“Ah, that’s good to hear. You used to be a proper female?”
“I used to be in the service industry. Trying to make my way up to becoming a proper businessperson. I had the confidence of—” She chuckled, ignoring Brunt’s rictus of a smile. “Well, one day I had to give all that up.”
“How did you become a pilot?”
“By necessity. Necessity is always the mother of profit.” She relaxed, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. “I was stranded on Solamin Prime during the Dominion War. Everyone had to do something to keep things running, and I ended up catering for the shuttle pilots. One of them liked me enough to want to show me how to fly the shuttles. At first I wasn’t interested. There was no profit in it. But then I tried it, and found I was a natural. And when I qualified, people would pay for side trips or deliveries. . . . It was more profitable than I ever imagined.”
“How nice for you.”
“Now I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Not even being a—”
“A skivvy? A servant? Oh, you were going to say ’a traditional Ferengi female,’ weren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Brunt said, sounding defensive. She smiled to herself, knowing that she was everything a man like Brunt hated. She knew who he was, of course; his feud with Quark had become legendary among Ferengi. It was true that Brunt was a good if somewhat inflexible Ferengi, but he was no Quark. It was easy enough for Gaila and Brunt to make profit when everything was weighted in their favor, but Quark could make profit out of absolutely nothing. There would never be another like him.
After four days in flight, the Golden Handshake dropped out of warp and swept into a parking orbit around Kalanis Major. The planet was an average Class-M world with three moons. Sensors had no difficulty picking up the signs of conflict on the surface.
Thankfully, they also had no difficulty making contact with the leaders of three factions. The existence of a third faction had come as a surprise, but Brunt, Gaila, Bijon, and Pel all took it as a sign that their venture was looked upon favorably. The Great Material Continuum was flowing their way, and they need only enjoy the cruise.
Gaila had set up a meeting with the government faction for first thing the morning after they arrived in orbit. Brunt then contacted the old Loyalists and arranged a meeting with them for lunchtime. Since there was a third faction, and Bijon had trouble counting that far, they reluctantly let Pel arrange the rendezvous with the counterrevolutionaries that evening.
When the Minister of Procurement and his entourage materialized on the transporter pad, Gaila stepped forward to greet them. They were humanoid, roughly the size of a hew-mon or a tall Ferengi, but reptilian, with armored foreheads and scaly skin. They wore red armor and harness. “Greetings, Minister. I’m Gaila, representative of Gailtek Armaments and Technologies. This is my partner, Brunt, and our clerk, Pel. Whatever you require, we at GAT will do our best to fulfill the order.”
“We need weapons.” The minister had a female voice, though it was hard to tell if this was truly indicative of its gender.
“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be contacting an arms dealer.”
“Quite so.” She—Gaila decided to think of her as she—hesitated. “We’d prefer the most efficient killing machines possible.”
Gaila pursed his lips for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t try to influence a client’s choice,” he began slowly, “but it strikes me that you don’t really want weapons of mass destruction.”
“We don’t?”
“You can’t exploit what you’ve destroyed,” Gaila said reasonably. “No, what you need in order to deal with your undesirable rivals”—as if there was ever such a thing as a desirable rival—“is urban pacification equipment. Crowd control.” He led the delegation first to a display room, filled with both physical specimens and holographic images of Klingon weaponry. Disruptor pistols and rifles of various designs filled the racks and tables.
The minister picked up one, a rifle with a three-pronged barrel and a heavy stock. “This disruptor rifle . . .”
“Ah,” Gaila began silkily. “Klingon Type 47, the very best there is. When you absolutely, positively have to disintegrate every mother-creditor in the room … accept no substitute!”
The minister hefted the rifle. It was finished in black, rather than the red and silver more typical of Klingon weaponry. “It doesn’t look Klingon.”
“We’ve commissioned this upgraded variant to have a seamless outer casing that dampens the weapon’s energy signature, making it less detectable by scanning devices. . . .”
Brunt tuned out Gaila’s excellent pitch as his communicator buzzed. He stepped away from the group and brought it to his ear. “What?”
“The Loyalists are at the transport site,” Bijon’s voice came over happily. Brunt was immediately alarmed; the last thing he needed was two rival groups on board at the same time. “I’m bringing them up now,” Bijon went on.
“No!” Brunt called frantically. The others looked around at him. Cursing Bijon for being even more stupid than Quark’s miserable tribe, Brunt smiled weakly and addressed Gaila. “That was Bijon,” he said meaningfully. “He has acquired some more … credit.” Gaila’s eyes widened, and he paled.
“Go and see to it,” Gaila hissed. Brunt practically ran out the door.
Gaila smiled back at the minister, knowing all too well what might happen now. He still had nightmares about the time Quark caused the Regent of Palamar and General Nassuc to meet at a deal he was brokering with the Regent. It had taken months to shake off the Purification Squads.
