March 2007 - Post Selection (2)

ON : Back-up Plans

Day: 17 - Time: 20.00 - Scene: Starbase Dyermia IV

There was nothing like the contentment of feeling well inspired, Trok (npc) reflected silently. He knew that the time to take his revenge on the starbase's largest casino had finally come. When he had walked in front of it, some three hours earlier, he had had an instant gut feeling that it was his moment to reap riches. It was the type of thing only a Ferengi could understand, and the proof of his instinct laid proudly in front of him : four high towers of chips, marking him as a definite winner.

There was no doubt that these plastic chips provided him with much comfort, but it was mainly in the eyes of the other players, and the envy he could read into them, that he truly felt like a wealthy man.

Trok rejected the insistent offer from the croupier for a new game and went to the reception to exchange the chips for real money. The woman behind the desk was as charming as any hewmon can be, her face painted with lipstick and eyeliner, but he didn't let that fool him. He insisted on being paid in latinum bars and not the credits that she seemed to favour. Credits had always felt like toy money to him, while with latinum it was real, and at least you could feel the weigh of your wealth!

Once this task was done, he went to the First Federation Bank, further along on the Main Promenade, walking as nonchalantly as possible for a Ferengi. He couldn't afford to attract any attention, and besides, he knew how the security tended to operate on such Starbases: They often had the reflex to think that a Ferengi running away was guilty of something. A bit like it was forbidden to do one's shopping in a hurry or something...

After his stop at the bank, he consulted the starbase's map, available for everyone to see at various locations on the promenade, and chose a restaurant for his evening meal. He opted for an establishment called "Quatrefoil's Star", which praised itself for its multi-cultured menu. It was the ideal place not to see too many hewmons.

He ordered the most lavish meal he could find on the menu (stardrifter, slug liver with lokar beans, and a snail torte) and waited for it with a grin which, try as he may, he couldn't suppress. He was where he had always knew he would be. From now on, the universe was his only real limit. But, he scolded himself, he had to be reasonable. He needed to invest his money in solid shares, rather than to spend it all at once. This didn't mean of course that he couldn't indulge himself here and there. He now had a position in life to maintain.

He was contemplating whether or not he should leave the confines of the Dark Matter lounge, when a shadow appeared at his side. At first he thought that it was the Denobulian waiter who had taken his order earlier on, but the figure he saw instead made him lose his smile instantly.

"Are you out of your mind, professor Dellaert (npc)?!" He asked in what was meant to be a whisper but came out a tad too loud. "You know very well that we must never be seen together!"

The old professor sat in front of him all the same, with a bitter smile on his face. "I have just had the privilege to speak with Cmdr Vahl," he said, putting his elbow on the table. "To use an old Terran image, the shit has hit the fan, Mister Trok. She found out that I tried to blackmail Craig with a certain picture... and you have to admit, it is pointless to lie to a Betazoid."

Trok looked appalled at his interlocutor. He wouldn't have felt worse had he eaten a full bucket of ashes. Without surprise Dellaert was amused by his reaction, and carried on:

"But, fear not my friend, I have not mentioned your name. What was there to gain in that?" He asked with a casual shrug. "If both of us were to leave the DM, Craig would be the big winner of the day. We can't have that, can we?"

Trok tried to swallow, but he couldn't. His mouth was absolutely dry. "You have been asked to leave the DM?" he managed to croak.

"It was either that or being humiliated through some reprimand. I am not opening my mind to any Counsellor, this especially when they happen to be Vulcans! But you Trok, are safe, and I count on you to be a pain in the proverbial ass for dear Craig. It's a role where you have always excelled, and I know I can count on you."

For a fraction of a second Trok considered telling him that he had in fact envisaged leaving the lounge, but Dellaert's unnerving eyes, convinced him that this would be a mistake. "I will do my best," he heard himself say, without thinking a word of it. He also wanted to ask the professor why he was so obsessed with Craig, but the old hewmon got up. An action perhaps triggered by the arrival of his Ferengi food. Few aliens appreciated its strong aroma.

"I'm sure we will have the opportunity to meet gain," Dellaert told him, "since I'm staying on this starbase."

Not wanting to look bad in front of the waiter, Trok bid a polite farewell to Dellaert and then pretended to focus on his food. No matter what his next step would be, he needed a back-up plan, or even better, several of them, just to be sure..!

OFF :

Bartender Trok (npc), written by:

June Craig
Lounge Manager
USS Dark Matter