Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins

by Dayton Ward

  “Perhaps among other races,” the guide said. “It’s true that Urwyzden civilization was ancient before it progressed enough to discover space travel. This is in comparison to other species’ development, but we could point out that several civilizations had risen and fallen on, say, Earth, before space travel was discovered there. Only one civilization rose here, and it never fell. But, when the time was right, we did develop the technology, and colonized the other Class-M planets in the system.” The guide smiled, showing tiny teeth. “It is true, as you said, that necessity is the mother of invention, but there are other necessities. When we needed space travel, it was invented. But we never needed to kill ourselves to do so.”

  On their way back to the spaceport, Brunt and Gaila passed every kind of expensive luxury transport. It was said that some bankers had private homes on floating mountains tipped upside down and supported over the oceans by massive gravity lifters. A quick call to the Golden Handshake, and the download of some imagery from orbit showed that this was true.

  “This is the richest system I’ve ever seen,” Gaila said hungrily. “They could afford to pay top prices for any weapons systems imaginable.”

  “If only they had a need for them,” Brunt pointed out.

  “I can’t believe for a moment that any civilization, let alone one that is so steeped in finance and brokering, could have no use for weaponry. There must be some people out there who want to deprive them of all those funds in all those currencies.”

  “People other than us, you mean?”

  “Exactly. And I don’t mean businessmen either. There must be robbers and pirates who know about this place. If even hew-mons on Risa know about it, the Orions must.”

  “They have never had a war,” Brunt said, thinking aloud, “but war and protection are different things. Urwyzden must have a use for defensive and security weapons systems to protect their financial complex from ordinary criminals, surely?”

  “Let’s find out,” Gaila suggested. “I’ve arranged a nice, quiet meeting with very discreet representatives of the Urwyzden Confederacy’s government.”

  The Urwyzden government people were a trio of almost identical middle-aged officials in the latest funereal fashions, with black suits and high collars.

  They were meeting with the Ferengi in a very old gaming club built into the side of a mountain. The carpets had borne the footfalls of centuries, and ancient clocks ticked and occasionally sang creakily in the darkest corners of the room. “What you have heard is true,” the Minister of the Interior was saying. “We have never had need of weapons. We maintain an attitude of strict neutrality, even with the Romulans, the former Dominion . . .”

  Brunt looked sidelong at them. It was almost inconceivable that a place so steeped in money and profit could be forever unmolested. War was rare in the Ferengi Alliance, but it had been known, and surely there were criminal elements who would find the Urwyzden’s vaults and information far too valuable to be unattractive.

  “But what about Orion pirates? The Korth? These worlds of yours are such ripe targets for robbers and raiders . . .”

  The minister’s gnarled features twisted and flowed into what passed for an Urwyzden smile. “Without naming names, gentlemen, I suspect that you will find that many of the backers and investors in such … entrepreneurial endeavors trust the Urwyzden fiscal system to ensure that their own assets remain liquid without any outside interference.”

  “You mean the Orion Syndicate—”

  “The what? I’m sorry, I must have misheard; for a moment I thought you were about to suggest that a purely fictional organization of doubtful integrity really existed.”

  “Orions in general then . . .”

  “It’s certainly the case that a number of Orion conglomerates place funds in escrow with us. I believe they prefer the convenience of not having to wait for Federation bureaucrats to go through the motions as they would, say, with the Bank of Bolius. We can facilitate that.”

  “And what about those races with a lust for conquest instead of profit?” Brunt asked.

  “A race that was truly geared for conquest—say, the way the Cardassians were a few decades ago—would be so geared for war that, yes, they would conquer us easily. But the other races, who would then be left in difficult circumstances, would, I’m sure, find it in their interest to make things right.” The minister’s smile widened. Brunt felt the opportunity slip from his grasp, and he could see the same reaction reflected in Gaila’s expression. Then the minister blinked slowly. “Nevertheless, you do bring up an interesting point, and it has been considered in the recent past—what with the Dominion War and the Borg invasion—that some orbital defense platforms would be a wise investment. These would allow … others time to recognize the importance of their decision . . .”

