Group Therapy
Posted on 22 Sep 2024 @ 1:43pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: OC, Guests Quarters
Timeline: Evening MD26
1537 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure
There was a moment of uncertainty when the twenty Ferengi engineers looked at the four doors leading to their quarters. The FCA’s generosity had extended to just that: four rooms for their whole group. A clear insult, and certainly ground for complaint. However, as soon as they discovered that their quarters had a replicator, they went on to admire the machines, punctuating their observations with superlatives. They were sleek and stylish. Masterpieces of engineering. Work of art even. Robust and yet graceful. A must have.
They tried them, asked for a multitude of Terran desserts and were rewarded with alfajores, apfelstrudel, baklava, borma, brownies, cheesecakes, and one tub tim krob, (which Brek had never heard of), made of yellow and red fruits that looked like splendid rubies.
Five minutes later, the Ferengis, already bored, discarded their half eaten treats. Something else had grabbed their attention: The idea of a competition. Ignoring Brek’s recommendations to call it, literally, a night, they decided to form five teams of four and to dismantle and reassemble the great replicators. The winning team would receive the best share in their next venture.
Sadly, before Brek could interfere, the first team had already removed the frame of ‘their’ replicator.
“I know learning from one’s mistakes is a thing,” he said, “but if you don’t rebuild those replicators the exact same way you’ve found them, it will cost you dearly. Tampering with Starfleet property won't go unnoticed.”
“No one will notice, though, because we are that skilled.” One of the engineers assured him. Turning to one of his colleagues, he added: "Don't touch that! Really, your engineering skills are so dull, they couldn't cut butter!"
“And your judgement is as sharp as a blunt spoon! Let me handle that!”
For a few seconds, they argued over who would remove the control panel. When the panel landed carelessly on the floor, they turned their attention to the phase transition chamber. Brek sighed. This exercise was going to take a long time and would undoubtedly end in disaster.
Although he admired the Ferengi synergy of the group, he also found these engineers tiresome. That is to say, he no longer had the energy to be so loud, bold and inquisitive. However he was no stranger to tampering with food replicators. He had once been desperate enough to cannibalise two such devices to create a distiller, achieving reasonable success with a lot of discarded spare parts. He had never deluded himself though; the hybrid he had created functioned more on luck and hope than sound engineering.
The team, still chattering loudly, was examining the waveguide conduits when Brek felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a small engineer looking rather downcast, even tragic. This individual didn't share the enthusiasm of his colleagues. His eyes were feverish, his skin too pale. Everything about him suggested trouble, and Brek recoiled, surprised by the interference.
"I've heard good things about you, Mr. Brek. I'd like to talk to you in private," the Ferengi whispered.
Brek cleared his throat. Better be direct and avoid misunderstandings. “If you want something from me, I hope you’ve brought a decent pile of latinum with you. My services aren’t cheap.”
For a reason Brek couldn’t fathom, his interlocutor seemed dismayed.
“Sounds like you’ve heard more than a few lies about me.” He added. “I am not benevolent - what a despicable thing to say of anyone. Just because I chose to live among Hewmon doesn’t mean I lack common sense. I have plenty, including the sense of having prohibitive tariffs.”
Having delivered his line, Brek smiled. That should repel the little beggar. There is no greater annoyance than a complete stranger offloading their trouble on your doorstep, expecting you to do something about it while they put themselves in the bogmire willingly.
“I... I have three bars of latinum,” the Ferengi replied with a humility that was as astonishing as it was repellent. “They are yours if you accept to help me.”
Brek’s grin turned into a grimace. “It’s not a fortune, it’s an embarrassment. Keep them, and by all that is precious, make some decent investments!”
“I can’t, and I can’t continue like this. I don’t belong here. I need to get away from it all. This station, this is my only chance.”
“Yeah right. Needs must and all that. Do as you please, I want no part in your trouble. Now if you will excuse me. I have to make sure your colleagues don’t ruin those damn replicators.”
Whatever the needy Ferengi said was covered by the triumphant entry of the third team, proclaiming their victory. They had just completed the reassembly of their replicator, emerging as the clear winners - the most efficient, the most splendid engineers in the quadrant.
Team one was naturally staggered. It was virtually impossible to complete this self-imposed challenge in just a few minutes.
"Weep with envy and sorrow while we reap the profits, you losers," someone from team three taunted. "Look at all of you. How can you be so inefficient? Where is your drive for profits? Have you lost it all?"
Their laughter sounded somewhat forced, while team one's growing anger was genuine.
“That’s enough!” Brek shouted. “You all need to go to bed. No bedtime story, pajama parties, lullabies or pillow fights. I don't want to hear anything from you until tomorrow morning. Get out of my sight, all of you!"
"You are not our DaiMon," someone protested. "You have no right to give orders, let alone bark them."
“That’s true,” another Ferengi chimed in, chuffed by this nugget of wisdom. “Our master’s DaiMon Gril. We answer to no one else.”
The whole group, once more reunited by their mischief, returned their attention to the still dismantled replicator.
Brek observed their backs. He had, before him, twenty unruly and potentially dangerous apes. Those Ferengi youngsters were well versed in engineering, but completely ignorant of life beyond their precious vessel.
"I take my orders from the FCA," Brek continued, his voice growing tired. "They asked me to supervise you, and that's exactly what I will do. There will be no freedom for you while on this station. You will do as you are told and be fined for each and every instance of misbehaviour."
The whole group now looked undecided. Alas, it didn’t take long for one of them to offer his opinion:
"As always, the rules are made up against us. What even counts as misbehaviour here?"
“That's between me and myself. Now curfew is calling. I don’t want to hear half a word from you until tomorrow morning. 0800 sharp. I’ve scheduled a busy morning for you. Then at 1200 we’ll be at the conference for its opening ceremony, with our utmost best behaviour.”
There was much muttering and whining, but nothing that could remotely resemble even a syllable. After another moment of hesitation, during which they assessed whether or not another fuss was worth it, they finally retreated to their beds.
Brek took pride in that moment and returned to the corridor, which was deliciously quiet and inviting. Only, the needy Ferengi had followed him and all joy left him.
“You have no reason to be here. I don’t want your latinum,” he grumbled.
“I only need some directions.”
“You need to go back to your team. What’s up with you?”
The voice was timid, as pleasant as a Klingon embrace. “I’ve been trying to tell you...”
Brek sighed. “Off with it then.”
He expected one or two silly sentences at best. Maybe this particular engineer felt homesick, maybe they felt unsure about their career path? Doubts and worries are part of everybody’s life, after all. What he got instead was a long tirade about the Ferengis’ relentless pursuit of profit, conflicts with ethical considerations, having to endure safety compromises, and environmental damage. Feeling exploited in the name of maximizing profits.
“Hmm...” Brek said, nonplussed. “An impressive list, but nothing new under the sun, is there?”
“And in a couple of weeks, my belly will start to show up. I truly can’t carry on like that. I want to stay on this station. I want to work here.”
Brek, who was mostly running on empty batteries after this extra long day, almost made a lame comment about diet change and more exercise. “Your... belly?” he echoed.
“I’m fifteen weeks pregnant.”
Brek blinked and cursed at the same time. He could now see, in his interlocutor, the faintest trace of a female, so good was the subterfuge. He had in the past encountered other Ferengi women, passing for men and trying to escape Ferenginar and its influence. So this development wasn’t new to him.
“Oh boy. You should have started there. One of your teammates?”
She shook her head. It wasn’t, but she would say no more on the topic.
“All right... Let’s find you some quarters then. We’ll talk again about all this tomorrow. Follow me.”
And she did, looking as worried as ever.
