Cold Fish
Posted on 29 Oct 2023 @ 6:58am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C. Station - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Timeline: M4 D2 Afternoon
1812 words - 3.6 OF Standard Post Measure
There are moments when life doesn’t disappoint. It gives you exactly what you expect. Perhaps even more so when you anticipate a bad experience. In this instance Brek, shadowed by the pesky ghost of Oroff, found, in his gallery, what he had envisioned: the archetypal image of an austere Vulcan, rigorous and forbidding. The sort of woman who would destroy a cosy atmosphere in two milliseconds. What he called a cold fish. Such was the Cmdr, that his bodyguard, Glutik, had announced. Hands clasped behind her back, she was presently observing an urban scene: night time, violent rain and violent colours: red and blue clashing in the best way possible. He didn’t suppose that the Vulcan woman was enjoying the sight.
Glutik, on his side, stood, statue-like as usual, by the gallery's doors, while Holo-assistant Nyasha had taken refuge behind the reception desk.
“Cmdr?” Brek said, announcing his presence and jumping right away into this new situation. “Had I known that such an august figure as you, had planned to visit my humble gallery, I would have...”
The rest of his phrase died in his throat, killed instantly by the icy cold glare that the Vulcan woman gave him. Devoid of imagination, she had not figured that she would find a Ferengi in an art gallery. She showed her displeasure with a slight scowl. Had he blinked, he would have missed it.
“I am Cmdr T’Sheng. You are, then, the owner of this place.”
“Indeed I am. The name is Brek and I am at your service.” Brek said, countering her cold manners with a bright smile. “Have you found something that you like?”
“No. I have only found reasons to be displeased.” She abandoned the painting she had been observing and placed herself right in front of him. “I was going to list them down, but now that you are here, I can see that this would be pointless.” Her voice echoed unpleasantly in the gallery, and even Nyasha lost her quasi-perpetual commercial smile. “One does not reason with a Ferengi. It is a futile pursuit. By this, I mean that your species is renowned for being unconventional. It is, I reckon, one of your greatest assets.”
Her next move should have been to walk away - it would, indeed, have been better for everyone - but she stood there, as if she were deep in thought. Who knew that Vulcans could be in two minds? Not him.
In the background, Oroff’s ghost - thankfully only visible and audible to Brek - spoke his insubstantial mind: ‘Tell her to spare you the pleasure of her company, young master. Who does she think she is? And who cares about her pips? Not us. You haven’t finished your story and I’m eager to know what happened on Volchok, after my demise.’
“A precious compliment, that, Commander.” Brek said, mystified by the woman’s audacity. “Anyway, you may be able to find what you want by visiting a different art gallery. Surrat, is, I have to admit, more refined than Timeless Treasure.” Brek added, not departing from his own smile, which he hoped T’Sheng found annoying. Rule of acquisition number whatever: when confronted with someone unpleasant, who on top of it is unlikely to part with their money, do not hesitate to send them to the competition.
“Your name is Brek, you said,” T’Sheng continued, paying no heed to his words. “The Ferengi who, between 2385 and 2396 served with the Federation Diplomatic Corps? I never forget a name. I should have made the connection days ago.”
“Days ago?”
“I met one of your relatives on the USS Cassiopiea. One Lady Ara, who didn’t miss an opportunity to mention your name. She has, it seems, great projects for you.”
Brek returned her stare. Diplomats were like that, they enjoyed asking questions, more so when they knew the answer. This allowed them to analyse the reaction of their interlocutor. Which is why he didn’t say anything. What could he say about Ara anyway? His grandmother had probably never learnt to shut up. For this reason it was a bit scary to imagine her at 20, making her fortune, little by little, in the shadow of her numerous husbands.
“You helped the Romulan cause.” T’Sheng added, unabated by his silence. “Then you were confronted to Mu Virginis’ debacle in 2388, after which you were sent to explore the Typhon Expanse. I have read about you. Out of curiosity, you understand. You didn’t perform too badly, considering the missions in which you took part. How odd to meet you here.”
“The universe is full of irony, Cmdr T’Sheng.” Brek simply said. His past was gathering dust in his memory, and he didn’t particularly like to resurrect his time within the Fleet.
“Do you still meddle in diplomacy?” She was now looking at another urban painting. A Romulan city in ruin, with black and blue hues, and a persisting rain, blurring the whole scene. He personality loved this sort of painting where you had to use your inspiration to guess what the artist’s message might be.
