A Massive But
Posted on 02 Oct 2024 @ 12:41pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Mrs Novikov’s Office - BlueJay Import Export
Timeline: Early Morning MD27
1121 words - 2.2 OF Standard Post Measure
The day began with the confirmation that the female Ferengi he had met the previous day was not a con artist. Her name was Ndira and it appeared that her sole possession (beyond her three latinum bars) was a terribly long list of misfortunes. Was this due to plain calamitous circumstances or blatant stupidity? He could not tell, although he suspected that if Ndira had been ‘lucky’ enough to have a wealthy relative, like his own Ara, then she wouldn’t have been reduced to a little beggar. Yes indeed, his grandmother was a treasure and the farthest away she was, the more he appreciated her.
He should, obviously, have ignored Ndira. He could not. For a start, he would be able to milk the situation. Help the poor soul and then take a portion of her wage, for service rendered. That’s what he would say out loud. In the background, though, there lurked a vague but persistent notion that he should do all he could to improve Ferenginar’s social structure. Only he would rather not be too open about that.
Well, at least he was not idle. He had locked ‘his’ Ferengi engineers in a holodeck for a long simulated tour of the station. He figured it would be the safest way to educate these young men without causing chaos in engineering or the command and control decks.
Now that this masterful manoeuvre had been executed, he pressed the chime on Mrs. Novikov's office door. Unfortunately, once you decide to help someone, you often have to lower yourself and seek help too...
Mrs. Novikov told him to enter, her tone less than welcoming. She was busy and wanted him to be brief. She couldn't spare more than ten minutes due to an urgent client meeting.
Brek had been there before. There were genuine clients and there also existed a battation of ghosty ones. Invented customers, useful for repelling intruders. Still, he smiled and placed a tray with two coffees on her desk. He had ordered them from The Dynasty, a restaurant known for its excellent coffee
Seconds ticked by as he admired the office’s decor. It was a powerhouse of productivity. No paintings here, only live charts and busy monitors on every wall. He was impressed, and envious, while Mrs Novikov simply grew impatient.
“So, Brek,” she took one coffee, inhaled its fragrance and gave him a commercial smile. “Are you here only to admire the view?”
His gaze settled on her. Splendid silhouette, wearing a black dress, practical and professional. Here was a woman who wasn’t down on her luck. A woman with power and money. Beautiful. Her son had once described his family as hailing from Russia (Earth). A Wintermärchen land. Some kind of winter fairytale country, with little to no warmth; where ice shined like diamonds.
He took a seat, which at first glance seemed uncomfortable but actually moulded to the body, indicating his intention to stay longer than the allotted ten minutes.
“I need your help, Mrs Novikov.”
“Is that so?”
She seemed amused, while he felt as if he had just swallowed a porcupine. He was usually on the other side of the ‘I need help’ game, relishing the situation. How many times had he taken advantage of Mrs Novikow? Five, six times? And on every occasion she had paid dearly and diligently.
“You do look troubled,” she observed. “I’ve never seen you so... I’m not sure... is it humility I see? Where is your usual energy? Your touch of the crazy? If I may say so.”
Brek produced a tentative smile. He felt sure she would take her revenge on him by asking a fortune for her help. Females (it has to be said, but not out loud) are so irrational, and vindictive...
“You are right,” He continued. “Here is what happened...”
He recounted what he had learned earlier this morning and he produced the credentials proving Ndira’s identity and engineering degrees. All those documents were authentic; he had already verified them, but she was welcome to double-check.
“I remember you saying you were looking for new engineers.” He added. “Ndira fits the bill perfectly. Plus by helping her you would rescue a woman in need. It would strengthen the bond of solidarity among women. Mutual support, and sisterhood.” He nodded his head, as if to convince himself that his words made sense.
“I don’t believe in this sort of thing,” Novikiv said, sounding awfully cold and distant behind her hot coffee. “I believe in joint productivity. And there is, actually, something I want from you, Brek.”
“You do?”
Novikov reached for the second coffee. Corporate greed is magnificent, even in its most subtle manifestations.
“Yes. And it has been on my mind for a long time. But, until you turned up in my office, I didn’t think I could afford it. Now I believe I can.” She smiled, the triumphant smile of an easily won victory. “I’ll hire your Ferengi and she will receive fair wages. In return, you will curate an art exhibition for my son. I need to know whether his grimdark paintings can actually sell.”
“This is a reasonable request,” Brek admitted. “I could organise that in a couple of months. A successful exhibition requires careful planning. Otherwise, the influential people won't attend. However, there's something like a massive but, isn't there?"
“There is, indeed, a caveat.”
Brek cleared his throat. “What do you have in mind exactly? I can't cancel the exhibitions already scheduled. This wouldn’t be fair to the artists. Besides, the event dedicated to Ms Xeri’s artwork is like our most prestigious financial institutions: too important to cancel.”
“My heart is not made of stone, Brek. What I want is for you to organise this exhibition, whenever you can, for free. There will be no commission for you on this project.”
Brek kept silent, contemplating the enormity of her request. He would be working for weeks, for free, and all that to help a female Ferengi who, just a day ago, he didn’t know. Could he do it? His bank accounts could handle this silly venture. His conscience, on the other hand, he wasn't so sure.
“Your heart is not made of stone. It is made of the purest latinum. Congratulations on that.” He got up, and, reluctantly, he grinned. “I will seek another solution. Something less taxing. Have a most profitable day, Mrs Novikov.”
“Mr Brek,” She called as he was leaving her office. “Surely, you aren’t going to give up so easily?”
He never replied. For the time being he needed to retreat, regroup, and explore other options.
