.
Smiling lightly to himself he punched up a secure
channel, and waited for the subspace communication to
connect. Sitting across from him on the view screen
was rather fat Ferengi, in a very tasteful suit.
“Ahh, Grek, it has been a long time since we
spoke!” Alton let a smile glide across his features.
Grek returned the sentiment with a hearty smile.
{Mr. Giele! To what do I owe the honor of your call?}
“Have you heard the rumors coming out of the
Gamma quadrant?” Alton broached carefully. He always
allowed the other person to offer information first.
It was part of what earned him so much money.
{I heard that the Federation may be starting a
war with the Dominion, and that FedCom is smearing the
ever-living daylights out of the new station
Commander.} Grek returned, somewhat amused by the
whole situation. As much as the Ferengi hated FedCom,
he had no love for Starfleet goody-goodies either.
Giele smiled a little. “Have you heard about
Zane Rixx?”
There mere mentions of the name made Grek lean
forward like a kid waiting for a piece of candy. {No,
I haven’t heard anything about him recently. Please
tell me he’s dead.}
Alton shook his head a little. “No, not quite.
He was arrested by the Federation, and just recently
escaped.”
The Ferengi captain snapped his fingers. {That’s
too bad. I would have missed him…}
“But think of the opportunities you might have if
you act quickly… At this moment Rixx is no longer on
Gateway station and the place is fairly much in
shambles. It presents you with a unique opportunity
to… edge in as it were.” Giele spread his fingers out
in a fan shape to illustrate his point, as if one
small move could lead to limitless profit.
Slowly Grek began to smile a sharp-toothed grin.
{I see what you mean. I would not mind stealing a few
of Rixx’s connections out from under him.}
“Then you had better get there quickly.” Alton
winked at the Ferengi captain.
Grek leaned back in his chair and thought about
this proposition for a few seconds. {My only problem
is that past the wormhole, they say the Gamma quadrant
is practically crawling with Starfleet types. Oh,
sure, they need cargo ships and supplies brought, but
they have ramped up security to it’s highest.}
Alton waved a hand in the air. “Pshaw. Profit
requires risk. If you’re not willing to take a risk,
then perhaps you’re not cut out to make the profit…”
Grek cut him off with a guttural groan. {I have
the lobes for profit; I simply would like to raise my
chances of success.}
“Then you’re looking for a distraction.” Giele
smiled, he always covered all of his bases before he
made the call.
Slowly the corpulent Ferengi nodded. {Yes…. A
distraction. I don’t suppose you have one in mind?}
The older businessman pulled a small datafile
from his desk and slipped in into the comm. screen’s
input center. The data transmitted through the
commlink and downloaded itself into a small disk,
which popped out of Grek’s computer. “Put that into
your replicator and see what you get.”
The Ferengi rose to his feet, curious and
somewhat confused, sliding the disk into the
replicator data slot. It hummed to life and Grek
found a toy materialized in front of him. He furrowed
his brow and carried it back to his desk. {What the
hell is this?}
What the hell indeed. It looked like a doll,
carefully molded out of fleshilene, which gave the
surface a warm, slightly supple coating, very much
like real skin. It was female, fairly tall with
attractive legs, and an enormous bosom, with long
curly blonde hair, styled in an almost absurdly trendy
fashion. The face was carefully molded, and Grek
almost recognized it, but the name escaped him. The
unusual part were the costume – a stylized Starfleet
uniform with a cat symbol in red where the Starfleet
badge would go, black cat ears, tiny whiskers and a
long velvety black tail. There was a tiny button on
the back. Grek turned the doll over in his hands and
pressed the button.
A tinny flare of music burst from the doll and it
spoke in a breathy female voice. [I am the amazing
Commander Catwoman!] Grek chuckled and pressed the
button again. [Bite me, you ass!! Tell them to lower
their guns right now!] He started laughing and kept
pressing the button, each time it spit out little
phrases, over twenty in all. [Ok, ok....I admit it.
I made you my bitch.] [No comment…] [I would never
support the Dominion!] [No comment…] The ‘no comment’
repeated itself rather frequently in the otherwise
randomized order, and by the time it started repeating
phrases Grek was laughing so hard that tears were
running down his cheeks.