  “Oddly enough,” Gaila said quickly, “orbital defense drones are Gailtek’s specialty.”

  “Oddly enough, I thought they might be.”

  Within the hour, Gaila had sealed a deal to supply the three Urwyzden planets with orbital drone networks. He was good, Brunt thought with grudging admiration. He hadn’t even noticed when Gaila passed the minister the bribe.

  Once back aboard the Golden Handshake, Gaila had Pel take the ship off to the vicinity of his old moon, claiming that he could pick up the orbital drones there, among other things. At first, the crew were delighted with the news of a decent sale, but Brunt could only see the downside: “It’s a good sale, but a one-off,” he said. “We need a regular source of capital that offers good dividends. Profit is for life, not just for a holiday.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Gaila agreed. “That’s one of the reasons I brought you onto our team. You think like a profit machine. You’re smart.”

  “Perhaps if we introduced deliberate flaws into the drone software, forcing the Urwyzden to continually purchase updates—”

  “An excellent idea, but somewhat limited to a minor product line.” Gaila paced around the bridge. “But you inspire me, Brunt! You inspire me … Now … There are three planets: Urwyzden Alpha, Beta, and Gamma.”

  “Three planets, three opportunities.”

  “Yes … But not for defense against outside attackers.” Brunt wondered where this was leading, and felt that Gaila’s speech was sounding a little more rehearsed than it should for a sudden, budding idea. “What if the Urwyzden planets fought among themselves,” Gaila began, “for political control of the fiscal services? There’d be potential for massive profit then, all of which would need to be banked somewhere … else.”

  “Then there might be a demand for regular weapons shipments—”

  “Might?! It would be a profit farm! An ongoing struggle, kept at just the right level, would make for a perfect regular income.”

  “Regular.” Brunt shivered with anticipation at the thought.

  “And if we could then control the level of product use—limit the amount of charge a weapon could hold, even the means by which it is used—we could have a going monopoly. Our own private war.”

  “How much more profitable could we get? It would be a big, ongoing job, with plenty of up-front investment needed.”

  “I know just the people,” Gaila said, and Brunt wondered how long it would be before he finally got used to hearing Gaila say that.

  Brunt was less annoyed to be back at Risa than he had been to visit it before. Partly it was the thought of Pel properly undressed, and partly it was because this time he and Gaila were visiting a Tongo parlor inland.

  They had both played well, ending up as the last two players in the game they had joined, and walked away with three times as much latinum as they had originally bought in with. “My lucky number,” Gaila had reminded Brunt, when the subject was raised.

  After a long and satisfying game, they had retired to a holosuite to relax. The setting was ancient Ferenginar, and there were mud baths and all the finest food they could eat. “I thought we were supposed to be meeting your so-called business contacts,
” Brunt said.

  “This is where they said to meet. They didn’t say we should starve ourselves or sit like Bajoran prylars while we wait.”

  “Good.” It wasn’t long before two stunning Ferengi females approached Brunt and Gaila. They were as naked as the most traditionalist Ferengi female, and moved as seductively as the most alluring Risan hostess. It was a heady mixture, and Brunt found himself almost having to gasp for breath. Gaila sat up from his lounger, his eyes almost bulging out of his skull in some attempt to reach the females before the rest of him.

  “What are the two most interesting arrivals to Risa in weeks doing playing around with holograms?” the first one asked. She sat beside Brunt, laying the softest, smoothest fingertips on the edge of his right ear.

  The second female took Gaila’s hand in hers, guiding it toward her own ear. “Especially when there are real females who’ve been waiting here for you.”

  “That depends—” Gaila squeaked, then cleared his throat and spoke more normally. “That depends on the rates of remuneration for … for . . .”

  “Why? Aren’t you looking for something to invest your profits in?” the first female asked. “You’re businessmen, by the look of you, and with the lobes for success.”

  “We are,” Brunt agreed, “but a successful businessman always looks for an investment that promises good returns.”

