Don’t let me be misunderstood
Posted on 07 Apr 2024 @ 6:18am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 07 Apr 2024 @ 6:29am
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Brek's Quarters
Timeline: MD 4 - Day 24 Morning
1395 words - 2.8 OF Standard Post Measure
Disoriented, Brek awoke with a complete memory lapse. He had no idea who he was, where he was, or even the current year. This blessed amnesia, however, was fleeting. His mind soon delivered the necessary, albeit unwelcome, information. He was a Ferengi art dealer, operating a gallery on a Federation Starbase.
He instructed the computer for a 20% light increase. The dimness revealed his bedroom – spartan at first glance, bordering on minimalist. A simple bed and a sturdy wardrobe made up the visible furniture. A closer look, however, unveiled the true purpose: hidden compartments lined the walls, concealing his most valuable possessions, including a multitude of contacts and documents. Elaborate alarms and coded locks, changed weekly, guarded these treasures. Not that anyone dared to intrude upon his bedchamber. This was simply an ingrained Ferengi habit, a testament to their core principles.
Brek vented his frustration with a heavy sigh. While his life wasn't one of extravagant luxury, it certainly beat being stuck on Ferenginar, toiling day and night in the Tower of Commerce just to secure a bigger office. In his current life, there were no arbitrary hierarchies, a fact Ara had relentlessly hammered home two weeks prior.
The memory triggered a vivid mental image – Ara, his infuriating grandmother, subjecting him to a spontaneous karaoke nightmare. He could still practically hear her belting out every Ferengi love ballad known to existence, from the saccharine "Let's Make a Deal" to the off-key "Profit Margin Tango." She'd even dredged up the long-forgotten, ear-splitting classic "Rules Are for Romulans" just to see him squirm.
He wasn't one to go down without a fight, obviously. But aware of his singing voice, which was as melodious as a tax audit in progress, he opted for a different tactic. He unleashed his favorite melodies, blasting Beethoven's 9th symphony first. Ara, however, was allergic to music without lyrics. It was, she had insisted, "a blatant disregard for opportunity! A missed chance to indoctrinate the youth with the virtues of profit, commerce, contracts, and the fine art of pushing boundaries!"
Brek countered that classical music transcended language. It spoke a universal tongue, directly to the soul and emotions. It was a more intimate and intellectually stimulating experience. Ara scoffed. Stories without words? Absurd! Such music was open to wild interpretation, breeding misunderstanding.
Fuelling the fire, Brek put on "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," a song he found beautiful. Ara declared it an aural assault of the highest order. Ferengi had no time for melancholic ballads of good intentions and humanity. Those inane lyrics were giving her an earache! Unwilling to yield the remote, Brek watched her storm out, taking all the food he'd prepared for her. Waste not, want not, as they said...
Two weeks had now passed, yet Brek remained fixated on that disastrous evening. The cringe factor was high, coupled with the looming threat of disinheritance. If only he could wipe the whole thing from his memory...
In the complete and heavenly silence of his quarters, he cursed, but it only sounded like a pitiful lament. Ah well, he guessed he had better get up, and face another day....
An hour later, having indulged in one of his many weaknesses - a leisurely breakfast -
Brek prepared to leave. As fate would have it, he bumped into Ms. Novikov right outside his door. She, looking impeccably professional in a tailored white pantsuit adorned with a single, understated gold necklace (flashiness was never Novikov's style), requested a brief conversation. Their destination: his gallery. Side by side, they entered the nearest turbolift.
The silence seemed to stretch on. Finally, Ms. Novikov spoke. "You seem uncharacteristically quiet this morning, Mr. Brek. Is something troubling you?"
Brek offered a wry smile. "Nothing I can't avoid, unfortunately. My grandmother tends to linger a bit too long these days, and she has a knack for finding my most sensitive spots."
