Fine Words
Posted on 01/29/2022 @ 7:28am by
1,088 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Mini Mission: When The Cat's Away
Location: Civilian Clinic, deck 85 & Promenade
Timeline: MD001 - Right after DIY
Brek had chosen to be treated for his arm injury in a civilian hospital, where he had been seen by a charming female nurse. She was gentle and conversational. Yet it was obvious that, due to her young age, her mind was on other things, because when at one point (only to check whether she was following his ramble on momentum trading), he had mentioned that his latest acquisition was a pet elephant called Arthur, she had simply said:
“Like the famous king?”
“Possibly,” he had said, baffled. As far as he knew, Terran kings were numbered. Like the Henrys and the Louis. But there was also Elvis the King, with no number attached to his name. Go figure... “I am an ambassador, not a historian.’
“Anyway, old stuff should remain in the past, don’t you think?”
“To a point. How can you know who you are without knowing anything about your origins?” He had asked her.
“Oh, I know perfectly well who I am,” she had said with a disarming smile. “It’s where I’m going I’m not sure of.”
“When you are a bit older, you’ll realize that the two are connected, young lady.”
This had marked the end of their eerie discussion. She had sent him away with a perfectly bandaged arm, and a prescription to fetch in a pharmacy. Terran administration stunk, but not as much as the foul tricks in use among Ferengis.
Some twenty minutes later, he was wandering aimlessly on the promenade, thinking of a way to refill the coffers of the Ferengi embassy. He should invest what little funds were still available, but he was tempted to use a more ingenious method. For instance by finding some dirt on that Ferengi bankster called Tobor, or more cunningly, by inventing some natural disaster on Ferenginar, and making an appeal to help the fictitious victims. Few Ferengi would donate of course. But Terrans would. It had been done before.
He stopped by a bookstore, one of those marvelous places that still sold paper books, and he contemplated an original edition (so it claimed) of a Chinese book curiously called “The Three Body Problem”. He was half tempted to part with some latinum to get it, when he heard the voice of Mrs Moreau.
“I had an idea I had recognized the distinctive shape of your cranium, Brek. I visited ‘The Book Worm’ shop just a few minutes ago. They have an incredible selection of titles. At a price, of course. Were you going to buy something?”
“Nope.” He said, changing his mind. “How is our little business going, Mrs Moreau?”
“It goes. But you mustn’t rush such affairs. Your target, as you like to say, will contact you as soon as she is ready. This could mean anything, of course. Women have whims.”
“Hmm... Their privilege, of course.” He added, bemused. “Does the target enjoy poetry, do you think?”
“Poetry? Who likes poetry these days?”
“She doesn’t like fine words?” He had to ask because if the woman he fancied, despite her fine features, happened to be vapid, then he was obviously making a mistake and would have to retract all offers.
“She likes to read, if that's what you mean. But poetry? I couldn’t say. What happened to your arm, anyway, and what is this silly t-shirt that you are wearing?”
“A spot of diy went a bit awry, but it’s all sorted. As for my dressing code, it’s none of your business. Do I question the silly dress that you are wearing?” He replied, upset that she had changed the subject.
“What an ugly mood you are in, Brek. Maybe you need to eat something. We could go to a café. A kale smoothie would do wonders for you. It truly cleanses the body.”
He gave her a cold stare. “You’ve tried to poison me with that stuff before, Mrs Moreau. It tastes like sugared liquid grass. It’s worse than Klingon food.”
“Maybe, but it’s cheap. And you are always going on about prices.”
Brek sighed. Why were most women so awkward and blind and demanding? “A Grand Proxy is not at liberty to waste his time in cafes with women, Mrs Moreau. Now to return to...”
“With a t-shirt like that, you are obviously not on duty.” She interrupted him. “Or rather yes, you are on duty, but as a silly old Brek.”
“I’m easily 15 years younger than you!”
“Not in your mind. Over there you are close to 100.” Despite the harsh words, she smiled. “Come on, let’s sit down somewhere.
This is how, a few minutes later, they found themselves in an ice cream shop called “32 Below”. They ordered two sorbets. Strawberry for her, avocado for him. And at long last La Moreau was in a mood to listen and to answer his questions.
“So,” Brek resumed with relish. “I was wanting to send a gift to my target. What should I go for? Flower, chocolate, a bottle of wine? Some perfume maybe?”
She looked at him intently, but there was amusement in her eyes, and he found that very unsettling.
“What?” He asked. “Have I said something inappropriate?”
“If you want to make a positive effect on ‘the target’ you’ll have to do better than that.”
He took fright. “Jewellery? Diamonds? I read somewhere that it was bad taste to offer so much so fast.”
Moreau continued to smile. “I wonder who’s the moron who wrote such a thing. Anyway, no. What I meant is that you need to be original. And because of that, what gift you offer needs to come from you personally. From your heart. It is a message that you are sending, is it not? So the message has to translate your intentions.”
He ate a spoonful of his rather insipid sorbet. Did he have a heart, in that sense? He wasn’t sure. “So you are saying that, if my gift is perceived as cheap or gross or ridiculous, then I’ll fail. I’d be better off not sending anything then.”
“Sure. This would send the message that you’re worse than cheap. That you are not very interested and you don’t care.”
“But I do.”
“This is why you’ll find the right gift. Give it some time, and the perfect idea will come to you.”
Could it be as ‘easy’ as that? Time would tell...
............................................
Grand Proxy Brek
Ferengi Embassy
Poseidon Station
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