  “Oh, we can guarantee that.” She tugged on Brunt’s wrist, and he found himself rising to his feet and following her. Gaila was doing likewise. “Returns and highly favorable bonuses.” The two females led them appreciatively and expectantly toward the exit, but before they got there, they stopped. “Oh, there is just one other thing.”

  “What’s that?” Gaila asked impatiently.

  “This.” The female with Gaila did something Brunt had never seen a Ferengi do before: the Vulcan nerve pinch. He was so stunned to see Gaila fall that he didn’t realize the same was happening to him. Then everything went black.

  The blackness came and went a few times. Brunt felt himself return woozily to consciousness, and realized that he was being carried by burly men wearing gauntlets. Then there was the searing electric buzz of a neural stunner, and more blackness. He thought he felt the tingle of a transporter beam at one point, then came around as he was slammed roughly against a wall. Gaila was pushed in with him, and the two were squashed uncomfortably into a cramped space. Brunt could hardly breathe for Gaila’s weight against him.

  Everything went black yet again. Brunt was almost getting used to it. He could feel movement, and was sure they were on board a ship in flight. After an hour or two, he felt a vibration through the walls and floor, and knew the ship had docked. The vibration felt the way he imagined a disruptor blast would feel, and he fully expected to be proved right at any moment, because people didn’t knock you unconscious, kidnap you, and stuff you into access panels just to give you a rebate.

  The access panel was removed and allowed to clank onto the floor, and blinding light flooded in. Strong pairs of hands grabbed Brunt and Gaila by the lobes and dragged them out into the companionway, and then out of the ship altogether. On legs turned to jelly by the sensations coursing through their nervous systems from the painful grips on such sensitive areas, Brunt and Gaila were frog-marched through the main lounge of a private yacht. All the viewports were black with privacy filters, and a force field shimmered slightly just inside.

  The lounge was filled with low tables covered in goblets of the finest slug juice, and platters of plump tube grubs. “Here’s an irony,” the thin-faced Ferengi sitting opposite them said cheerily. The thugs who had brought in Brunt and Gaila shoved drinks into their hands and forced them to sit in comfortable chairs. Perversely, this made the chairs uncomfortable. “A stalwart agent—no, actually more of a fixture, like the furniture—of the FCA now comes to me looking for help—”

  “I do?” Brunt yelped. “I mean, I do, sir . . .”

  “You don’t know who I am, do you?” He pinched his almost long nose between finger and thumb, stroking it. “Not a clue?”

  “You’re … Gaila’s contact?”

  “Well … yes and no. Actually, Gaila’s contact couldn’t make it tonight; he was unavoidably detained for the rest of his life.” Gaila paled, and Brunt swallowed, feeling a sudden near-fatal chill. “Ah, don’t be like that, boys; life for him was only a couple of minutes. Now, the most important thing is that all his projects, shall we say, passed on to me. You got me?”

  “You?” Gaila managed to say at last.

  “All right, let me introduce myself. I am Daimon Blud. And don’t make any fancy remarks about how that sounds compared to a similar word in Federation Standard.”

  “Blud?” Brunt echoed. “The head of the Shadow Treasurers?”

  Blud nodded gracefully, and Brunt was even more certain that he and Gaila were about to die horribly. The Shadow Treasurers were the bane of the FCA, even more so than Quark and his ilk. They were an organized gang of offworld bankers, thieves, money launderers—the underworld. Brunt couldn’t help the snarl of disgust that twisted his face. “If I was still in the FCA . . .”

  “You’d have been left outside the ship,” Blud said. “You still might be, if I think you are still with the FCA.” He clapped his hands once. “You’re not drinking, I see. Are you trying to insult me? It’s not poisoned, I assure you. If I want you dead, my boys will blow your heads off. Poison’s too unreliable.” He added, more conversationally, “You never know if someone’s inoculated or immune, or what. A good point-blank disruptor blast to the head is really the only way to be sure.” He indicated that they should drink up.

  “Now, what does a treasurer do?” Brunt and Gaila exchanged a look, each mentally willing the other not to use words like terrorize, blackmail, or murder. “Looks after latinum,” Blud said. “Banks it, invests, borrows, lends, and so on.” He pointed at them. “That’s why I’ve allowed you to come here. I’ve thought about your plan, Gaila, and it’s interesting.”

