Snowed In
Posted on 26 Mar 2023 @ 4:52pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Volchok, Trading Center, Asax’s House - Ferengi Space
Timeline: Backstory: Winter 2379 - A day after ‘Going Under’
1438 words - 2.9 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek’s life had turned to mud. Thick ugly slime. What Hewmons called ‘shit’. The sticky stuff seemed to be everywhere. Yesterday he had insisted (to the point of having a full blown tantrum) that Per and Lena drove him to the spot where his drone had landed. Once the drone footage was in his hands, Lena took it from him because the images were of a rare red and yellow octopus, and there was no way she wasn’t going to have those splendid images.
Fine. What did he care about pretty pictures anyway? At this point, he was still a reasonably happy Ferengi. But when he reached his room at the Generic Inn, it all changed. The place had been ransacked. His clothes had been torn, his computers broken, and the latinum he kept under his mattress had vanished. The local law enforcement agency had been called. Two goons had presented themselves and had literally laughed at his face. Who kept valuables out in the open, inside an inn? There were vaults everywhere in towns to lock precious things away. Not their fault that some simpletons went about life without knowing the bare basics of living in good society.
The door to his room was always locked, he had informed them. This changed nothing. According to them, when you live in a public place, and an inn was exactly that, you simply tripled your troubles. The road to good citizenship was to own and own again, relentlessly. And so, until he had climbed a few more rungs on the social ladder, he had better shut the eff up.
With so many things taken from him, it was no wonder that Brek was feeling anxious. There was even the sensation, at the back of his mind, that his difficulties weren’t over. Something else would happen. Something imminent, that would change his life. Hopefully not to the point of terminating it.
In the outer world, only one thing was different today: the whole trading center was covered with a thick layer of snow. It looked like a giant white cake. The kind that some Hewmons make for their Christmasses. It was beautiful, and he had gone to the window (a tiny little thing you would expect to find in a cell) several times to admire how the snowflakes floated in the air and spiralled to the ground. Sadly this only meant that all traffic, air, road, and foot, stood still. No one had been able to go out for their lunch. The shops, along with the air and space ports were closed.
By 1600, you couldn’t see a thing anymore through the window. The snow, now a full blizzard, had eradicated everything, reducing his world to this little office. A room that was as ‘big’ as a truncated corridor, with just enough room for a table, a chair, a computer and a small Ferengi. No distraction allowed. He had bypassed that of course, and there were always a few desk toys on the table. An infinity cube fidget, an Euler’s disk, and his favourite: the magic bean rotating cube. All those were essential to conjure up the creativity that was needed to keep Asax’s accounts looking ‘normal’. That is to say, less horrific. A good thing he always kept those items here, and not at the inn.
At 16.15, the power went off. The only lights still visible in town, here and there, were weak and supplied by devices using batteries and generators.
For the Ferengi population the situation was dire. They, who couldn't and wouldn't stop their profitable activities, had to make a pause in their lives. From his tiny office he heard a loud argument between Asax, his wife and their daughter. If you cannot make latinum and spend it, what the heck can you do?! By the sound of it, for Mrs Asax, not being able to go to “Brilliant Gifts” to buy new pendants and necklaces, going mad was, it seemed, an option.
With his computer still on (battery at 60% but no network to connect to) Brek grabbed his backpack and he went downstairs with the idea of asking Mr Asax to let him go home early today, on account of the disastrous weather. Those were the exact words he would be using. But when he reached the ground floor, Oroff (the Count) was there, looking as clumsy as ever.
“The situation is hopeless, young master Brek,” Oroff told him with his best cavernous voice. “No one can go in, or out. This means that one has been able to purchase the usual slug steaks today, and Mr Asax is very much displeased..."
From Brek's experience, disappointed bosses shared a common point with starved targs: they were vicious and unpredictable. Hoping to escape from Asax’s house, he went to the door, opened it, and found a solid wall of snow right in front of him.
"Is there a shovel in this house?” He asked, thinking that in 10 to 20 minutes he could dig out a passage to the road.
“Why should there be?” Oroff wondered. “What garden tools we have are kept, obviously, in the garden shed. And it is, presently, out of reach.”
“We could replicate a shovel then. A heavy duty one, to shift the snow faster.”
“I fear that, if this was possible, Mr Asax would have asked the gardener to do so, don’t you think? Besides, once you’ve reached the road, what do you do? Dig another path till you get to the town centre? You would have no more energy than a dead beetle, by then, master Brek.”
“Skritz...” Brek mumbled. “What is to be done, then?”
“You’ll have to stay here for the night, master Brek. We’ll find you a place where you can sleep. And, if you don’t object, you can eat with us. That will be my old self, Mrs Tahk our formidable cook, and Mr Graux the gardener. The rest of the staff was, how should I put it... clever enough to stay at home today.”
Brek produced a loud sigh. “I suppose it’s what happens when one has a cosy home to enjoy.”
“I expect so. Let me show you the way to our humble dining room.”
Brek soon discovered that the servants wined and dined in a cold and damp room, bound to be poorly lit even with no power cut, for there was no lamp whatsoever on the ceiling. Presently two camping lanterns were on the table, wooden but not very solid. They cast an unforgiving white light on everything they touched. Whether it was Tahk’s bulbous nose, Graux’s facial hairs (he had them everywhere, including in his nostrils), or the grey plaster on the walls. There was already food, well snacks really, on the table. Brown bread, crunchy grasshoppers and a large bowl of colorful caterpillars.
“My friends, we have a guest!” Oroff said, sounding like he was announcing good news. Without surprise his words were greeted with grunts and harsh stares. What little they had, they would need to share. And who, on Volchok, likes that?
“No need to worry. I’m quite frugal,” Brek added timidly. It helped that, with what had recently happened to him, he didn’t have much appetite.
“It’s just as well,” Mrs Tahk grunted above the thick yellow scarf that she had wrapped around her neck. “‘Cos we don’t have much.”
Being a Ferengi, obviously she never had enough. Besides, females, he had been told, were greedier than men. They also liked to make impossible demands and were, in general, terribly expensive. This is why it was crucial to only marry rich heiresses.
“Well,” Oroff continued with a little smile. “Let’s not be rude to our guest. He is a friend! A helpful one at that. As for you, master Brek...”
The Bolian was interrupted by a cough, not the polite type, begging for attention, but the nasty one, giving the impression that the person who had produced it was highly contagious and you had better make yourself scarce. The imposing figure of Mr Asax soon appeared. He was wearing a brown and orange suit. A homely display of Ferengi traditions which was probably only appreciated by those born on Ferenginar.
“Ah Mister Brek!” He started, with no joviality whatsoever. “I was looking for you. How lucky that I did find you. It will allow me to rescue you from this rather depressing gathering. If you’d follow me to my office. We need to talk. Urgently so.”
tbc
