Twice Told Tales
Posted on 28 May 2023 @ 4:47pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Ferengi Space (Volchok)
Timeline: Backstory: Spring 2380
1791 words - 3.6 OF Standard Post Measure
At 9am, Brek found himself back to his ‘old life’ on Volchok, alone, but with new clothes and a new apartment (available to single business people of good character), courtesy of his granny. Although she had refused to give him even a tiny little slip of latinum, she had sent him away with what she called ‘priceless advice’. He replayed some of them in his mind, with granny’s cavernous voice:
Be ruthless, but all the same, try to enjoy yourself. Life is meaningless if you aren’t happy.
Acting stupid can’t be of help, but don’t be so dumb that you jeopardise yourself.
Never betray your interests. Look indifferent, bored even. This is the surest way to make latinum.
She expected him to turn more than a profit on Volchok. He was meant to emulate her and make his fortune. Only, there was a tremendous abyss between the two of them. Him at 18 and granny, whose age was indeterminate (anything beyond 70, he suspected). She had it all but couldn’t brag about it. He had naff all and was free to show off his current lack of success. What would he see if he could time travel 50 years in the future? The picture had better include mining operations, spaceships and several resort planets. Anything else would be... disastrous.
Brek sighed and he observed his new apartment. Lovely place. Bright, totally clean and so far devoid of any personality. At the inn where he used to stay, things had been the exact opposite. Far too much personality there: graffitis and stains left behind by countless guests. There were also corners in the inn which he felt sure had not seen any light for decades. That’s what you find in places with a lot of history of course. Whilst with this new apartment of his, his own story still had to be written.
He decided to make a start on that by going downstairs where a Mister Lizig, proud son of Ferenginar (it was written so on the till) managed a bookstore. The place was called ‘Twice Told Tales’ and another sign boasted that all orders would be fulfilled. No matter how obscure the origins of the writers, Lizig would find the book/manuscript/digital file that you were after. If you wanted a long lost pamphlet written 500 years ago by a Vulcan Scholar, Mister Lizig would track it down for you. Whether you ended up buying a perfect original copy was a question left to lawyers. For Mister Lizig wasn’t shy of using the services of several A.Is to reproduce what he thought ought to be found in ancient texts. The past, the merchant had told him once, is always written by those who are quick enough to print it.
Lizig was also fond of using scent machines, which were placed at every corner of his vast shop. They were a bit of a curse as you couldn’t smell the traditional fragrances of old books with their natural paper and inks. There was a fresh sea-side breeze everywhere, covering what liberties Lizig took with the ancient origins of his books.
As Brek passed by the till, Lizig (skinny and rather tall, with tiny furtive eyes) acknowledged his presence with a cursory glance. There was zero interest in that glance for the simple reason that Brek’s previous incursions in this shop had never ended well. That is to say, he had never purchased anything. On the other end, he had spent hours browsing multiple books. Sometimes even reading a paragraph, here and there, to the great despair of Mister Lizig.
Brek meant to check his favourite section at the back of the store, the one where foreign titles, often in languages he had never heard of, were stored. To get there, you had to navigate between several towers of books, neatly aligned in massive square pillars. This was pleasing to the eyes but he pitied the person who might want a book at the very top of those columns... Maybe this would never happen. Maybe those books at the top were unloved ones. Bad poetry books and non-fiction titles such as The natural history of hookworms, Colouring rocks and adopting them as pets, or Crocheting in black and white.
Or maybe those out-of-reach books were simply fake. A clever illusion.
While Brek was contemplating those columns, Lizig passed by, his arms full of old leather bound books in need of serious repair. “Mr Brek,” he said, “I hope that today is a lucky day, and you will deign to purchase something from me.”
“I’ll do my best,” Brek replied with a polite smile.
Sadly, this wasn’t enough to get rid of the merchant, who produced a little snort. “I fear that you somehow mistake my shop for a public library, of the kind that is said to exist on certain planets. What a stupendously sordid concept. In my bookshop, Mr Brek, books are sold. Do you hear me? They are sold. I also have a special offer. 2% off when you buy paper books by the metre. You must give me a clue: what are you interested in, young man?”
“I like foreign books.”
Lizig frowned. “You read foreign?”
“Standard English only.”
