Count Oroff
Posted on 03 Feb 2023 @ 7:20am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 08 Apr 2023 @ 7:39am
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Volchok, Trading Center - Ferengi Space
Timeline: Backstory: Winter 2379
1784 words - 3.6 OF Standard Post Measure
When Brek saw that it was 1800, his fingers froze on the keyboard. He had, this very second, moved from working time to leisure time. The delicious moment where he needn’t worry anymore about Mr Asax’s accruals, assets and cash flows. All those figures - some of them decidedly overcooked - faded away from his mind, to be replaced with those things he wanted to do tonight. Go to the outlanders' sector and talk to whoever had a few minutes to spare. This was the best thing about Volchok: all the different people you could meet. The Bajorans, Cardassians, a rare few Vulcans and of course the multifaceted Hewmons. Sure, they only had one face, like everyone else, but they were so accomplished. There was, seemingly, nothing they couldn’t do, and that included fraud too.
He switched off this computer, grabbed his ugly fur coat, and as he always did, he rushed down the stairs, making more noise than a rout of snailosaurus rumbling down the great plains of Kopli, so eager he was to get the hell out of this house and be reunited to his precious freedom.
Being so exuberantly noisy proved not to be a great move tonight, though, because just as he reached the front doors, the terribly old Bolian servant who worked for Mr Asax intercepted him. His name was Oroff (Brek called him Count Oroff, in retaliation for the old man’s habit to say ‘young master’ to him), and his skin was pale blue and looked like it had received too much rain. Although tall and still portly, his steps were always by degree, and it might take him 20 minutes to move from one room to the other.
“Young master! Not so fast, if you wouldn’t mind.” The Count said. There was a quiver in his voice, very unusual, for he was usually as imperious as Mr Asax himself.
“Yes, Count?” Brek said, resigned. What new chore had been invented for him this time?
“Would you be kind enough to help an old gentleman?”
The silent answer to that was a vehement ‘no’, but alas the public one was a meek ‘yes’, for Brek knew not to upset anyone in this house. “By all means, what can I do for you?”
“Mr Asax is receiving tonight.” This gave great hope to Brek. Had he been invited? The thought of it had him dream of exotic meat and homemade bread with a crispy, crunchy crust. “And he asked me to bring six bottles of white wine, from our reserve, in the basement. Regrettably, my feet are not so sure these days... Whilst for a young master like yourself, going down there would be... a breeze.”
“Always happy to be of help,” Brek said, his voice a bit gruff, because he was dealing with the disappointment of not being invited to Mr Asax’s table. He was just a minion, like the rest of the souls who ‘haunted’ this boring house.
Moments later he was facing a long and narrow staircase, with steps that had been eroded by decades upon decades of footsteps. You could easily slide and fall down there, and Brek could see why the Count didn’t want to put his big clumsy feet on those damp stones. There was no handrail either, such a luxury, in what looked and smelled very much like a crypt.
On the other hand there were a few lights on the ceiling, provided at odd intervals by antiquated bulbs that cast a sickly yellow glow on the walls.
Those walls consisted of little orange bricks, with lots of cracks between them. Those were home to a profusion of big black spiders, lurking through the funnel webs they had weaved. Often, all you could see from them was a leg or two, announcing their presence. To some Ferengi, this would be like a snack alley. If you were fast enough, you could grab any of those critters and have a bite. Brek was more refined than that though, what spiders he ate were always deep-fried.
Not wanting to waste too much time on his task, Brek went down, and as he did so, the spiders retreated to the depth of their lair. There is, really, nothing more fearful than a spider.
As he descended into the basement he noticed that Mr Asax’s larder was well stocked. Rare meats and fruits, liquors, vegetables he had never seen before, and of course, white wine.
Brek saw the bottles as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a large circular room, packed with boxes and crates. Some of them came from as far as the Romulan Empire or the Sol System. Such wealth, everywhere he looked (Iberico ham, anyone?) should have made him comfortable, albeit a little envious. Instead, he felt ill at ease. It was rather cold down here, but this troubled him less than the stain he discovered on the floor. A large round yellowish blob that looked like Ferengi blood. Fresh one at that. Had it been old, old like last century, Brek would have been able to ignore it. But this... Could his presence here be a clever ploy to intimidate him? Was there a message in this stain, or was he being over-suspicious?
