The Best of the New Generation
Posted on 08 Sep 2024 @ 9:45am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: OC, Arrival Docking Bay
Timeline: Evening MD26
1226 words - 2.5 OF Standard Post Measure
After an interminably long hug and multiple promises to stay in touch, Ara was now on her merry way to Ferenginar. Brek felt better for it. With his grandmother gone, he was free once more to do as he pleased. Well, he would, once he had got rid of his next task: to greet a group of Ferengi Engineers. How difficult could that be?
While he waited in the crowded bay, he noticed the presence of Cmdr T’Sheng, a highly disagreeable character, and a time waster of the first order too, but he was still tempted to have a word with her. However, before he knew it, a Ferengi placed himself right in front of him and bombarded him with a speech.
From it, it surfaced that this individual, one DaiMon Gril, (wearing a uniform that perfectly matched the colour of his skin), had taken the liberty to get ahead of ‘his’ engineers and brief Brek on the many dangers of his task.
“I’ll say, when I heard you were supplanting Glimm, the-not-so-great, I told myself, Gril, my boy, you’re on a lucky day! So, what I’ve got to say is this: My engineers, who are soon to be yours, are a deluded bunch. They think that they are here on vacation - that’s a horrible word that should never have entered our lexicon. There are twenty of them and among them you’ll find experts in electro plasma systems, bussard ramscoop - a fine synonym for ‘boring’ if you ask me - DCA and PDT, even WFC, I’m told. They are exceedingly intelligent, but they are also young, and when they aren’t focused on engineering stuff, there are only three things floating in their heads: gambling, good food and females. You’ll have to make sure they’re kept busy at all times, otherwise everything, brown or otherwise, will hit the fan. You can be sure of it!”
“Younglings,” The DaiMon went on before Brek could place a word. “These days, they are so arrogant and demanding. They don’t realise they need to shut up for a couple of decades before they can inherit the world. That world, as dysfunctional as it is, it belongs to us now. Yep, it is in our hands.”
“I am confident I can handle it.” Brek managed to say. “I have dealt with larger groups in the past.”
Gril, observed him. “Maybe. Your profile says you used to be a diplomat. So I guess that it makes you clever. Clever as in you know that the things we don’t do are as important as those we do.” He sniffed, giving the impression he was snorting his own importance. “Ah here they are! Our beloved engineers. The best of the new generation. Resourceful and inventive.” He scratched his head and in a lower voice he added: “But you know, in my time, there was no real need to study. All we had to do was to, hm, acquire new innovations and learn on the job. You can’t get more quick-witted than that. Nope.”
One by one, the twenty Ferengi engineers went through the security checks in a quiet orderly manner. Brek found them perfectly fine. They too wore a copper coloured uniform, with a badge on their chest. They were, as far as he could tell, all males, and curiously, they were all eating an apple.
Gril must have noticed Brek’s bafflement because he offered an explanation:
“The younglings have been terrible. They insisted on trying some Hewmon food. They couldn’t wait. Apples and pears are the only ones I've heard of.” Without a care for who might be listening, he went on: “I’m not quite sure I like foreigners, with their weird menus and philosophies. From my experience, their thoughts are as contagious as their germs.”
“So I replicated a batch of those green fruits, apples. At my own cost.” He sighed. “The things one does for the young ones. Now I’ve got to fill a dozen forms to get my money back from the FCA. With a bit of luck I’ll have it back in six months. Well, they are all yours, Mr Brek. Remember my words, all of them, or you’ll be in trouble. Now, you tell me, which way is the Promenade? I need some refreshments.”
Brek showed him the way and the next moment he was staring at forty brown eyes sharing a common thirst for knowledge. Sadly for them, the FCA wasn’t treating them with great regards. They had been crammed in four guest quarters. The Alliance would not pay for anything more.
“Welcome to Obsidian Station,” Brek told them in his most cheerful voice. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
There were a few whispers within the group, but no questions emerged. Brek took it as a sign that Gril must have scared the younglings to the point they were afraid to speak and blunder.
“Well,” Brek added. “You can all relax now. As long as you don’t use your time to establish new trading posts, negotiate unfavourable trade deals, try to monopolise essential resources, or use violence, you can do pretty much what you want on this station.”
“Is every place here as big as this bay?” A voice asked from the back of the group.
“Pretty much. Except for your quarters, I’m afraid.” Brek felt obliged to reveal. “The FCA is always parsimonious. Then again, it wouldn't be so incredibly wealthy if it wasted its latinum, would it?”
“You mean, our latinum.” A Ferengi at the front said, his voice nonchalant. “We all know how it works.”
“You said it,” Brek agreed. “But it’s best not to be too clear with that sort of fact. Many things are best kept in the background, fuzzy, hazy and cloudy. Call it Ferengi etiquette. Now, what would you say if I tell you that I know a super easy means for you to make latinum.”
“As in to make a killing?” Someone asked, their eyes sparkling.
“As in to make a decent amount of latinum with a minimum effort.” Brek corrected.
“It won’t hurt to listen, I guess,” the same Ferengi added.
“Excellent! Now, if you would care to follow me.” Brek continued, leading them away from the bay. “All you have to do is to hand out leaflets about an upcoming art exhibition called ‘Forsaken Shore’. This will also allow you to discover all the interesting spots on this station. Who knows, you may even make a few friends in the process.”
“I have heard better plans. Besides, we prefer to stick to engineering projects. It would be safer for everyone.”
“Yet, if we’ve got our hands on some latinum, even just a few small slips” another Ferengi ventured, speaking quickly, “then we could go to a gambling den. That’s one place where you can make loads of profit with no effort.”
“There will be no dice rolling on my watch,” Brek told them, already regretting mentioning the word ‘latinum’ to them. “On the other hand, I could show you the best venues on the Station.”
Several Ferengi yawned and Brek decided he needed a plan b, and perhaps a plan c too...