Ms. Novikov chuckled knowingly. "Ah, family matters. A universal burden, wouldn't you agree? Just wait until you have in-laws to contend with on top of everything else. Sometimes, I fantasize about a long vacation back to Russia. Though even there, I'd be bombarded by questions and well-meaning advice from a legion of aunts, uncles, and cousins. No escape, but at least the food would be fantastic. A fair trade-off, perhaps?"
Her lips curved into a subtle smile, which Brek returned. Novikov reminded him of his other friend, Mrs. Moreau - both cut from the same cloth. Slender figures maintained through a seemingly flavorless diet of grains and vegetables. Brek couldn't fathom either woman tackling a rich cassoulet, with its white beans, sausages, and decadent goose confit.
"Even a free-lunch enthusiast like myself wouldn't relish an army of relatives," Brek admitted, his spirits finally lifting. "So, Ms. Novikov, you obviously have a plan in mind, what is it?"
He was surprised when she abruptly requested the turbolift to stop, seemingly deciding the private cabin offered the perfect setting for a discreet conversation.
"You're likely aware of the upcoming Engineers' Conference on the station," Ms. Novikov began. "It sparked an idea for a potential collaboration during this grand event."
Brek raised an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued, Ms. Novikov, but I don't quite grasp the details."
"Of course," she chuckled, "I understand your desire for a clearer picture. With such an influx of engineers, a mutually beneficial opportunity exists for our businesses. You, naturally, would see an increase in art sales, while I'm interested in acquiring some talented engineers for my import/export company. To that end, I'd like to propose placing an advertisement in your gallery. Perhaps, given our good standing, we could forego the usual fee?"
Brek, who had been focusing on the changes he was bringing to his gallery to attract this fine pool of engineers (kinetic sculptures, old and new Technical schematics and diagrams, architectural marvels), almost missed her closing remark.
"Free of charge?" Brek sputtered, as if attempting a foreign language. "Seriously?"
Ms. Novikov's gaze turned steely. "Do I strike you as someone to jest, Mr. Brek?"
Brek's face mirrored her seriousness. "No, not at all. It's just, I operate on certain principles. Giving things away would mess with my head. Advertising space in my gallery comes at a price."
"A rather hefty price, no doubt." Ms. Novikov countered. "We've danced this waltz before, Mr. Brek. Perhaps a touch of flexibility is in order."
"Let's call it a strategic investment," Brek countered. "Think of it this way: you wouldn't expect free passage on your freighters, would you? Timeless Treasures is my vessel, and to keep it afloat, it requires a steady influx of latinum. But consider the return: a prime location in my esteemed gallery, exposure to a discerning clientele – a perfect breeding ground to snag the engineers you seek."
Ms. Novikov's lips thinned. "Mr. Brek, your metaphors are starting to wear thin. I require specifics. Numbers. How exactly do you plan to lure these engineers into your gallery?"
Brek offered a sly smile. "Directness, Mrs. Novikov, is a quality I appreciate. However, divulging my entire strategy now wouldn't be very… shrewd, would it? Let's say you'll have to trust my methods. They've proven infallible thus far."
Ms. Novikov's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps, then, I should revisit the offer of free passage on my freighters, with all the usual amenities, of course. After all, you did introduce the concept of complimentary travel. It seems like a viable alternative."
Brek considered her words thoughtfully. "So, what if, for the duration of your recruitment drive, I could use one of your freighters... without any restrictions?"
A wrinkle appeared on Mrs. Novikov's forehead at the mention of ‘ without any restrictions’. "Those words carry a significant burden, wouldn't you say?"
"A burden that will evaporate," Brek reassured her, "once we finalize a mutually advantageous agreement. In fact, such is my generosity, I'm even willing to include a special clause." With a theatrical gesture, he commanded the turbolift to resume its journey.
"A clause I'm more than capable of drafting, Mr. Brek," Mrs. Novikov countered with a cool smile. "Your task will be to locate a rare and highly skilled engineer, someone with an expertise in, shall we say, warp core maintenance."
"Clearly, we understand each other perfectly," Brek said, his smile widening to reveal a hint of cunning beneath its pleasant surface. "Consider it done!"