“A matter of paperwork that is due,” Gaila said silkily. “My junior partner will deal with it so that we can continue our negotiations. If you’ll come this way, we can take refreshments in the dining hall, and see what we can do for you.” He indicated another doorway than the one by which they had entered, and turned to Pel. “Have Voloczin reset the chamber for Cardassian weapons,” he whispered. She stayed behind, opening her communicator, as Gaila ushered the minister’s group out.
Brunt tried to smile as the Loyalist group marched toward him, their green armor making them look half naked. “I am Commander Lotral of the Kalanis Defense Arm,” the leader said, also in a femalesounding voice. Somehow this fit with the slightly nude impression given by the color of their armor, and Brunt felt a tiny bit more comfortable.
“I’m Brunt, GIT. Sorry, GAT.”
“G—?”
“Gailtek Armaments and Technologies.” Brunt said. “You’re a little early, but that’s not a problem, is it? The early investor reaps the most interest, after all.”
“Really?”
“Rule of Acquisition number thirty-seven. It’s the code we Ferengi live by.”
“Good for you.” The commander followed Brunt into the corridor. The door to the transporter room had only just closed when Brunt heard the worst sound he could imagine right now: Bijon’s voice, too muffled to make out the words, and the whine of the ship’s transporter. Brunt felt as if the contents of his stomach were about to fall out and go clean through the floor. Thankfully, none of the commander’s group seemed to have heard the sound, and Brunt was grateful that not every species had Ferengi ears or Ferengi hearing. He hastily opened the nearest door, which turned out to be the door to his own quarters. “This is … the executive lounge,” he said hurriedly, and opened up the replicator and bar that were against one wall. “Please make yourselves at home, while I check with my secretary that the display models have been prepared.”
He ducked back out and locked the door, praying that none of the commander’s people would try to leave and find this out. He ran back to the transporter room, and sure enough, a third group of Kalani were just stepping down from the pads. This lot wore a mix of differently colored armor and harness, presumably acquired from wherever they could find them.
“Bijon,” Brunt snapped.
“They were ready,” Bijon said mildly, “so I thought we don’t want to
keep them waiting—”
“Bijon, don’t you know what an appointment is?”
“I’ve never been to … Appointia.” He shrugged.
“Where is Pel?” one of the Kalani demanded. None of them were armed, but they flexed their hands threateningly, and Brunt suddenly saw that the four digits on each hand had extended a thick black claw as long as one of his own fingers.
“Pel is just setting up the display models for you to browse. She sent me to greet you while she finished.”
Wondering whether Bijon even had a share in the profits, of which he could be stripped, Brunt gritted his teeth. “Would you call Pel and ask her to come here, and tell her that—” He looked at the Kalani questioningly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“I don’t know yours either, so we’re even.”
Brunt decided not to bother introducing himself. His former reputation as a Liquidator wouldn’t intimidate them, and he was in no mood to be nice to this one. “That a representative of the Kalani Republican People’s Democratic Front is waiting for her.” Brunt hurried out as Bijon made the call and ran all the way to the dining chamber on the deck above.
Gaila looked around from the head of the table as Brunt came in. “Ah, Brunt, you’re just in time to witness the signing of—” He halted, seeing Brunt’s harried expression. Brunt leaned in close. “They’re all here.”
“What?”
“The Loyalists are in my quarters, under the impression it’s a lounge, and the People’s Front are in the transporter room!”
“How?” Gaila hissed through his suddenly frozen smile.
“That half-Pakled factotum of yours!”
Gaila groaned. “I should have sent one of the Breen to supervise.”
“Who’d have thought operating the transporter was a two-man job?”
“Anyone who knew Bijon.” Gaila sighed. “Is Pel with them?”
“She better be, by now.”
Gaila nodded. “You entertain your group, and let the People’s Front browse the Cardassian products. While the KRPDF are doing that, I’ll escort the minister and her people off the ship. Then Pel can bring them here, and you can sell the Federation weapons to Commander Lotral. There’s no reason any of them should meet up on board.”
It sounded suicidal to Brunt, but he could do nothing else but nod.
Five minutes later, Pel was showing off Cardassian pistols and rifles to the KRPDF, and Brunt was in his suite, insisting on sharing a drink with Lotral. It stung to be so free with his supply. Brunt wasn’t incapable of generosity, but he much preferred it to be in the context of giving a little to recoup a greater return. He forced himself to remember that the sale of Federation phasers to the KDA was a greater return.
When Pel buzzed his communicator to let him know that she had taken the KRPDF contingent to the dining hall, Brunt magnanimously opened the door to his quarters and stepped out, followed by Lotral and her group.
Movement out of the corner of his right eye caught Brunt’s attention, and he tried to look in that direction without turning his head. Three of the minister’s aides were still in the corridor, not yet in the transporter room.