“I meddle in art, as you can see, Cmdr.” Brek added, doing his absolute best to keep his calm and also to ignore the rude gestures - not something the real Oroff would have done during his life - that the blue ghost was now making behind T’Sheng’s back.
“Romulan art, I have noticed. It is astonishing that you would remain interested in the cause of those awkward people. It would be, I feel sure, far more profitable to sell Terran art. This is what I wanted to find in this gallery. I am Admiral Harshman’s aide. I’m sure you have heard of her remarkable career. I wanted to find a Terran painting for her office.”
‘How can that woman feel sure of anything, when she has obviously never felt a single thing in her whole life?’ Oroff’s ghost wondered. “Please, young master, get rid of her.’
Brek tried not to smirk. Sure he had heard of Harshman and her repeated efforts to hurt the Romulans. From what he had read, ice cubes had more empathy than that Admiral. No wonder then that T’Sheng was her minion. “As I suggested, you should try Surrat Gallery, their art offer is quite... different. Now, unless there is something else, my dear Cmdr, I’ll return to my office.”
“Of course. You do have an office.” T’Sheng said, looking suddenly more animated. “Would you mind terribly if I have a look at it? An idea just crossed my mind.”
“Are we in business, then?” Brek wanted to know. “It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to see that my time is so very precious. If we aren’t, then we are both being unproductive.”
“We might, Mr Brek. We just might. And if we are, I can promise you one thing, the profits, for you, will be considerable.”
“Well, then...” He invited her to follow him and, once inside his office, he went directly to his chair, behind his large desk. The monumental rampart between his convoluted finances, his fantastic money schemes, and the rest of the galaxy.
“I see,” T’Sheng said moments later, sounding somewhat disappointed. “I had hoped that a former diplomat, such as yourself, Mr Brek, would have displayed more style. What sort of wood is this desk made of? Surely it cannot be mahogany.”
“It is a Ferengi desk, made of Ferengi wood, because I happen to be Ferengi, Cmdr T’Sheng.” He said, his voice louder now that no one could hear them. “If your idea of being in business with me consists of insulting me, I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you by the minute.”
“Your chairs are not too brilliant either.” She reflected to herself, as if he had not spoken. “Still, your reputation precedes you. You would, without doubt, be able to put your hands on a decent desk by this evening? It would have to be of Terran facture. It is for the Admiral’s office. Your price will be mine. I will not quibble.”
Brek blinked. Her last phrase was music to his ears, but he wasn’t overly excited at the prospect of doing something positive for Admiral Harshman. The mere thought made him want to shiver. It was so bad, he didn’t even want to know why such an Admiral didn’t have her own beautiful desk.
“Well ,” Brek finally said with a sigh. “If you give me a couple of months, I can get you anything you want. But in this corner of space, when you want something in just a few hours, I’m afraid you need divine intervention rather than a Ferengi and his contacts. ”
T’Sheng stared at him, her disappointment almost palpable. “If I had a couple of months, I would make the purchase myself, Mr Brek. Your species usually excel at being expedient. Do I have to understand that you refuse to help the Admiral?”
“Far from it.” Brek said with a big smile, as he was in actual fact, lying through his teeth. “It’s not a matter of I won’t. I simply can’t. You are asking something impossible. Now, if we were in the middle of the Sol System, sure, I would find you the best stately desk ever made, with mindi wood and walnut veneers, or whatever it is that Admiral Harshman prefers. But we are on Obsidian Station, where access to resources can be difficult.”
“Very well." There was a long pause, during which he made sure not to say anything. "I shall remember your negative attitude, Mr Brek.” She gave him a last glance, and imperious as ever, she saw herself out of his office.
As soon as she was gone, the blue ghost sat in one of those chairs that T’Sheng had found unexceptional. Now was the time for Brek to conclude his tale.
“So, what happened next, on Volchok,” Brek started with a sigh, “is that I left the planet, and so did Desha. She was, obviously, unwilling to follow me. I had to make dozens of promises - which I never kept - so that she would take the first shuttle back to Ferenginar. She had family over there, so I left her with her relatives. For my part, I travelled for a little while, and then I found employment with FenixCorps Mining Operation. A horrible place really. I remained unlucky for several years.”
'And that’s it?' Oroff’s ghost asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
'How unsatisfying. I have heard better tales.
“So have I, Oroff. So have I...”
