Broken Ice
Posted on 30 Jul 2023 @ 6:00am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:33pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Ferengi Space (Volchok) - Happy Trail Farm
Timeline: Backstory: Spring 2380
1588 words - 3.2 OF Standard Post Measure
The ice broke on the 12th day.
Until then Brek and Desha lived on the farm as two complete strangers, behaving like they might catch a dreadful disease from each other. He called it ‘the lurgy’. A mysterious ailment that was as fantastical as it was fictitious. A repulsion born of their different conditions. He, who had too little, and Deisha who had far, far, too much.
So, Desha, a wealthy heiress who needed every comfort, had been quick to take the best rooms in the house, confining him to a small office, with a small bathroom and a small sofa. Cramped spaces and plenty of work were two recurring themes in his life. It was shameful, but the pay was good. Yes, the pay was good. He needed to repeat this anthem several times per day, to repel signs of despondency. Moments where he would rather flop down on the sofa and spend hours daydreaming of a magical future where his wealth was made and he could travel wherever he wanted.
For the time being though, he was very much stranded on the insect farm called Happy Trail. The house consisted of a large dome painted in a heavy copper hue, resembling a giant beetle, with its wings (which consisted of communication devices) deployed, looking like the huge scarab was about to take off. It was, of course, firmly planted on the ground. The only things that flew round here were the multitude of drones that tended to the farm. They saw to it that the insects were fed, kept at the right temperature; and when the time came, they would be washed, dried and either frozen or turned into powder. Then, once a month, a freighter would land to collect the newest production. All those activities weren’t happening in silence. The farm was constantly immersed in noises. Those went from the regular humming and occasional sharp clicks produced by the drones, to the constant buzzing emanating from rows upon rows of colour-coded greenhouses. Whether those were made by machines or insects, Brek couldn’t tell. His area of expertise wasn’t the production of food, he excelled at selling it. Getting the best of steady contracts and finding new markets for those packed-with-proteins-insects.
That’s how, day after day, he kept his sanity, while Desha invented new ways to remain idle. She would, for instance, often use the pool, a nice expanse of blue water at the back of the house; play loud music (some of it, he swore, was Klingon); snack a lot; or get into a small ground car to drive around her resplendent property. When this happened, he had to divert a drone that would follow her, for part of his job was to ensure that the stupid heiress wouldn’t have any accident whilst at the farm.
On the twelfth day, in the evening, Brek had retreated to his humble abode. Sat behind his diminutive desk, he was doing his best to read a long document on efficient farming. His mind was wandering a lot though, and a couple of times, he had to slap his own face, to force himself to focus on the text. Who cared what was happening at the trading centre or if new outlanders had arrived? What could happen in just twelve days anyway? Nothing serious. Besides, Volchok wasn’t Ferenginar City. Some would even say the place was as exciting as a dead cockroach.
But he loved it.
He was about to give in and contact Oroff. The old Bolian, trusted servant of Mr Asax, would know if there had been new developments at the trading centre. But all of a sudden, on the strength that she owned the place, Desha barged into his office/quarters, and serious as a Fleeter, she announced that there was a ghost in her bedroom and that she was scared.
“Have you heard what I say?” the teenage girl insisted when Brek failed to react to her predicament. It wasn’t that he believed ghosts were ridiculous. He had, after all, experienced strange events a few months ago. However, giving any credence to Desha’s words was beyond him. On top of this, she was wearing a bright orange housecoat tonight, along with a scarf around her neck, both were so bright and shiny that it hurt his eyes.
“I got your message. I’m not deaf.” He said, quite pleased to see that he remained as cool as the proverbial usurer. This being a species that always saw the good side of life, well their own life, anyway.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
He scoffed. “You mistake me for the janitor, Desha. I’m the manager. I look for new markets, I don’t chase things that don’t exist.”
She stared at him, with her firsts firmly planted on her hips. “Don’t start giving yourself some importance, bookkeeper. You are an employee. I’m the ultimate source of authority here.”
“Ultimate source of annoyance, more like”, he mumbled, and then louder, he added: “Do you really think me dumb enough to venture into your bedroom? You are playing a silly game, that’s what you are doing. If there is really a ‘presence’ in your room that has nothing to do with your silly mug, then act like a grown up. Take one of the farm's drones and program it to inspect the walls, floor and ceiling of that room of yours.”
“It is not for me to do this sort of thing. If you don’t take action this instant, I’ll... I’ll have you fired. Wait till I can speak to my father! You will live to regret the way you are treating me.”
Brek shrugged, and it scared him a little. There was a fine line between being cool and being too bold. But, to tell the truth, right now he couldn’t care less about Desha’s perceived problems.
“You know what? I actually look forward to it. So you do whatever you want,” He shouted, now unable to control himself, “and I’ll do likewise, and everyone will be happy. What are you waiting for? Call your dad. Let’s hear what he’s got to say about the silly situation you’ve created.”
“He is busy at the moment. But as soon as he’s available...” She never finished her phrase though, and instead she sat on his couch. "If you refuse to do what's necessary, I'll have to spend the night here, as unpleasant as this place is."
"You must be joking," he said, appalled. Her orange clothes on his lurid green sofa was an incongruous sight but he didn't feel like smiling anymore. "And where am I supposed to sleep, then?"
"Not my problem."
"Unbelievable," Brek muttered. He grabbed his PaDD, got to his feet, and took two blankets from a cupboard. One of which he threw on the sofa.
"What are you doing?" She asked, baffled.
"I'm making myself scarce. Have a good night. I'll sort out your ghost problem tomorrow, when you’re out of the house."
He walked to the door, with the intention of finding a little corner where he could continue to read, and later, sleep, but she started to sniff, and then to cry. It was such a corny trick that he lost his patience. "What now??"
"I'd rather you don't leave." She said, her voice barely audible.
"I can assure you, this place is ghost free. The only sound you're going to hear is the hum from the security drones. They are programmed to patrol around the house the whole night. Maybe that's what you heard?"
"It was definitely something else. More like an u... an ulu... lation. Long and painful. I’m sure it was a spirit. Could be the place is haunted by a former worker.”
“Right. An employee that your father would have starved to death...” Brek said, standing by the door. He stared at her, unsure what to make of her behaviour. Suspicious by nature, he was inclined not to trust any of her words. “Could be a nocturnal bird, though. The unpainted variety. That would make more sense.”
“What?”
She looked at him, puzzled, and he realised he had better go. “Ghosts don’t exist anyway. They are just a product of our imagination, and more often than not, our guilt too. You’ll be fine down here, I cleaned the place on the first day. No weird noises, or spiders or rodents.”
“Maybe we could play a card game for a little while, until I feel better?” She asked quickly. “You have no idea how lonely this whole farm is. I’m not used to living like a recluse. Plus this whole place is creepy. There are strange shadows everywhere.”
“A game?” He repeated. “What sort of new trickery is that?"
“We could play for latinum if you prefer. I have plenty of that, as you well know,” she remarked between two sobs. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
“So, you,” he said, his tone accusatory, “would condescend to spend time with a lousy bookkeeper?”
“If you would endure the presence of a brat.”
“A fat brat,” he insisted.
“And a despicable, rather ugly, bookkeeper.” She added.
He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. “Looks like we have an understanding there. Okay. I’m game. But let’s keep it simple. No latinum, whatsoever.”
