The Art of the Deal

by Glenn Greenberg

  Gold introduced his team to Portlyn, who happily shook their hands. The captain explained each of their roles in the project: Commander Gomez would oversee the entire operation on the S.C.E. side of things, as the senior officer in charge; Dr. Lense would consult on the construction of the medical facilities; Corsi would do the same with the security systems; Soloman would lead a team in setting up all of the computer systems; and Stevens would help to finalize and install the emergency and damage control functions of all key facilities. Other members of the S.C.E. would beam down the next day to work under these section leaders and take part in the actual building of the various structures, including the main power plant, the central transportation center, and the laboratory complex.

  Portlyn seemed pleased with everything and everyone. He sat back down behind his desk, a beautiful, centuries-old antique made of rich, burgundy-colored Arcturian wood. Atop the desk sat the tycoon’s state-of-the art personal computer system, which had yet to be set up. Puffing on his cigar, he waxed enthusiastic about his joint venture with the United Federation of Planets.

  “I’ve sought this partnership for a long time. I’m looking forward to making it a success for me and for the Federation. I plan for Vemlar to be the capital of my business empire, and I couldn’t be happier that the Starfleet Corps of Engineers is involved in getting things rolling. I’ve long had an admiration for Starfleet and its technical wizards.”

  Seated in the chair closest to Portlyn’s desk, Gold leaned back into the profoundly comfortable cushion behind him. “So, Mr. Portlyn, have you ever done such extensive rebuilding of worlds before?”

  Portlyn’s face broke into a wide grin, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad you asked that question, Captain. But instead of just answering, how about I show you? Allow me to give you and your team a tour of my properties in this system. Once you see what I’ve accomplished, I think you’ll agree that all will benefit from my purchase of Vemlar.”

  Gold was intrigued, and he saw from the looks on his away team’s faces that they shared his curiosity.

  “We’ll take you up on your offer, Mr. Portlyn. Shall we beam up to the da Vinci?”

  Portlyn waved him off with a chuckle. “No need, Captain. I’ll bring all of you aboard my yacht. Let’s do it in style. A nice little cruise around the Norvel system. Once we’re done, I think you’ll see why this region of space has been nicknamed ‘The Corporate Corridor.’”

  Chapter

  2

  Domenica Corsi had to admit it: she was impressed. Aboard Portlyn’s streamlined, luxurious space yacht, Corsi and the rest of the da Vinci away team were treated to a guided tour of the Norvel system and the various properties owned and operated by Portlyn, hosted by the tycoon himself.

  As the yacht made its way to the core of the system, the da Vinci crew members were shown several planetoids that, under Portlyn’s guidance, were transformed from moderately developed, underdeveloped, or totally undeveloped worlds into fully operational chemical plants, computer manufacturing factories, dilithium cracking stations, and uridium processing centers. They also saw asteroids that had become mining colonies and reliable sources of various desirable minerals and metals. One of the system’s larger planets, Creccus, housed Portlyn’s shipbuilding facilities. Another planet, called Jemada, served as the location for a continent-size shopping mall and a family-oriented amusement park.

  Seeing what Portlyn had accomplished, Corsi could not help but think of her father and his beloved freighter business on Fahleena III. She reflected on how hard he had to work even now to keep it a success, how tiny and fragile it seemed next to Portlyn’s thriving empire.

  Finally, the yacht turned and began making its way back to Vemlar and the da Vinci. The conversation turned to the S.C.E.’s role in the construction project, which would begin in earnest the next day. Gomez, Lense, Corsi, and the other team leaders would beam down first thing in the morning with their various subordinates. The da Vinci would remain in orbit around Vemlar until the project was completed.