Brunt hastily leapt in front of the door to his quarters, and pointed down the corridor to the left. “Right along there. I mean, not right, straight. Straight along there to your left.” Miraculously the six reptilian soldiers all did as they were bid, without looking the other way along the corridor. Perhaps it was because being soldiers made them more receptive to commands, or maybe it was because the drinks in the impromptu lounge had made them relaxed and suggestible. Brunt hoped it was the latter, as this would make for an easier sale.
Just to be on the safe side, he looked into the demonstration room to be sure that there were none of Pel’s clients still inside. It was unoccupied, the racks and tables filled with Federation phasers of a design a few years old. Relieved, he escorted his charges inside.
Gaila felt a percentage of panic recede as soon as the minister and her entourage had returned to their planet. That was a recession he could appreciate, almost as much as the price they had agreed to pay for a shipment of disruptors. He hurried back to the dining hall to make sure that Pel was still there with the KRPDF group.
She had their leader’s thumb on her padd even as Gaila walked through the door. It was unfortunate that she was now legally allowed to keep some of the profit, but, at the price Gaila was charging, he could afford to indulge her.
He exchanged a few pleasantries with her and the clients, and then went back down to the hall in which Brunt was showing off phasers to Commander Lotral. “Commander!” he exclaimed volubly. “I’m Gaila, president and CEO of Gailtek. Has Brunt been showing you these prime weapons?”
“He has indeed. They are quite fit for our purpose.” And with those words, Gaila knew he had another sale. All three groups would receive their chosen quantity of the specified weapons, and none of them would ever see the weapons they had bought in the hands of any of the other factions. They would never know that they were one of three customers today, or that Gaila, Brunt, and the others had just made three times as much as they had paid.
He barely restrained himself from laughing outright. A short time later, when the last Kalani had returned to their planet, all the Ferengi laughed themselves silly. Lok, the leader of the Breen soldiers on board, and Voloczin, who came to investigate the sound, merely looked at each other.
Eight Months Ago
We’ll celebrate,” Gaila announced brightly one morning as they all took a delicious breakfast in the dining hall. “I’ve had reservations made on Risa for us to unwind after all these negotiations.” It had taken a couple of trips to deliver all the arms ordered to Kalanis Major, but they had completed the delivery with no problems. They had even made a few side deals on the way.
Brunt was happier than he had been in months; he had profit now, and that bought him contacts and information with former colleagues at the FCA. Or, at least, with former subordinates who were still in awe of him. Through them, he could keep his files updated as he planned his eventual triumphant return. Brunt didn’t think much of the idea of wasting their profits at Risa. Who knows where the money spent there actually ended up? Not among Ferengi, that was for sure, and that meant he’d never be able to charge it back someday. He said as much.
“Profits are there to be enjoyed,” Gaila said. “Besides, it’s the best place in the Alpha Quadrant to pick up tips for future ventures, isn’t it? All those people vacationing, drinking, letting themselves go wild … and letting their tongues slip! Their nondisclosure agreements forgotten.” He gave a conspiratorial grin. “Now do you feel the urge—”
“For a celebratory vacation? Now that you mention it, I suppose I do.”
“Good. We also need to invest our profits, and I have no intention of doing so through a former FCA Liquidator. No offense intended.”
“None taken. I don’t trust you either.”
“I don’t imagine any of us are stupid enough to trust any of the others to invest their shares for them,” Gaila said pointedly.
“I don’t mind,” Bijon said.
“I’ll see to yours,” Pel said quickly. Gaila and Brunt both glared at her. A female earning her own profit was bad enough, but tricking a man out of his . . .
“Where’s that Romulan ale?” Gaila asked. “Didn’t I have it opened to breathe?” He looked around the room.
Voloczin blinked his huge eye, slowly and deliberately. “I opened it half an hour ago,” he grated. “Where do you think it is!?” His skin flushed a pastel-blue shade, making Bijon laugh uproariously. It just made Brunt feel that the Golden Handshake’s dining room was colder than it really was.
Lok stomped up behind Gaila, rumbling a question. Gaila waved him away. “Of course you don’t have to accompany us. Remain on board and conduct security drills.”
A few days later, Brunt was sitting on a beach, bored out of his lobes. Water was brushing against sand in an
irritatingly dry atmosphere. It was a nice enough view, if you liked that sort of thing, but it was all free. There was no charge he or anyone could make for it. Even the Risans themselves didn’t charge extra for lodgings in the area.
There were, however, one or two ways in which Brunt was enjoying himself in spite of his disapproval of the Risan way of doing things. He was moderately surprised to find that most females on the planet, of whatever species, went mostly unclothed, as females should.
On the one hand, this meant there were some strange and distressing types of alien flesh on show, but on the other hand, even Pel had changed into a skimpy two-piece affair resembling hew-mon undergarments. Not only did this suit her, but it suggested to Brunt that there was hope for her yet. She could still be persuaded to be like a proper Ferengi female, if the circumstances were right. Brunt himself still wore his hand-tailored suit and latinum around his neck.
Star Trek: Seven Deadly Sins Page 10