The Cost of Conversation
Posted on 20 Jun 2025 @ 2:17am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C. - Conference - Dining Hall.
Timeline: Timeline: MD 27 1515HRS
889 words - 1.8 OF Standard Post Measure
Temptation, staring at him with insolence, was there for a third UBC. Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger. There were two of them left on a tray emblazoned with the Starfleet logo. They could both be his... They put roasted beetles and fried grasshoppers to shame, and it was a wonder how his people survived on such poor fare when out there in the universe bacon existed.
In order to resist this craving, the best move was to go pester someone. He couldn’t target Cmdr Zahn anymore because she had left. Who else, then? He scanned the room, packed with engineers, scientists, and security staff too. He wanted to be entertained though and possibly make some profits too. Those people would only try to enlighten him, and he wasn’t in the mood for that. The best option then was Mr Novikov. A hewmon specimen, dressed like a tourist (bright clothes) and looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Happy people are often more inclined to part with their common sense, and their credits, too. Novikov’s offspring, young Kyrill, had found refuge with a young Bajoran guest. They seemed to be having a harmless conversation. The type where both parties whisper and blush every now and again.
Anyway, now was the time to make another nuisance of himself.
“Hello, Mr Novikov,” Brek said with the exuberance of a salesman who’s found a mark. “It is a fine conference, is it not? Starfleet’s wealth... I can’t help marvelling at it.”
Said mark looked down at him - he had to, for he had the nerve to be quite tall. Other than that he was unremarkable. There are millions of such hewmons in every quadrant. The very forgettable crowd of humanity: neither good looking nor ugly.
“We have nonetheless been interrupted,” Novikov replied with a hint of dismay in his voice.
Mr Novikov wasn’t as polite as his wife. No ‘Hello Mr Brek’ for him. He complained right away.
Brek kept his smile. He had been confronted by worse customers than that one. “A mere glitch compared to the elaborate presentations we’ve heard and the delicious food we are being treated to.”
Novikov frowned. Had he truly been affected by the conference’s interruption, or was it just pretence? Difficult to know with this species. “Funny that. I didn’t figure you were someone who would praise Starfleet.”
“You would be surprised how often praise pays, Mr N. I wanted to ask you... ”
Brek was interrupted by a burst of laughter, shrill and maybe a little forced, produced by two groups of women who had just been reunited and hadn’t seen each other in forever. Cue dozens of questions about how everyone was doing, where they lived, who they were seeing and so on. Nothing but noise to his sensitive ears.
“... ask you a little favour,” he resumed.
“Do such things exist?” Novikov asked. “There is only room for trade, as you’ve told my wife multiple times.”
As he said those words, Novikov glanced at one of the lively women. Blond, forty-ish, small, confident, ebullient. The type of person who never takes second roles.
“Do you want me to introduce you?" Brek asked with a little sneer.
“No, thank you. I was just... ”
“Admiring the admirable. Don’t we all? But sometimes, it’s best to stick to engineering stuff. How much would you charge for a maintenance inspection on a type-15 shuttlepod I recently acquired?”
Novikov looked troubled. “I know that woman. I can’t place her, though... Maybe St Petersburg in the ‘80s?”
“What about my shuttle?” Brek insisted.
“Why don’t you ask those Ferengi engineers by the dessert bar? They look like they’ve got too much spare time.”
He left Brek, looking like he had just received an entirely unexpected inheritance from a long-lost uncle, and he went to speak to the ‘mysterious’ woman.
Seconds later, he overheard her name. Professor Tess Jansen, from some institute in Zurich. Mr N. knew her, and she was actually delighted to see him again. Now the conversation was all about their childhood. Ski resorts, sun and snow, peppered with frequent smiles and soft laughter. Then the other women joined in, and they yakked away about their careers in engineering and what fascinated them. Drones, planet exploration, and search and rescue operations. Tedious stuff, all of it. Brek sighed. Happy people, they make life so miserable at times.
As for the idea of asking the Ferengi group to have a look at his shuttle. Sure, he had thought of it, but it frightened him. The chance of them transforming his shuttle, ‘The Golden Glow,’ into a wreck was quite high. And even if a miracle occurred and they didn’t ruin the shuttle, how long would they take to do a decent job? Knowing his species, it would be counted in months rather than days. This wouldn’t do.
He would have to talk to Mrs Novikov. Convince her to send some of those engineers who work for her import/export company. There would be no charge, naturally. Maybe if he made a mess of Kyrill’s upcoming art exhibition, she would welcome his idea with a bright smile. After all, she dearly wanted her son to drop art for a more ‘serious’ occupation...