  Corsi noted that Captain Gold and Portlyn had established a friendly rapport in the short time they were together. It made sense—both men were in important positions of power and authority, with many people working under them who depended on their leadership abilities. And Captain Gold obviously felt comfortable among people of Portlyn’s social status, given his past involvement with that woman, Patrice Bennett. Corsi briefly wondered about the exact nature of that involvement, before getting her thoughts back on track and deciding that the captain’s rapport with Portlyn would certainly make the project run more smoothly. Corsi stood nearby as the captain and the tycoon, each holding a glass of Saurian brandy, engaged in conversation as they looked out at the stars through one of the yacht’s large windows.

  “This won’t be the most glamorous or exciting assignment for you, will it, Captain?” Portlyn asked good-naturedly.

  “They can’t all be life-and-death missions to save the universe,” Gold replied with a grin. “Besides, our voyages are usually more about investigation and problem solving anyway. But we’re proud of the part we play in the grand scheme of things.”

  “As well you should be, Captain. I was quite happy when Admiral Adair made sure you were assigned to this project. Ian and I go way back, as you may know, and I must admit to having pulled a string or two to get the best engineering crew in Starfleet out here.”

  Pays to have friends in high places, Corsi thought. She heard the captain reply simply, “We appreciate your confidence in us.”

  The conversation turned to the subject of the yacht they were aboard. Gold mentioned that he admired the vessel, and Portlyn replied by telling Gold how much he paid for it, and for the five others he owned.

  Corsi, remaining a silent bystander and following the conversation between the two men, noticed that Portlyn had a tendency to attach a price tag to nearly everything he talked about. She found that somewhat off-putting. Corsi doubted she would ever be completely comfortable around someone like Portlyn, who had no qualms whatsoever about showing off his vast wealth, power, and influence to anyone and everyone. His aggressive capitalism and naked materialism reminded her too much of the Ferengi, and that put a bad taste in her mouth. But Corsi accepted this as her own shortcoming—it certainly wasn’t Portlyn’s problem. She knew she’d just have to accept that Portlyn was someone who seemed to subscribe to an old saying she’d heard over the years: “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

  By the time Portlyn’s yacht returned to Vemlar, it was already local nighttime. Corsi was relieved that the tour was finally over. Portlyn had proved to be a gracious host, but she was anxious to get back to the da Vinci, devote some time to preparing for the next day’s activities, and get a good night’s sleep.

  She knew that not all of her crewmates felt as she did. Her close friend and occasional lover, Fabian Stevens (one of these days, they’d figure out exactly what they were to each other), thoroughly enjoyed himself and was disappointed that his time aboard the luxury craft had come to an end.

  “And I thought the Nagus was a beaut,” he’d said to Corsi, referring to the luxury ship recently purchased by da Vinci conn officer Songmin Wong. “But the impulse engines on this baby are so state-of-the-art, they’re not even available to the general public yet! And the leather on the seats—it’s from Sarpeidon! You know how rare Sarpeidon leather is? Their sun went nova a hundred years ago!”

  Corsi, not wishing to trample on his enthusiasm, simply smiled and nodded as Stevens went on—and on. About the gracefulness of the vessel’s overall design, the quality of the warp core, and even the wood that the bar in the main lounge was made of. She just hoped his eagerness to point out every edge that Portlyn’s ship had over Wong’s would give out before her patience did.

  Standing together in the yacht’s main lounge, Gold and his team wished Portlyn a good night as they were caught up in the da Vinci’s transporter beams and brought back to the starship.

>   “Quite an operation Mr. Portlyn has out here,” Gold commented as he stepped down from the transporter platform.

  “‘The Corporate Corridor’ is a very appropriate nickname,” Gomez said.

  The group exited the transporter room and walked down the corridor together toward the nearest turbolift.

  “Portlyn’s quite a character,” Lense said with an amused tone in her voice. “Very…larger than life.”

  Gold nodded and replied, “He would have fit in very well on Earth a few hundred years ago, when ‘Big Business’ dominated and wealthy tycoons were the major driving forces around the world.”

  Corsi privately wondered if those old-time tycoons were as enamored of their own wealth and material possessions as Portlyn was of his.

