A Bad Morning

Posted on 02/19/2022 @ 1:48pm by
Edited on on 02/22/2022 @ 5:47am

1,150 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Mini Mission: When The Cat's Away
Location: Various Decks on SB 50 & Ferengi Embassy
Timeline: MD002 - Early Morning - 0700 Hours

Brek couldn’t believe his misfortune. Due to some disturbance (he was trying hard to remain polite), within the embassy’s comm system, he had been woken up at the last minute - that is to say 0700 - to show a group of Ferengi delegates around the station. They consisted of ten young promising entrepreneurs, proud sons of important ministers. Usually ship-bound, this was their first visit on a Terran starbase, and they ridiculed everything, seeing vulgarians everywhere.

Around 0900 they gawked at a hairdresser for 30 effing minutes, marvelling at the money spent on elaborate hairdos - comparing the ritual (their expression), of cutting one’s hair to that of grooming a dog.

At 1030 there was the awkward moment where his unpleasant charge demanded to see a stripper. They nearly made a fuss in front of Elysian Dreams, which thankfully appeared to be closed. He wouldn’t have wanted Ortega and Chientaka to witness this wild circus.

Only by inviting the delegates for a meal, with a suggestion of Terran grasshoppers, called Jing Leed, along with wasp crackers, respectively from Thailand and Japan (two Terran nations), did they relent, turning their interest to food.

At 12.00 it was finally time to accompany the noisy troupe to the spaceport for a prompt departure among (empty?) promises of investment on their part, and a profusion of courteous but fake ‘cheerios’ from him.

He was about to return to his territory when a customs official stopped him. The Terran, approaching 50 and looking like this great age had happened to him all at once this very morning, was actually delighted to see the Grand Proxy in person. Some 12 Ferengi citizens had not paid their cargo fees, and something needed to be done about that. It took 30 minutes to sort that out.

Moments later, when he was finally in sight of his embassy, a new trial awaited him.

Mrs Moreau was pacing in front of the Ferengi Embassy. He didn’t like to be honest, even with himself, but if he were, he would have to admit that she had reasons to be here. Following his discomfiture after talking to Elle, he had only wired half the sum he had agreed to give her.

Sadly, being in a terrible mood promised to turn this confrontation into a nightmare. In fact, he started with gusto, by asking her if she was out of her mind, walking like a harlot in front of his embassy.

The nasty words made her blink, but she kept a sense of propriety, for her retaliation was delivered in French, so that few (including him) could grasp the meaning of her words.

“In my office, now.” he ordered, before someone in the vicinity decided to call Security.

Once he had reached his sanctuary, Brek poured himself a shot of black rum and he tried to relax. He was, once again, making a fool of himself. He knew it. So why couldn’t he stop it? Were humans also divided by contradictory influences? He would love to know.

Behind him, Moreau was making a fuss over Jez, calling his dog the ‘cutest beast’ she had seen in a long while. Jez enjoyed the treatment and brought her favourite toy to the Terran woman. This toy, acquired in a petshop and marketed as ‘Anthony the Porcupine’ was the most expensive piece of natural rubber that Brek had seen in the quadrant.

After a while, Moreau sat down on the only chair in the room, and she turned her attention to him. “You little cheat, Brek! You owe me money. We had an agreement.”

A lot could be said about the fluidity of verbal deals, but he decided to fast-forward their argument to its conclusion.

He poured her a glass of rum and started: “The situation has evolved Mrs Moreau, but I promise you, you won’t be out of pocket.”

He recalled his conversation with Elle and explained that, with his ‘target’ taking every cautious step in their embryonic relationship, he needed Moreau to stay on Poseidon. Her role would be to chaperone the young Ferengi woman, and in exchange he would set up a new art gallery for her, on the station.

It should have been good news to her. However, women being contradictory, Moreau didn’t look overjoyed by his crafty plan. She took three little sips of her rum, and then told him in a dull voice that, as deals went, it wasn’t a bad one.

He countered this lack of enthusiasm with a long rant: “I should hope so, you are costing me more than a wife, Mrs Moreau! Besides, it’s all your fault. Elle reacted this way because of funny discussions you’ve had with her, saying there were no such things as gentle men.”

Moreau answered with a harsh look, not unlike the stare that Cmdr Letsul sometimes gave him.

“Gentlemen are a rare species, whether you want to admit it or not, Brek. As for Elle and you, I’m concerned. What will you do if, ultimately, she doesn’t like you? You will lose your marbles and bark at everyone. Is that the plan?”

He was staggered. “Why would she not like me?”

“Because you are volatile and rude.” She replied. “What’s wrong with you? You didn’t use to be like that.”

He almost responded with another volley of unpleasant words, but he got the brilliant idea of stopping by his book shelf, where he took the hefty volume on Ferengi history. So as to calm down, he opened it at a random page and read a paragraph on the life of (Vile) Grand Nagus Mopak, who had pestered ancient Ferengi between 600 to 640 and 660 to 620. So greedy was the man, he had been in office twice. Then again, loads of Terran presidents had done the same.

It cost him a lot, but he managed to say a few quiet words: “Since you had the courtesy to ask, I’ve had a crappy morning. What do you suggest we do, then?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to follow Elle’s example. I also want everything written down, in contracts. In addition, you will have to take a course on how to be zen. It will do you good. You truly need to find your inner peace.”

Brek nearly dropped his precious history book. “Zen?! Why not feng shui while you are at it? You want me to spend my hard earned latinum on a charlatan?”

“I’m done arguing. Do we have a deal?”

His mind full of Ferengi expletives, Brek put the book back where it belonged. He then grunted a vague ‘yes’, thinking to himself that he could always go instant zen instead of going to a mediation group. Purple haze, mescaline, orange sunshine, the choice was vast...

......................................
Grand Proxy Brek
Ferengi Embassy
Poseidon Station

With CIV Mrs Moreau (npc), art dealer.

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