“So, what do you think of that? Politically
relevant, imminently collectible, trendy, you don’t
need to advertise because FedCom is doing it for you
and best of all… completely legal. What more could
you want?” Giele leaned back, pleased with his
cleverness. “With any luck, if you start selling
these Starfleet will have itself in a tizzy by midweek
and you can conduct you business without being
hampered.”
Grek wiped tears from his eyes, his belly still
shaking. {You’re brilliant, you know that?}
“Yes, I’m rather aware of it.” Alton smiled
amiably. “Now all you need is someone to sell them
for you.”
Grek leaned back and pondered that for a few
moments until a name popped into his mind. He started
to grin. {I know the perfect salesman, and he even
owes me.}
Alton Giele indulged himself in a slow smile
before he settled in to fritter out the particulars of
payment. “Then I believe, Mr. Grek, you have yourself
an… opportunity.”
~*~*~*~*~*
LOCATION: Delta IV CargoBase, Bajoran System
Scene: Captain’s personal office
The lights in the Captain’s personal office were
dimmed. That was exactly the way the corpulent
Ferengi commander of the freighter Anatori liked them.
It suited his mid-afternoon ear-rubbing schedule. He
sighed as his timer buzzed and gave his Orion
assistant a small kiss on her hand before dismissing
her with a wave, and sitting up. He checked the
chronometer, and drew out two glasses and a tray of
expensive whiskies from the cabinet behind his desk,
setting them on the table. Returning to his chair, he
lounged for a few minutes until the door chime rang.
“Come in, sit down…” Captain Grek motioned to the
figure in his doorway with a flabby hand. He leaned
back in his chair, rocking slightly as the freighter
slipped through the stars, pondering which of the many
multicolored bottles of alcohol that sat before him he
should open.
The man who walked in wasn’t young, but he had an
air of youthful nervous energy about him, a still
unbroken innocence that hung in his vivid green eyes.
Half Cardassian, half Bajoran - Grek had always
thought it was a particularly unfortunate combination
of species. “Greetings, Grek.” He murmured as he
slipped in, taking a seat across the desk from the fat
Ferengi.
“No need to sit so far away, Mr. Zel. Come!” He
gestured his guest forward. “Let us have a drink.
What would you like?”
“Water.” Zel Rohan raised his eyes fractionally,
just enough to watch Grek’s expression fall.
The Ferengi Captain drew in a long breath. “Why,
Mr. Zel… it is traditional to start negotiations with
a clear head.” He paused, wetting his lips with his
tongue, “I have it on good authority that you are
particularly fond of Aldeberan whiskey.”
Zel nodded slightly. “I am… but it is my
tradition to finish the negotiations with a drink,
rather than start them with one.”
Grek chuckled slightly, choosing a bottle filled
with deep green liquid and pouring a decent libation
into each of two glasses. “You should live a little
Rohan.” The Ferengi picked up the first glass and
pushed the second one forward.
“Oh, Mr. Grek, I think I have lived enough for
several lifetimes so far.” The hybrid indulged in a
small smile before continuing. “And the craziest
thing is I would like to go on living, so I try to
keep a clear head when silly things like negotiating
come around.”
The Ferengi captain sipped his drink a little
contemplating that. It wasn’t the first time he
thought that Rohan would have had the lobes for
business if he were just willing to be ruthless. “How
pragmatic of you, Mr. Zel. But suit yourself!”
“I assume you didn’t call me here simply for a
drink, Captain.” The Cardassian hybrid watching his
companion carefully, green eyes glittering. “So what
is on your mind.”
“How do I put this delicately, Mr. Zel?” the
captain started, steepling his fingers in front of
him.
Zel perked up one eye ridge. “Do you put
anything delicately, Grek?”
The corpulent Ferengi chuckled. “No, I suppose I
don’t. Then to get to the point, Rohan, you owe me
latinum.” He paused, letting the obvious statement
sink in as far as it could. “A lot of latinum.”
“Which I have been steadily repaying you.” He
countered, folding his hands, in front of his chest.
“But, Mr Zel, you see…. I’m greedy. I need the
money in rather short order.”
Zel’s eyes glittered lightly, his voice keen.
“Who’s trying to kill you?”
Grek shot him a dark look back “I never said
anyone was trying to kill me.”
