Stormy Night
Posted on 22 Aug 2023 @ 6:30am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:11pm
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Ferengi Space (Volchok) - Happy Trail Farm
Timeline: Backstory: Spring 2380
1558 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure
There was a storm brewing, and for a change it wasn’t happening in this room, but outside. A proper atmospheric disturbance, complete with thunder (which looked and sounded like free fireworks) and the promise of rain. Volchok had not seen a drop of that in two months, three days and fourteen hours. The absence of this precious liquid seemed to be having an even greater effect on the media than it had on your average Ferengi. Of course, for the press it was a matter of survival to broadcast gloom-and-doom news that would attract viewers. Their livelihood depended on how far their black despondency spread.
Tonight, marked the 60th day of Brek and Desha’s internment in ‘Happy Trail Farm’. In order to celebrate this event, Desha had decided (the one who's got the money, gets to take the decisions, the brat kept telling him), that they would have a special game. A Truth or Dare game. Rather silly in his opinion, for how exactly can one differentiate the truth from a blatant lie? As far as he knew, no truth serum was used with that kind of game.
They were in the kitchen, which they had revamped as a gambling den of sorts, with bright lights on the ceiling and an hexagonal table in the middle of the room. This they had covered with a vibrant red tablecloth because they both agreed (a rare occurrence) that it looked rich. All around them there were stacks of boxes: food supplies that they could use as they please. This was pretty good, Brek thought. He had a job where he could eat as much as he wanted, for free! Overall though, the place looked shoddy. The sort of room where loan sharks would be circling, and extortions, along with money laundering, would happen daily. Sadly, the only routine here, whenever Desha appeared on the scene, was a big dollop of nonsense.
After so many evenings playing a wide variety of childish card and board games, Brek had to make great efforts to keep calm. Something that he usually managed by stuffing his face with cake and biscuits. All of them, made with insect flour coming from this very farm. Incredibly nutritious, the packaging claimed: each cookie contained a minimum of twenty crickets. More powerful than those energy bars sold by Hewmon!
As he reflected upon these nutritional values, Desha began the hostility by telling him to ask her a question. She would never opt for dare, because she wasn’t afraid of the truth.
“I feel the same,” Brek said, morose. “Why would anyone be afraid of something that doesn’t exist? It would be like being afraid of ghosts.” He sneered, as he knew that, for some reason, Desha believed in supernatural phenomena.
“They do exist,” Desha insisted, but you are too dumb to recognize it. It would be like expecting a Targ to read a message. You just don’t have the brain. Now ask your question, we aren’t here to argue.”
Brek rubbed his eyes. He was oh so tired of all this... “How wealthy is your father?” He asked on the spur of the moment. He wasn't really interested in the answer, but he couldn’t think of anything to ask about Desha.
It was a mistake of course, because the teenager, who liked nothing more than to brag, delivered a long tirade where she described secret chambers crammed with her family’s riches. Those were located on several planets, only her father knew where and blah blah blah, this massive wealth was the result of no less than four centuries of good business, performed by the Asax family. They were like a wealth magnet, she added with a big smile. Wherever they went, everything of value ended up in their coffers.
“That’s how good we are,” she finished at long last.
“Only four centuries, though...” Brek added, for her words had reached their target: they had annoyed him. “There are Ferengi dynasties, they’ve been at it virtually since our ancestors left their caves.”
“Of course you would say that,” She chuckled. “Your family’s just beginning now to gather latinum. What wealth your relatives possess is brand new. There is no prestige in that. My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” Brek said without hesitation. One would have to be bold, on the verge of stupidity, really, to accept a dare from Desha.
“Have you ever stolen something?” She stared at him, as if those light brown eyes of her, almost as limpid as liquid latinum, were some kind of lie detector.
“What question is that? Of course I have. Anything I can get my hands on, as long as I’m unseen. I know you don’t believe it, but I too am Ferengi. A bona fide one, born on Ferenginar, not on a little pitiful backwater world like Volchok.”
She scowled. “Volchok is not that small. Anyway, you actually look better when you are angry. Your turn to ask a question.”
And so it went. For thirty minutes or so, they subjected each other to rapid fire questions, where they learnt mostly silly things from each other. The kind of food they couldn’t live without; the weirdest joke they had heard; the latest query they had performed on their PaDD; their favourite childhood memory, and so on.
Brek always replied quickly, saying the first thing that came to his mind. He enjoyed Terran food a lot, but he said that his preferred food was ChiggerBurger, simply because it was trendy to say so. The weirdest joke he had heard would not be for Desha’s ears so he dug up a Hewmon one liner he had once heard: "What is the colour of the Emperor’s white horse?”. To that she answered that the horse had to be grey. Because when you don’t know something, it’s always a grey area, isn’t it?
Another ten minutes passed by, rather pleasantly, until Desha asked him who his first kiss was. He should have invented a name. A woman met while visiting a seaside town, once. Or an anonymous girl encountered during a school trip. It didn’t matter, as long as the answer sounded natural. But he hesitated, and because of those few wasted seconds, the truth, genuine and embarrassing, surfaced.
“You have never been kissed!” The way Desha said it, it sounded like the funniest thing that had ever happened on Volchok.
“I’m only 18, and I have been kept busy with numbers.” He protested. “There’s been no time to... to have much leisure at all. Unlike you, everyday I have to work on making my fortune. I’m not sitting on four centuries of shiny assets.”
“Well, I’m 14, and I’ve already kissed four boys. All idiots, mind you. So there is nothing to brag about. But you, Brek the bookkeeper...” she giggled.
“All right! You’ve had your fun. It’s time to call it a night. I’m exhausted, and tomorrow I plan to make a full inventory of this farm. So I’ll need all my strength.”
Desha was about to complain, but a bright lightning, which illuminated their window in a splash of blue, silenced her. Brek got up. He had in mind to mention that despite the storm, they weren’t going to see one drop of rain, such was their lack of luck. But he too was silenced, by a loud knock on the door. “What the...?” He whispered.
“A visitor?” Desha’s voice was also a faint murmur. “There can’t be any. I’m supposed to be in total isolation, away from my father’s associates. It’s for my own good.”
“Maybe something happened at the trading centre? When was the last time you spoke to your relatives?”
“The day of our departure.” She looked livid, rather like those ghosts he didn’t want to hear about. This had a bad effect on Brek, who felt, at this moment, that all the biscuits he had eaten tonight were about to leave his body, whichever way was quickest.
“Drat.” He mumbled. “I knew this farm vacation thing was a bad idea. Now look what....” Another knock on the door prompted him to action. He cut open two large bags of insect flour that were stacked on the floor. “The moment I open the door, throw the flour in the room, it will give us a thick cloud, and a distraction too.”
“And... and then... what?”
“If what’s behind the door is bad news, we run.”
Brek forced his body to go to the door, with the wild hope that Oroff would be there. Blue and larger than life. His face would be as uninviting as that of an empty vault, but he would have good words to say. Instead, when the door slid open, he found an ugly hewmon male armed with a phaser. The weapon was pointed at him.
“RUN!”
Brek ducked down and, amidst a cloud of white flour, followed Desha to the utility room, which had a door that led to the swimming pool, behind the house. As they fled, they heard loud explosions. The greenhouses, where the insects were being kept, burst into flames, one by one.
tbc