  “I was most intrigued by the methods by which his computers are manufactured, and how their standard systems are set up,” Soloman commented, obviously enthused about his upcoming responsibilities on Vemlar. “It will be an engaging exercise, getting our systems to fully integrate with his.”

  They arrived at the turbolift and stepped through the open doors. As the doors closed and the lift began moving, Corsi turned to Gold and asked him point-blank, “So, what’s the story between you and Patrice Bennett?”

  If Gold was at all surprised or uncomfortable by being put on the spot, he didn’t show it. No doubt he was used to the security chief’s forthrightness by now, and maybe even expected the question to come up eventually.

  He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Okay, we dated, as you probably surmised. It was a long time ago. We were kids, really. I was in my early days at Starfleet Academy; she was attending Stamford University. It was…very nice.” A gentle smile appeared on his face.

  The smile seemed to turn wistful as he continued. “But we drifted apart. Patrice found that she had a real head for business and finance, and that took up most of her time. And I eventually came to realize that I needed to be with someone a bit more…spiritual.”

  “So you married a rabbi,” Lense said.

  Gold shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. “Hey, if you’re going to aim, aim high.”

  With that, the doors to the lift opened and Gold stepped out. “My stop—and just in time. Good night, all. Get some rest, tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  The doors closed and the lift started moving again. The remaining occupants rode in silence. Gomez, Lense, Stevens, and Soloman cast long glances over at Corsi.

  “What are you all gawking at?” the security chief finally blurted out. “You all wanted to know just as much as I did.”

  After a brief moment, they shrugged their shoulders, smiled sheepishly, and nodded their heads in agreement.

  Chapter

  3

  From what Corsi could tell, things were going well on the S.C.E.’s first day as part of the Vemlar development team. As security chief, it was her responsibility to know the whereabouts and activities of everyone from the ship who was down on the planet, on top of her own responsibilities to the project.

  She knew that first thing that morning, the S.C.E.’s structural engineering specialist, the eight-limbed Nasat named P8 Blue (informally known as “Pattie”), had a meeting with Portlyn’s designers and construction team. They were discussing ways in which the building being constructed to house the main power generator could be extra-reinforced, in the unlikely event of a major systems overload.

  Elsewhere, da Vinci cultural specialist Carol Abramowitz met with the leading citizens of the native Vemlarite population to determine what cultural barriers, if any, needed to be addressed to ensure that cooperation and harmony among all parties were maintained. Although Vemlar was being transformed from a farm world into something entirely different, its native inhabitants were still an important part of the planet and its future. The Vemlarites were all farmers who sold their land to Rod Portlyn and were now employed by the tycoon in various capacities, particularly as construction crews, food service workers, and sanitation teams.

  The fact that everything seemed to be going smoothly was satisfying to Corsi, even if she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the mission itself.

  Corsi didn’t know exactly why she had such a prejudice against Portlyn. Clearly he had worked hard for his success, and she respected him for that. He possessed a great deal of personal charm, even if she found him to be insufferably materialistic. But there was something about him and his empire that made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fact that this tycoon, who had always operated outside of the Federation and made a point of the fact that he owed allegiance to no one but himself, wielded such power and influence and had connections to certain higher-ups at Starfleet and within the Federation government. Striking a deal with the Federation allowed Portlyn, in Corsi’s view, to use that power and influence to suit his own needs and involve Starfleet personnel—specifically the crew of the da Vinci—while he was at it.

  But Corsi was nothing if not a consummate professional, and she would not let her feelings get in the way of the job.

  At lunchtime, she caught up with Gomez, Abramowitz, Soloman, and P8 Blue, who were sitting at a table at a makeshift outdoor cafeteria near the site of the main headquarters. Blue, of course, was seated in a special chair designed for her insectoid body structure.

  Corsi caught the tail end of Blue’s status report as she plopped down on the bench next to Soloman.