Brek continued to stare at the stain, entranced by its possible meaning, plain and hidden. As he did so, the atmosphere took a darker turn. The room now looked smaller, the air warmer, stuffy even. He leaned against a pile of crates. If he was careful, he might just manage to reach the wines without stepping on the stain. The thought of interfering, in any way, with the crime that had likely been perpetrated here was repulsive. There would be a connection then, between him and that horrible stain, whilst he would rather convince himself that he had never cast his eyes upon it.
“Young master Brek, are you all right?”
The distant voice of Oroff released him from the grip of his overarching imagination. “Absolutely!”, he shouted, wanting to sound as carefree as a young bookkeeper is entitled to be. “I won’t be a sec!”
With minutious steps, Brek went to the area where several rows of terracotta wine racks stood. Hexagonal in shape, those racks looked splendid, like a giant honeycomb affixed to the wall. No spiderwebs here, showing that those bottles were well looked after. There was only one type of white wine, though, from Antede III. The label, written in Ferengi, described it as having an overlay of ripe apple and boxwood accents. A little line underneath contained a disclaimer: the flavor description was only an approximation, as the flora of Antede III bore no resemblance with that found on other planets.
The odd thing was, nowhere in Asax’s books had he seen any mentions of trading with Antede III...
He took six bottles and held them by their necks, three in each hand. It was now time for him to make his way back to the normal world, upstairs, but something shiny, on the floor caught his attention.
There was, partially concealed by a crate of Eelwasser, a PADD. A Ferengi one. Brek stood there, torn between the need to satisfy his curiosity and see what the PADD contained, and the impulse not to get involved in whatever had happened in this basement.
Moving slowly, he put three bottles on the floor, pocketed the PADD, and picked the bottles up. He then went back upstairs, making sure to avoid the stain on the floor. The Count was waiting for him, seemingly with great expectation. He had even taken the risk to go down three steps.
“Young master, you gave me a fright.” The old Bolian said as he too returned to the ground floor. “For a moment there, I thought you had met with some difficulty...”
“Oh, I was just having a look around,” Brek replied, this being one instance where lying came naturally to him. “Mr Asax has a fine supply of goods down there. It makes me feel sorry that I won’t be among his guests tonight. They are sure to enjoy a superb meal.”
They were both in the kitchen now, and the Count motioned for Brek to give him the bottle. Once he had them, he added: “Good things are worth waiting for, young master. I feel sure that it won’t be long before Mr Asax invites you to his table. He has the greatest esteem for you.”
“Really?” Brek asked, his surprise unfeigned. “I rather think he finds me awkward and slow.” He searched for signs that Orloff may be toying with him, but the Count only looked tired and resigned.
“Mr Asax, has his own ways with us, members of the staff. It is, after all, customary for people in his position to remain distant with our lot. But I know better.” Here the Count nodded his bald head, as if his words were not only wise, they were also final.
Brek took this as a sign that he should make himself sparse. He bid Orloff a good evening and he left the house. At first, without thinking, he walked towards the spaceport and its profusion of outlanders, but then he changed his mind and went to Neph’s place.
There, like an overly excited beetle, he told his friends what he had seen and found in Asax’s basement. He even displayed the PADD.
“Stolen property,” Neph grumbled. “You must really have a passion for trouble... Let me have a look at that thing.”
Brek, who counted on Neph to mount an ‘expedition’ to that basement and investigate it further, (there being safety in numbers), gave the PADD to his friend. But to his surprise, his companion threw the device on the floor and smashed it to bits with his heel.
“That’s one problem solved, “ Neph added with satisfaction. He then fetched a bottle of Romulan ale. “Now all we need to do is have you forget what you saw tonight, and everything will be great again. Drink, I tell you! The night is young, and I’ve got many things to show you.”
This wasn’t what Brek had wanted, but anytime a freebie was presented, his Ferengi instinct kicked in, and he found himself unable to refuse the offer.