Zel shrugged, “why else would you be calling in
your debts if someone wasn’t after you for money?”
“Ahh, but my debts aren’t the question here….
Yours are.” Grek was fairly eager to change the
subject. All in all he was simply using the debt to
muscle the Cardassian into being his distraction, and
he wasn’t the best lair in the galaxy.
The smaller man took in a short breath, catching
the implication to drop the subject. All in all the
last thing Zel needed was to stick his nose into
Grek’s business and end up owning the man more than he
already did, so he buried his innate curiosity for the
time being and went with the subject change. “And you
have a way for me to repay them, I assume?”
The Captain smiled evenly. “You’re very
perceptive, Rohan. In fact, I do have a job for you.”
Zel straightened up in his chair and tensed,
suddenly paranoid. “What sort of job?”
Waving one meaty hand in the air, Grek tried to
dismiss the other man’s fears. “You’d be surprised,
this one is completely legal.”
“I didn’t know you went for legal business,
Grek.” The hybrid snapped back, perking a brow ridge.
“Mr Zel you insult my integrity!” the Ferengi
started smoothly. “I am seeking you out because of
your impeccable salesmanship.”
“You need something sold?”
Grek smiled a sharp-toothed grin. “Many
somethings in fact.” He paused, and decided to add a
little flattery to the deal. “Didn’t Lathor Hiek bill
you as ‘a salesman so good, he could sell and icemaker
to the Andorians’?”
The little Cardassian hybrid nodded slightly.
“He did. But Hiek couldn’t sell water in the endless
deserts of GALLAN VI.”
“Rohan, how hard is it for you to accept that I
have something that wants to be sold and you’re the
person I want to sell it?”
Zel sucked in a short breath. “Captain Grek…
what I want to know is why you want me to sell it.”
The corpulent Ferengi shook his head a little.
“I am offering you a unique opportunity to erase your
debts to me for very little work – legal work at that,
and instead of being grateful, all you can do is turn
your nose up and look for a catch.”
Zel Rohan paused and stared directly across the
desk, into Grek’s eyes and replied in his stoniest
voice, “With you, Grek, there is always a catch.”
Grek looked up from over the edge of his glass
and finished off the bright orange liquid before
speaking. “Let me put this in another way, Rohan.”
He paused just enough to stare the hybrid in the eyes.
“Do you have any idea how much your kidneys are worth
on the black market?”
Zel blinked, doing a double take. “What?”
“Kidneys, you know, those things you have in your
body behind your stomache…” The Ferengi prompted.
“I know what they are. I couldn’t imagine why
you would want them. Last time I checked, Grek, I was
a hybrid, and that’s not worth much to the medical
trade.” The Cardassian hybrid snapped back, a feeling
of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes, but fortunately for me Mr. Haylon Aza could
give a hang about the medical trade, and he is willing
to pay handsomely for unusual kidneys.” Grek paused
and grinned while he refilled his glass. “Would you
like to know how much yours are worth?”
Zel kept his tone light. “No, but I’m sure
you’re going to tell me.”
The Ferengi took a lazy sip of brandy before
speaking. “Slightly more than what you owe me. Of
course, I would be gracious enough to give you the
remaining amount to help you cover your hospital costs
should you survive.”
“Lovely.” The Bajoran/Cardassian muttered.
“Should I even ask what he does with these kidneys he
buys?”
“He eats them.” Grek grinned. “Mr. Ava believes
that kidneys contain the soul of the race, and that he
can consume the power of different species by eating
the kidneys. Of course the more unusual the species…
the more money they fetch.” He let that sink in
before adding, “Last time I checked there aren’t too
many of your unfortunate heritage still running about
the galaxy.”
Zel felt his shoulders sink down as he leaned
back into the chair. “Great, just great. So those
are my options.”
“I’m afraid so.” The Ferengi captain nodded.
He sighed a very long sigh, not particularly
liking the position he found himself in. “I guess I
have no choice then.”
Grek didn’t answer immediately, instead pouring
himself another glass of whiskey, and pushing the
first one he had poured in Zel’s general direction.
Zel perked a brow at that and picked up the glass
of Aldeberan whiskey. He downed the entire shot in
one fell swoop and waited until his head stopped
spinning to take a breath. “Right then, what am I
selling?”
