Heritage
Posted on 30 Apr 2023 @ 7:39am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Volchok & Affluenza (Ferengi Cruiser) - Ferengi Space
Timeline: Backstory: Spring 2379
1684 words - 3.4 OF Standard Post Measure
“What matters is not what you’ve been through, it’s that you survived,” Brek kept repeating to himself, while, armed with a long stick, he beat his way through a field of tall grass. Mr Asax and his ugly family had gone to the South, for two days, to visit some relatives. They had invited him, but after the horrendous evening he had spent with them a few weeks ago, he had declined the offer. He had money to make, and no time for leisure anymore. Without surprise, those words had delighted Mr Asax.
Faced with two days without having to go to Asax’s house, Brek had returned to his old trade: that of catching and selling gree-worms. Those critters, viewed by his people as a delicacy, were often easy to locate (they lived in large colonies), but difficult to collect. Why didn’t people prefer to eat harmless things, like butterflies, instead? Obviously it can't be so, because there’s a law in the universe that says that life has to be complicated and painful. If it’s not so, then you’re not truly alive.
Brek hit a cluster of grass in three strategic places and quickly grabbed a handful of gree-worms that he promptly dropped into his shoulder bag. Sure they nipped his fingers a few times, but it didn’t trouble him. Besides, those worms loved the scent of blood, so it paid to suffer a little. This evening, he would return to the trading centre and sell those worms to restaurants. These days his profits (he also worked for several outlanders) went directly to Volchok’s largest bank (which qualified as being too big to fail). Eternal Beauty, it was called, referring to the everlasting lure of latinum. He had learned his lesson. No more he would keep latinum in his pockets, or under his mattress.
It was an outlander who had told him, with their usual amused expression, that “What matters is not what you’ve been through, it’s that you survived”. The Hewmon male (his family name was Jung and he came from the eastern region of an eastern country: Korea). The reason he had imparted this piece of dubious wisdom was that he had refused his help. He could go to his restaurant anytime he wanted, he said. There would always be food for him, and a quiet place where he could read. How jolly good that was! A Hewmon was seeing him as a charity case. Never, in his life, had he been more offended!
Due to this, he seldom spoke to that easterner anymore. He didn’t speak to his friend Neph either, because he only spoke of space travel and kept repeating that the moment he had enough of Volchok, money would be ready to take him wherever he wanted. Apparently, someone, who chose to keep their identity to themselves, had his best interest at heart. Yuk! Another phylanth! Philontrapist? One of them philan-thropists. This would be the same benefactor, he suspected, who had sent him food packages during his childhood. How he had hated those... Every week he would resolve not to touch those parcels. Let them rot on the spot. But 2 or 3 days later, his stomach was in full control of his body, and he always ate everything to the last crumbs, like the starved animal that he was.
If and when he left Volchok, it would be with his own latinum. He would not take from others, no matter how benevolent they appeared to be. There was no such thing as a free lunch, and too many ways to indebt yourself. Anyway, the last time he had seen Neph, he had told him that if his mysterious benefactor wanted him to leave Volchok, they would have to show their ugly face first.
This, he felt sure, would never happen.
He looked up and was surprised to see that he had wandered so far in the field that the yellow grass was almost as tall as he was. He stood on the tip of his toes to get a better idea of his position, searching for the dark green tree that was the only recognizable landmark in the area, and he had a fright. There was, some two metres away from him, a face. A Ferengi face that he knew: The oracle, whom he had visited last winter, was there. As soon as she saw him, she spoke to a device attached to her wrist, and said something that made little sense:
“Lady Ara! I’ve found him.”
The next moment, Brek disappeared. He had, so far, only been transported twice. One moment you are on your feet, having as many thoughts as you want, and then for a few milliseconds you are no longer yourself anymore. As incredibly short as it is, it’s still a horrible sensation.
When he was able to see again, he discovered that he must be onboard a spaceship. There was a large observation bay in front of him, showing the whole of the trading centre with its yellow cranes by the sea shore, the profusion of colourful shops and restaurants and crowds of people, no taller than red ants. The view was mesmerising and much better to look at, from above, than when you were in that town. Down there the narrow streets could be oppressive and too often the fragrances were dubious.
“Look at the state of him!” A rough and unknown voice complained. “He is ruining my super sublime saxony carpet!”
Brek looked at his feet. His boots - partly covered with grass - were dripping swamp water on a grey carpet. A carpet which to him looked nothing special at all. The voice had emanated from an old Ferengi female, in a white reclining chair. The age spots on her face made her look time-worn. Her eyes were her most striking feature though. They were as still as those of a reptile, and they had targeted him.
Still, he was very much impressed by his new surroundings, so he removed his boots, (revealing socks with unfortunate holes), and he held them on top of his bag. This lounge was stylish with its deep blue walls and white chairs and table. It also smelt nice. He couldn’t pinpoint the scent, but it reminded him of a crisp morning after a relentless downpour.
“Tsst... Just as I thought, little beetle,” the old woman added. “You have allowed yourself to become a wreck. Look at you. You are an actual abomination.”
Brek, who today had donned a multipurpose cape suit with 3D leaves on it, tried to look taller. He also grasped his bag and his boots more firmly, to make sure no worms would escape - they were his, after all. “I’m perfectly fine. Who are you, and why am I here? I hope it’s not a kidnapping. That would be a terrible move. ‘Cause I’ve got nothing.”
“And he dares brag about it!?” The old woman added, raising her voice “Has anyone ever seen such an idiotic youngling? Whether you have little or plenty, it is wise not to reveal anything about your finances. If you do, trouble follows.” She got to her feet with an agility he had not expected, and she took a closer look at him. “I’m Lady Ara and we are related. Your not very bright mother is my daughter. Is it blood that I see on your hands? You'll find a first-aid kit behind you, in the light blue cabinet."
Brek remained silent and immobile. So called caring relatives was something he had only encountered in novels, and usually they were overbearing. When they had money (and latinum was definitely present on this ship), they liked nothing better than to control the lives of their kinfolk.
“Did you hear what I said, young man?”
“You have not answered my second question. Why am I here?” His voice sounded defiant, and he took great pride in this.
“You are here because, despite being my grandson, you are doing poorly, and I’m taking this as a personal insult. This is my ship, The Affluenza. Consider yourself my esteemed guest. I’ll return you to Volchok once you’ve learnt a thing or two about your heritage. You know so little, it is frightening.”
“I don’t need help, assistance, support, hands-out, donation or charity,” Brek said. “I’m old enough to lead my life the way I wish to and...”
“You will do as you are told, Little Beetle,” Ara insisted. “I’ll restore your Ferengi heritage. You will also have decent food, and you will return to your life as my grandson, not some pathetic worm everyone can take advantage of."
“Isn’t it a little late to pay attention to my fate?” Brek asked. “I’m an adult now and ...”
Ara interrupted him once more. “Ah, don’t start moaning! I wasn’t in a position to help you much during your childhood. But I can now, and believe you me, you will accept my guidance. Follow me, I will show you to your quarters, where you will be able to take a shower. You smell like you’ve spent a fortnight in a swamp.”
“I was catching gree-worms. It’s something I’m good at.” She did not deign to answer, so as they left the lounge , he added: “The way you spoke, does it mean that this ship is a little bit mine?”
She scoffed. “Little Beetle, if you want this ship, you’ll have to earn it. For the time being, just focus on behaving like a normal Ferengi.” She sighed. “It looks to me like there’s a lot of work to do there...” she glanced at him and shook her head. “Once you are presentable, go back to the observation lounge, we’ll continue our discussion over a glass of Tube grub brandy.”
