A New Nightmare
Posted on 17 Jul 2023 @ 6:28am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:37pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: O.C. Station - Brek's Quarters
Timeline: M3 D12 - Early Morning
1540 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek, barely awake, was staring at the replicator and the dish the machine had just delivered. He had asked for a brand new breakfast menu. Something he had never tried before, adding that it mustn't be decadent. No syrup, chocolate, marshmallow or caramel in it. Healthy meals were the order of the day. But healthy food, he reckoned, sometimes meant ugly, for he was now faced with a stack of cabbage pancakes. And of course, they smelled funny. Not funny hilarious, obviously. More like what the heck? funny.
Still, he took the plate to the table in his living room. Made in wood, the table was definitely cheap, but as it had been painted in blue, it could pass for a reasonable antique. On it, there were several PaDDs, remnants of his cogitations from the previous night.
With the help of Nyasha and Glutik he had spent several hours trying to conjure up a plan to put Mr Moreau, ex-husband of one of his Terran friends, out of action. The discussions, which had continued well after midnight, had not brought the fruits he sought, though. Nyasha was great at gathering information and making connections with all that data, but she was useless at plotting. Glutik on his side, was great at making plans, but they always involved violence.
The solution, as always, would have to come from his brilliant, but sometimes tired, mind.
What had emerged last night was that if Mr Moreau had, so far, escaped all responsibilities for his nefarious actions, it was because he had solid allies. Indeed, all his projects were done in partnership with a construction business called ‘Excellent Finishes’. A well chosen name, considering that together, they had finished, financially speaking, quite a few people.
Nyasha had suggested that they work with those victims, but he found the idea worthless. Victims are usually left without the means to fight. They are weak, and weakness is dispiriting. She even had the audacity to suggest that it would be good to help those people. To have justice. What an absurd concept. The plan was never to help, but to destroy one man. Although sure enough, once Moreau had been put out to pasture, he wouldn’t be in a position to harm anyone. This was a form of justice. No need to go out of one’s way to show moral excellence. Jeeze. Everything in moderation, that’s the way forward.
A trap was needed then. A trap tailored for the Terran politician.
While he reflected on that, Brek ate the pancakes without any difficulty, for they were surprisingly good. Who would have thought it was possible to actually like cabbage? Not him, and so he would never mention to anyone that he actually enjoyed that sort of meal.
Lacking ideas for his plan, he drew a few scribbles on a PaDD and was startled by the reception of a video call. For once, it was just what he needed, to forget this impasse he was in, even if the caller turned out to be his ancestor. Granny Ara. Still, he knew better than to be rude in front of her, so he greeted her with his usual grin and a profusion of good wishes. He must have overdone it, because she was quick to call him a sycophant, among other unpleasant epithets.
“I didn’t contact you to hear your salesman’s puffery, Brek,” she continued to complain. Today, she was dressed entirely in white. A nice change from the garish colours she loved so much. “Can’t you say ‘hello’ like everyone else?”
“I was only trying to be pleasant,” he said with a sigh. “But I forgot, there is no pleasing you, is there?”
“Stop being funny, little Beetle. We need to talk.”
“Right to business then. What is it that you want?” He deleted his scribbles, ready to take notes according to whatever she was going to ask.
She gave him a weird look, somewhat perplexed. “Indeed, nothing happens until someone sells something. So... I wanted to know... What do you make of Kreca, the artist we rescued from Ferenginar a few days ago?”
“I don’t make anything of her. But she owes me a painting. So we are indeed in business. I expect she will be delivering it in a couple of months, otherwise she’ll be hearing from me.”
“Do you like her, though?”
What an odd question that was. “No. Why should I? She is old.”
“She is only two years older than you, little beetle.” There was reproach in her voice. Cold and unforgiving. Coming from a woman who, according to rumours, had dispatched all her husbands beyond the Great Material Continum, this was pretty rich.
“Yep. That’s the definition of old. Since you need to be enlightened, I prefer younger women. Like in their twenties.”
“You mean, like all cads do?”
“If you must call me names...”
"Well, for your information, I like her. She is clever, witty, and talented."
"Maybe you should adopt her since she has so many qualities," he sneered.
It was an easy but dangerous jest. If Ara was to follow his stupid advice, there would be one more heir to Ara's money. Life was complicated enough without him creating new nightmares. He wished he had a hot drink to sip and look cool and unconcerned. With no cup nearby, he pretended to browse one of his PaDDs.
Ara stared at him a little while and she resumed the conversation. "What I’m trying to say, little beetle, but like all men, you are slow to grasp certain things, is that, if you were to take a romantic interest in Kreca, you would have my blessing. Think of it: because she is an artist, her name is likely to pass into posterity, like those of our Grand Nagus."
Who cared about fame from beyond funeral rituals? This was pure madness. It would probably take another 500 years for Ferenginar to recognize a female artist. To get off the hook, he almost blurted out that he already had a Ferengi girlfriend, as imaginary as she was. Unfortunately, if Ara was to discover his intentions, she would likely do all she could to ruin his plans.
"I guess this is the moment where you tell me that marriage is a business like any other. That you've already drafted a contract and that I had better march to the altar?" He spoke quickly, unable to hide his anger. "I won't do it. I must focus on my career."
She shook her head. "Yes, we mustn't forget this career of yours. You have descended into art dealing. The honest type. No money laundering for you. Just plain art. It is a laughing matter. But you don't care, do you?"
"Is that also what Kreca thinks?"
"Of course not." Ara said, bitter. "She praises you for how fast you extracted her from a dangerous situation. I dare say she even likes you. Fancy that. A clever woman like her, seeing you in a favourable light. This is why I called you, Brek. I thought you should be made aware of her interest. A pity you will make nothing of it."
"My life, my decisions."
"True. We all like to think that way. Can you at least promise to be nice with her next time the two of you have the opportunity to speak?"
Brek sighed. Women and their ideas... "I should be able to do that, yes."
"Good boy. We are on our way to Obsidian Command, so we'll see you shortly. Well, that will be all for me, little beetle. Unless you have something to say, I’ll be off. I have been invited by a group of Hewmons entrepreneurs to something called a tennis game. The way those people monetize their leisure activity is fascinating."
Whilst a part of Brek’s mind was cursing, using words such as ‘Darned relatives! You are doomed if you don’t have any, as it makes you feel all alone in the universe, and you are doomed if you have some, as they will insist on ruling your life ’; the other other half of his brain found it clever to bring ‘Excellent Finishes’ to the fore, and he asked Ara to look into this construction business.
“Are you branching out?” She asked, her voice full of hope.
“Probably not,” he admitted, not wanting to give her the wrong impression. “I like to investigate certain things, that’s all. They are involved in the collapse of several Terran colonies. It’s bad for business, and I’d like, well, to slow them down, a little bit.”
“A little bit?” she repeated, like he had said something silly. “You always do things by half, Brek. That’s one of your problems. You either want to accomplish something, or you don’t. Do you want to harm them?”
“I want contacts first.” He said quickly. “Whatever action is taken here, it’s important that I lead the game. If you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, but whatever, Brek. I’ll look into it. Are we done now?”
“Yes, we are. Have a good game, Ara.”
“You too, Brek.”