Grek grinned, practically giggling with glee as he
pulled out the Commander Catwoman doll and passed it
over to Zel. The hybrid stared at the thing, picking
it up gingerly, as if it would bite him while Grek
rummaged behind his desk some more. “Oh, and this one
is brand new, the sidekick model! It’s ‘Wingboy,
Commander Catwoman’s intrepid sidekick!’” Grek
chuckled even harder passing the second doll over to
Zel.
The Cardassian furrowed his brows, incredulously
staring at the doll. Wingboy was a tall man with a
carefully molded face, a bare chest with exaggerated
six-pack abs. The bare chest showed off the
‘Commander Catwoman’ tattoo emblazoned across his
chest, while on the bottom he wore shiny black boots
and fairly standard Starfleet uniform pants. That was
before Zel saw the gigantic armored codpiece the doll
wore, complete with a shiny metallic Starfleet
insignia at the tip. There was a tiny button in back,
and when Zel pressed it he nearly dropped the doll to
the floor in surprise. The wings started to flap, and
a high male voice started singing [I can fly, I can
flyyy! Look at me, I can flyyy!]
“The codpiece glows in the dark, too! For an
extra two slips of latinum you can get a complete
Starfleet costume set that include Commander Catwoman
insignia pasties!” Grek grinned, trying not to laugh.
Zel placed the dolls gingerly back on the desk
and shook his head. “I don’t quite understand why
these are funny.”
“Haven’t you been watching FedCom?” The Ferengi
asked, in shock.
Slowly Rohan shook his head. “No… I never watch
the TV. In fact I don’t really watch anything… except
my own back.”
Grek chuckled a bit. “Well, you have been
missing quite a story, then. These two are Starfleet
officers…”
“I already figured out that part.” Zel snapped
back.
Grek gave him a chiding look and continued on.
“She is the commander of Gateway station, the largest
Federation outpost in the Gamma quadrant from what I
am told, and he is one of her officers.”
“So you want them embarrassed?” Rohan asked,
staring at the dolls again.
“Politically shaken up is how I would put it.
Both of them have had some altercations with the
station’s civilian personnel, so you could consider
yourself as helping to give them a voice in stifling
rule of Starfleet.”
The hybrid stared at Grek, as if he wasn’t so
sure about that assessment. “And where, exactly will
I be selling these things?”
Another indulgent smile from the Ferengi, “Why
the promenade of Gateway Station, of course.”
“Right in the middle of the lion’s den.” He
paused and shook his head. “Starfleet will flip its
lid.”
Grek put his hands on the desk, firmly. “Let
them! You have every legal right to sell these
limited edition collectibles, unless they want to turn
the Federation into a military dictatorship.” He dug
a PADD out from his desk and tossed it over. “Here, I
already dug up all the laws pertaining to this
situation and what arguments you can give if anyone
questions the legality of selling politically
embarrassing dolls.”
“Not dolls, limited edition collectibles…” Zel
chided, slipping into his salesman mode: a bright,
devil may care attitude with a charming smile. He
paused before dropping the persona. “You’ve got this
all planned, don’t you?”
Grek nodded slightly. “I even booked your
passage. You fly out tonight, and you can set up shop
tomorrow. Seven crates of collectibles will be in the
cargo bay waiting for you.”
“And your share?” Zel asked, looking through the
information on the PADD
“Half.”
He paused and thought that through. “Right then.
I suppose we have a deal.” He paused and eyed the
Aldeberan whiskey again. Grek was right, the vintage
was excellent. “And pour me another drink… I’ll need
it.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Zel… my pleasure” The fat
Ferengi chuckled, pouring two more glasses full.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
NRPG: Well, Gateway Station, Meet Zel Rohan. Zel
Rohan, meet Gateway! Or at least here's a taste of
him before he actually arrives.
Zel’s a little bit of trouble, but he’s honestly a
good guy. I promise!
Kim/Justin: I hope you like your collectible alter
egos ;-)
Everyone else: hello, greetings, and salutations! I
will be very pleased to be writing with you all!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jamie LeBlanc
Civillian Zel Rohan
Irritating Shopkeep Extraordinaire
GATEWAY STATION
"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck
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