  Gaila brightened immediately, though Brunt could still smell the stink of fear on him. Brunt decided that Gaila would tell Blud whatever he thought Blud wanted to hear. He doubted that he himself would do any differently; imminent death had that effect on most Ferengi.

  “You see, like yourselves, we—I mean, my friends and I—have had our disagreements with those irritating creatures who inhabit the Urwyzden system.” He took a sip of his drink. “Oh, wait, I’m sorry, did I say ’disagreements with irritating creatures’? I’m always doing that.” He laughed lightly. “I meant to say that the sooner those SOUL-SUCKING MOTHER-CREDITORS ARE ALL DISEMBOWELED AND SERVED TO THE SLUG FARMS, THE HAPPIER I’LL BE!” He took a long, shuddering breath, and a drink to soothe his undoubtedly strained throat. “Sorry.”

  Brunt’s ears were still ringing, but he knew better than to be less than respectful to someone who could kill him—or worse, bankrupt him—on a whim. “You are clearly a man of great feeling.”

  “That he is,” Gaila agreed. “And it’s so understandable.”

  “We have had dealings with the Urwyzden before,” Blud admitted. “Well, when I say ’had dealings,’ I mean we’ve offered to have dealings with them, and they’ve replied by insulting me. I sent the prime ministers of all three planets a hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum each. They sent it back. I killed their best friends, and they actually had the gall to complain to Grand Nagus Zek. This was a couple of years ago.

  “So, if you’re going to make a profit out of them, I’m willing to invest, for a forty percent cut of the dividends.” Blud held up a hand to stave off any haggling. “Don’t try to negotiate. I like you, and I hate having to disembowel people I like. But it doesn’t stop me doing so.”

  “Forty percent,” Gaila echoed, mortified.

  “I’m glad you agree. Now, enjoy your drinks, and then go and show those twisted little dwarves what a real financial power can do. We’ll teach them a lesson about messing with the Ferengi!”

  Fiv
e Months Ago

  The same procedure as at Kalanis Major?” Brunt asked.

  “Same procedure as every deal,” Gaila confirmed. Daimon Blud had arranged the rental—at a surprisingly reasonable rate—of a holoship, a vessel dedicated to holosuites for training purposes. This smaller vessel had been slaved to the Golden Handshake’s helm. Brunt and Gaila walked through the empty holodecks. “The prime ministers of Urwyzden Alpha, Beta, and Gamma will be brought here in that order. They’ve already had deliveries of their drones, but we can use an inspection tour for each as an excuse to make our pitches.”

  “Let’s hope Bijon knows to wait between appointments this time.”

  “Just to be sure,” Gaila said grimly, “I’ve made the arrangements for three different days. And to be doubly sure, one of Lok’s troops will beam them directly to the holoship.”

  As they walked, Voloczin stretched his tentacles down and descended from the hologrid. “How does it look?” Gaila asked.

  “Like gold-pressed latinum,” Voloczin said cheerily. “All the goodies on offer to each bunch are detectable by sensors we can sell to the other. I gave each planet’s gear a different casing and color.”

  “Perfect. Let’s do it.”

  “I think I’ll stay a moment,” Brunt said, “and get a feel for our products.”

  “You’ll enjoy them, I’m sure,” Gaila promised. With that, he called back to Lok, and he and Voloczin beamed away.

  Left alone, Brunt selected a Klingon disruptor and hefted it. The last time he had held a weapon in anger, things had not gone well. There had been Jem’Hadar then, and a Vorta, and he had intended to fight. Well, more accurately he had intended to escape, but if that meant shooting a few Jem’Hadar, then that was what he would have had to do.

  It had all been the fault of Quark’s family, of course. His mother had let herself get captured by the Dominion, and Brunt had been willing to help rescue her for a share of fifty bars of gold-pressed latinum. Except that this had been on Quark’s promise, and that was hardly trustworthy. It had even been Quark’s fault that Brunt’s own star had sunk so low that he had had to accept such a demeaning job just to hope to earn some profit.