Not Part Of The Picture
Posted on 11 Jun 2023 @ 11:52am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: O.C. Station - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery - Brek’s Office
Timeline: MD11 - Afternoon
1536 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure
Alone at long last, Brek poured himself a glass of black rum. He then consulted Thitur’s contract, but he read three pages only and he nearly threw the PaDD away. He needed to forget all things Romulan and relax for a little while. The best way to do that was to count his latinum. So he switched his three monitors on, and traced, tweaked and moved his financial investments. He could normally spend hours, maybe even days, adjusting where his monies went. Only this time, his eyes kept focusing on the framed photo he had put on his desk. It showed the portrait of Elia, a young Ferengi woman. The love of his future life. The plan was to approach her when he had made his fortune.
Last he heard of her, she had gone on a new adventure, to Arcybite, a Ferengi planet famous for its mining refineries. This is why he had placed some of his latinum in that trade. He figured that the more this market flourished, the better her life would be. It was, he knew, a cowardly approach. He could contact her anytime he wanted. However, the temptation would be great to point out that the young woman would be a lot safer on a station like O.C. than out there in the ‘wild’, fending for herself in a male’s world. No words would convince her to live on a station managed by fleeters, though. He knew that. She liked her freedom, and she wasn’t afraid of danger. In a way he envied her. His idea of a perfect day was one spent behind a desk and a keyboard. That’s how far his ‘treasure hunting’ went. Still, he had an advantage over Elia. He had discovered a long time ago, on Volchok, that hard work doesn’t make you rich. It only increases the profits of other people.
For a few seconds there, he was tempted to modify the setting of his holo assistant, so that the emitters would render Elia’s figure instead. Wouldn’t that be fantastic? He leaned forward to take the holo-controls, but the reception of a video call stopped him. Mrs Moreau, an art dealer like himself, wanted to speak to him. This, he assumed, was good news, because he had asked her a couple of favours. And although La Moreau sometimes baffled him, she was also very reliable. A bit like those Terran dogs. What were they called? Golden retrievers. Yes. Moreau was just like that: trustworthy and relatively easy to train.
Sadly, when her face appeared on his screen, he discovered that not all was well with his old chum (she was 53). She had cried, that much was evident from her glossy eyes and tired features. He was in for more bad news and he tensed up. On top of this, he couldn’t recognise the setting behind her. The walls had an odd colour to them, sort of sepia, like those old pictures from the distant past.
“What’s wrong?” He said hoping to expedite the matter. There were few things worse than agonising accounts of unpleasant affairs. The sooner you put those things in the past, the better.
“I’ve sold the painting you wanted to get rid of.” she started, looking more serious than a news anchor - those sellers of doom. “The new owners, a young couple who lives not far from my gallery, promised to send the money within a few hours. This should make you happy.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. A pity you are not calling to brighten my day, though.” He added. “You’ve got the looks of someone whose toast hit the floor, marmalade-side-down. Go on, spill the beans. What’s up?”
“He is on SB 520. He paid me a visit this morning.” She said with a loud sniffle.
He? Was there a notion less vague than that? “Who’s he?” He asked, aloud and indignant.. “Don’t tell me you’ve borrowed money from some shark and now they are at your door, making demands? I can’t help with things like that. I have virtually no spare liquidity. All my latinum is securely invested. You know how we, Ferengi, do things. We’ve got to think of the future, always.”
“You and your annoying latinum!” Moreau said. She took a tissue and blew her nose. “My ex husband is on SB 520. I...” She closed her eyes. “It was a shock to see him again. After all those years.”
Brek blinked. What she meant by ‘all those years’ were just 3 tiny little years. The moment Moreau’s husband, a small, not to say insignificant, politician, had fled the scene with his young secretary. An embarrassment from which she didn't want to recover. Affairs of the heart weren't easy to heal. He got that. On occasions, he also gave in to lamentations and despair. But surely when you've been betrayed that was the end of the affair, wasn't it?
“You need to be reasonable Mrs Moreau. I know the story. You still love that man. But, by all that is precious, he abandoned you. It’s high time that you turned the page. For everyone's sanity."
She gave him a miserable look. One that was plain and scary.
“Indeed. This is what everyone is telling me.” She sat up and for the first time he noticed that she was wearing a jacket, black and shiny, that looked like it was made of some kind of plastic. “This is why I’ve decided to close my gallery and go on a trip. I’m heading towards the Sol system. It will do me good to travel. I can’t stay on SB 520 with him around, making his demands.”
“He wants to get back with you?” Brek asked, feeling very much out of his depth.
His phrase prompted Moreau to put on a pair of sunglasses. “His new wife is... pregnant. So no, I’m not part of the picture.”
“He travelled all the way from his current constituency to tell you that? Is he deranged?” Brek wondered. From what he knew (she had made a few revelations, late one night, when she was rather drunk), when they were young, many years ago, the Moreaus had made a pack. They would always be together. Soul mates forever. That’s what he also wanted with Elia. Exactly like in those romantic holo-novels. Just thinking of that, you can hear the violins playing in the background. Only for the Moreaus, the music that accompanied them, was more like marching percussion. Drum, snares and cymbals, the whole lot. Back in ‘62, the husband, piloting a shuttle, had caused an accident that had nearly cost Mrs Moreau’s life. Not what you might call a great lovey-dovey story then...
One of her eyebrows shot up. “You’ve not heard half of the story yet, my dear Brek. Here is the follow up: My ex is searching for means to finance his next campaign. He somehow heard that I was in business with a Ferengi. And he figured that he wouldn’t mind a piece of that business too. I expect he will find a way to get in touch with you. I wanted to warn you about his plans.”
“Ah... That’s nice.” Brek said with a scowl. It felt like he was under a curse at the moment, with people hounding him with silly contract ideas. Something else, more urgent, was troubling him, though, and he changed the topic. “Will you write during your long journey? I think you should keep a diary, and send me excerpts from it. The way we did when the Fleet exiled me to the Typhon Expanse.”
“A diary?” she echoed. “I’m not in the mood for that sort of thing, Brek. What would I say, anyway, that you would be able to grasp? Do you even care about my side of the story and the way I feel betrayed?”
“You could educate me. You could also tell me about the new places that you are visiting. I would love that very much.” He insisted. He didn’t want her to simply vanish. He had, he guessed, known her for too long. Not hearing from her, it would create a void in his life. “It might also do you good to talk to someone on a regular basis.”
She gave him an odd look. As if he wasn’t ‘someone’. He was just a Ferengi. And what do you do with those when you don’t care for their latinum? “I’ll give it a thought. Take care, Brek and don’t let who you know get the better of you.” She got up and her jacket squeaked. “I’ll go to the lounge. Try to eat something.”
“All right,” Brek sighed. “But don’t expect me not to contact you, because I will. If only to give you an account of what I’ll do to your ex if he approaches me.”
Mrs Moreau didn’t even nod her head or offer a slight smile. She cut the communication, and for the time being, she left his life.
