FenixCorps - First Day
Posted on 07 Jan 2024 @ 8:11am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:07pm
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Alpha Quadrant - FenixCorps Mining Operation
Timeline: Backstory: Summer 2380
1293 words - 2.6 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek had made a point not to speak to Farik, a Ferengi crime boss who had intercepted him and Desha while they were fleeing to Ferenginar, and who was now sending him to a back of beyond mining operation. Sadly this had not prevented the man from giving his opinion on a great number of things, with such platitudes as:
‘The less you know, young man, the longer you will survive.’
‘An existence consists of three stages: surviving, living and thriving - till your last hour.’
“Everything happens for a reason.’
‘Work harder, not smarter’
Followed by the most nausea-inducing and infuriating of them all: “It’s just a matter of time.”
Talk of hammering your banalities! Of course everything was a matter of time, especially so, when he was being sent away to pay a debt. The Hewmon who had never returned from Happy Farm, on Volchok, the one who had perished in a quicksand, well there was a price attached to that life. And he was going to pay for it, for 365 days, despite the fact that that guy had been sent to kill him.
“I only protected my own interest,” Brek consented to say, as their ship approached its destination.
From the first glance, it became obvious that FenixCorps wasn’t a grand operation. It was a lousy one, on an uninhabitable planet. Due to this, its facilities were underground, with next to nothing to see on the ground, barring a few rusty shuttles and a pathetic little shack - the entrance to the mine.
“Don’t we all, my dear Brek?” Farik said. “I hope we never see each other again, though. For if we do, you might not be able to pay the price this time.”
The next moment, Brek was transported to the shack, where everything looked shabby, small, and smelled rancid. Thermal insulation had been reduced to its bare minimum. No frivolity here, that was for sure. After wandering a bit, he found a room that was lit, and so he walked towards it. From its threshold, he observed the occupants: A Terran woman, whose features were partly blocked out by the halo of a bluish smoke; and a huge Terran man with a surprisingly small head. Both were sitting at a plastic table, which, like the two hewmons, had seen better days.
Brek cleared his throat, and gathered what Standard English he possessed to introduce himself. “Excuse me, I wonder if you could help me? My name is Brek and I am the new financial analyst. I'm looking for my office.”
The woman was instantly on her feet. She removed the stub from her mouth and examined him from head to toe. She had icy blue eyes and hair that didn't seem to decide whether it wanted to be red or grey.
“The new bookkeeper you mean?” She asked. “Don't start putting on airs here. All you're going to do is balance numbers the way Mr Farik wants. Anyway, what's your story? You look incredibly young to end up in this pit. What are you running from?”
Her words troubled him. FenixCorps, owned by a crime boss, should be the last place where questions about the past were asked. If she thought otherwise, that woman must be a fool. Still, despite his dismay, he managed to keep his poise. “I am not running from anything, I’m here to pay a debt. This is what responsible people do.
The woman produced a little laugh that didn't sound sympathetic. “If you say so. I must add though, that you don't look like the fastest sub-processor in the panel, Mr Brek, if this mine is your idea of being responsible. I am Mrs Wilander, and this is Spud.” She indicated her companion. “We call him this way because he has never been the same since his accident in the mine. So he just helps around, as best he can, these days.”
Spud looked at Brek with an inane grin plastered on his face and he pronounced what Brek took as an unbearable truth: “Break, Broke, Broken.”
“Don't mind him, Mr Brek.” Wilander added. “Little things please little minds, as the saying goes. I will show you to your er… office.”
It wasn't an office, merely a cell: the place where he would work, sleep and eat for the next year. His workplace, which consisted of a crude yellowish table and one chair, were just two Ferengi steps away from an equally dismal and narrow bed.
“Before I forget, there are two rules here.” Wilander pronounced imperative. “First: men don't cry.”
Brek, amazed by the ghastly look of his office, interrupted her absentmindedly, repeating words he had learnt by heart during his childhood. “Unless it's profitable.”
"No. They don't. You haven’t been clever enough to avoid this place. So don't try to..." She stopped and cast down a cold stare at him, which melted a little as it met with his bewildered stance. “Jeez... I have seen it all now, a lost lamb with Ferengi ears... You should join Starfleet, sonny. They will keep you warm, safe and well fed. You won’t have much of that here, believe me.”
Starfleet was a huge organisation and from where he stood, it was pretty much inaccessible. “How would I get there? I have next to no latinum, or even knowledge. Dreams that aren’t accessible, they are nightmares in disguise.”
“You don’t say! Well, obviously, you won’t achieve much by sitting on your hands! I suggest you get to work. You’re bound to have messages and requests from the boss. Keep busy, and you’ll see, time will pass by fast enough.”
Baffled, Brek was only able to say ‘okay’ and then he asked about the second rule.
“Yeah, the second rule.” She contemplated him once more, as if she couldn’t believe there was actually a Ferengi youngster in front of her. “Never explore this facility beyond the admin level. For your own safety. You stay vigilant and you’ll be fine.”
“Vigilant and busy, then,” Brek remarked.
“Yeah. Make sure you keep to that. Food is available at 0600, 1200 and 1800. Beyond those hours, our replicators are off limits. If you are ever late, well, that’s simple, you skip a meal. Anyway, it’s best that you eat with me and Spud, in the kitchen.”
Brek considered her words. He wanted to ask what the food consisted of, since everything at FenixCorps looked so crude. He could imagine tedious root vegetables and meat once a fortnight. But he realised that his English, not quite developed yet, made it difficult for him to ask an elaborate question. So instead he said: “What do you do in your spare time?”
She blinked, no less than three times, at him, giving the impression that he had said something that made so little sense that she couldn’t offer an answer.
“I meant,” he corrected, “what kind of...” he searched for his words, “leisure activity is available here? Is there a... a music, book or game database for the staff? Is there a garden to tend to?”
Wilander scoffed. “You are mistaking us for a grand hotel on Risa. My only leisure is to sleep and snore, but I occasionally play card games. Have you heard of poker?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s something for you to look forward to. You should get to work now. I’ll see you at 1800 when you collect your grub. You are lucky, we are having cheese fries tonight.”
Once alone in his ‘cell’, Brek pondered. Thanks to his association with Terrans on Volchok, he knew about cheese, and fries, but he had not imagined that the two could be combined.