  “Mr. Portlyn’s engineers seemed receptive to my suggestions,” the Nasat was saying. “Best of all, they told me that my ideas could easily be incorporated into the plans, even though construction on the building began today. They assured me it was not too late.”

  “Excellent,” Gomez responded. “Thank you very much, Pattie.”

  Blue bowed her head humbly.

  Gomez then turned her attention to Soloman. “So how goes getting this place online?”

  “It is going quite well,” the Bynar answered brightly. “We had to start with Mr. Portlyn’s personal system.”

  “Yes, he gets first dibs on everything around here, doesn’t he?” Gomez interjected with a mischievous smirk.

  “Rank has its privileges,” Corsi replied as she unwrapped a baked Altairian dogfish sandwich and opened the lid of a cup containing iced coffee, which she’d brought down from the ship.

  “Most of the morning was dedicated to Mr. Portlyn’s system,” Soloman continued, unfazed by the interruption. “Mr. Portlyn’s computer connects to the main network, but it also has a separate, exclusive system, strictly for his use, and he wanted access to that as soon as possible. It took some time to get it running, but now that we have, he seems very pleased. We are now working on setting up the main network.”

  Gomez nodded. “How long do you think that’ll take?”

  “The initial stages should be done by the end of the day. The most crucial parts of the network should be accessible, at least in a limited capacity, at that point. Tomorrow, we will begin working on all the other computers and getting them to interface with our software.”

  “That’s great! Good work,” Gomez told him enthusiastically. He gave her an appreciative nod.

  Corsi saw that they were being joined by a new arrival: a middle-aged, male Vemlarite, with the pale orange skin and small, round, pitch-black eyes of that species. He was dressed in dark blue construction coveralls. Abramowitz introduced him as Delfo, one of the Vemlarites’ leading citizens. He sat down at the table, pulled a meat-filled sandwich out of a tan-colored paper sack, and ate with them.

  “So what made you all decide to sell your land to Portlyn?” Corsi asked Delfo after several minutes of casual conversation. She was genuinely curious about how the tycoon managed to convince the Vemlarites to sell out to him. She then chuckled. “What did he do, hold your families prisoner till you signed the real estate over to him?”

  She thought Delfo would understand that she was only kidding around, but his face remained impassive.

  “You might want to be more careful what y
ou say about Rod Portlyn around here, ma’am,” he told her, looking around at the various Vemlarites and Portlyn employees passing by. “He’s got a lot of admirers here, including me, and comments like that could be mis-interpreted.”

  Corsi wasn’t sure what to say. She certainly did not share Delfo’s high regard for Portlyn, but she immediately regretted offending the Vemlarite. She hoped Delfo was not so offended that whatever cultural bridges Abramowitz established had not just been irreparably burned.

  “I’m sorry,” Corsi told him. “I was just trying to make a joke.”

  Abramowitz then stepped in, trying to smooth things over with a smile that Corsi recognized as desperately upbeat. “Sometimes we humans forget that not every species in the galaxy shares our peculiar sense of humor.”

  Delfo shook his head. “No harm done. Just a little friendly advice. To answer your question about why we sold our farms—we didn’t have much of a choice. Not long ago, the soil on Vemlar became infertile, totally incapable of growing any more of our crops. All of a sudden, the land was just…barren. You have to understand—our farms had been our lives, and our livelihoods, for…well, I don’t know how many generations. And now they were useless. After that, we just started sinking into poverty. We became desperate.”

  Delfo paused for a moment, and though his face remained expressionless, Corsi could tell that he was silently reliving that dark period. Finally, he continued.

  “Luckily, Mr. Portlyn came along with a very generous offer to each and every one of us, to buy our land. And he offered to keep us all on, give us jobs helping him build this place up. And once that’s done, he’s promised us steady work helping him to keep things running day to day. It was the best solution we could get, and he made it possible.” Delfo then looked Corsi squarely in the eyes and told her, “Rod Portlyn’s a hero and a savior in my book, and most other folks here feel the same way.” He then went back to his sandwich and ate in silence.