“Ah.” Lizig re-adjusted the stack of books in his arms. Among them, Brek noticed two hefty volumes: How the best Ferengi financial empires have risen from the foetid mud of Ferenginar. Part one and two. “Wonders never cease. These days, any average computer can translate anything you want, you know. It only takes a few minutes. You can even turn the most cryptic Ferengi dialect into a Klingon Opera if such are your tastes.”
“Are you saying that you don’t have any books produced by outlanders?”
“I’m sadly out of stock for the moment. I only have one title, which I keep under the counter - such a book is too controversial to sell in plain view. It is an unauthorised biography of Captain Kirk. In excellent condition.”
“He is a fictitious character, I take it?”
Lizig gave Brek an odd look. “In this book, by the time you reach the last page, this Captain reads indeed like a work of fiction. Loads of dalliances, misalliances and alliances and a great scarcity of latinum and credits. The man, Hewmon, by the way, is a complete disgrace. But what am I talking about - revealing the contents of a precious book! I must be going mad! Are you interested in the arresting adventures of this Federation Captain, a genuine hero of the UFP?”
“Not particularly.”
“I knew it!” The merchant walked away, huffing and puffing, and he disappeared through a door, at the back, with a large warning painted in several languages: “Access Forbidden to All And Sundry.”
Disappointed but determined to find a book or two that would help him steer his new life in the right direction, Brek did what most Ferengi men do. He went to the Get Rich Quick section. There were loads of books here, with such exciting titles as: ‘Make it your business to find out everything’, ‘Customers: Tell them what they want to hear’, ‘Malicious Fabrications: How to make them’, ‘Against All Odds: When Everything Adds Up’, ‘Riddles, Paradoxes and Conundrums’, ‘Things that happens only in foreign languages’ (incredibly pricey this one). If he could, he would have purchased them all, but his budget being limited, he selected only three titles: ‘How not to live like a rodent in a maze’, ‘Basic Business For Beginners’ (from the Three B’s Collection, which was actually quite expensive) and, on a whim, ‘This Falling in Love Business’.
It would be best now to return to the till, before temptation took over, forcing him to buy more books, but he heard a low grumble further inside the store. A grumble he was familiar with, as it possessed the distinctive timbre of Count Oroff. He walked in that direction and sure enough, Asax’s main servant was there, perusing a section of books entirely dedicated to fiery romances, all written or translated in Ferengi. In fact, just as Brek was trying to hide his ‘Falling in Love Business’ among his soon to be purchased books, Count Oroff was also doing his best to conceal the fact that his portly fingers had been about to grab a book called ‘The Inferno’, which, judging by the cover, had nothing to do with volcanoes.
“Count?” Brek started. “I had no idea you were a... a reader.”
“Who is not, Master Brek?” Oroff said, putting his hands, resolutely, in his pockets. He looked more resigned than embarrassed though. And after a few seconds he added. “Ah. The hell with everything. I tried to...”
Although it was now too late, Brek wished he had not intruded like that on his old friend. “You don’t have to explain anything. We all have our little foibles. I’m also here, after all.”
Oroff looked at the books that Brek had in his hands. “Readers would be more discreet if they opted for digital files, instead of those old-fashioned paper copies. But you must let me finish my phrase, young master. I tried to read those books. I really did. Out of curiosity, to understand their appeal. I could not. It could be that my Ferengi is not developed enough. But I doubt it.”
“Why are you here, then?”
“As you well know, women are not allowed in shops managed by Ferengis, to the immense regret of Mr Asax’s daughter. So she sends me here twice a month to buy such ‘books’. She considers herself an avid reader.”
“Well...” Brek contemplated the books on the shelves. What ridiculous titles they all had. “The more she reads, the less she talks. I’d say this is a good thing, because when she speaks, it’s always to say something unpleasant.”
“You have been stung too, I see, young master.” Oroff said as he considered the Ferengi. He then added, in a whisper. “I wish we could silence her. Not eternally, of course. Temporarily. With a little fright that might bring some common sense to her.” He sighed. “What can I say, sometimes I dream awake.”
“You are giving me an idea, Count. What if...” Brek also whispered. “What if we were to blackmail her with those ridiculous novels?”
“Would it be wise?” Oroff looked pained, which prompted Brek to quickly add:
“It would be profitable. Leave it to me, I’m going to make a killing!” The Ferengi stood on his tiptoes to grab the ‘The Inferno’ novel that Asax’s daughter wanted, and he rushed to the till, followed meekly by Oroff.
