Post by Flynt on Jul 2, 2013 17:48:04 GMT
Introduction
My nephew, Drek, son of my late brother Runzu, came to me recently with a suggestion (not to mention the two slip suggestion fee). He asked if I might write my memoirs, following in the footsteps of Grand Nagus Rom, and of course his brother Quark. I guess it's nice to be considered in that company, if only by my nephew. But if he wants to try his hand at publishing for profit, who better to turn to than the family member that he takes after most.
Anyway, I'll be using this log to record anecdotes and events as I think of them. Let an editor figure out the order later.
***
So, recently I was contracted to recover a downed Federation starship, or rather two of three sections of it, as it was one of those multi-vector Cerberus class ships. The ship had been commanded by none other than the fighting Caitian, scourge of the Dominion, Kiso Hsalo. Well when someone of his reputation asks for a deal, you certainly listen (if anything, the reputation is good for at least a 5% increase in mark-ups). The ship had been destroyed in a battle in the Nimbus sector, and the remains crashed on none other than Nimbus Three.
Why Hassan the Unsvelt decided to set his gang up there, I'll never no. The place has never turned a profit for anyone, including those with the same lack of scruples as Hassan. But I digress.
Anyway, the deal was to recover the remains of the alpha and beta sections for the Admiral, and the gamma section was all mine. It was an interesting arrangement to hear, and instantly profitable, Since my salvage contract with the Federation already covers any salvageable material, getting payment from Kiso for what he wants, and then some from Starfleet for the gamma section, it's like pressing latinum!
Finding the remains of a recently crashed ship on Nimbus turned out to be more trouble than what one might expect. Aside from the leftovers of the battle, apparently ships full of desperate people try to get there regularly to escape from some awful situation. Some ships crash because they don't figure out the landscape, others crash after having been tracked and shot down by their pursuers or by the Orions. Eventually, I found it.
My crews went to work right away on the alpha and beta sections, beaming down structural frames for rigging and towing. The work wasn't going to be too bad. We started over to the gamma section to see what was there to recover. Again, it wasn't too mangled or shattered--left a nice long trench actually, and several dozen aehallah worms were clearly smashed on the nose when the ship hit ground.
That's when the situation got strange. A group of people approached from the shadows. They were wearing brown hoods, some had masks that had glowing eyeshields. Some kind of desert face protection thing, I guess. They all had some tools with them which I couldn't recognize, and only a couple had what looked like Starfleet hand phasers. We were on our guard a bit, but I announced boldly that the ship was mine to salvage under contract, and that they were trespassing on my property.
For a second, they chattered in some kind of code, and one started to point his phaser at me. Eventually, one came up to me that I took as the leader. Without wasting any time, she--I assumed it was a she anyway, thanks to the voice, the shape of the outfit, and the fact that they kept calling her "Ootini", a female name if I ever heard one--asked whether the contract was negotiable.
Rule of Acquisition 17: A contract is a contract is a contract, but only between Ferengi. If the remains of the vessel were worth to them than to me and Starfleet, then certainly I have a right to profit from their need.
I said yes, everything is negotiable, save for the phasers being brandished. Ootini seemed to relax her stance and indicated the others should as well. "We are part of a new colony here on Nimbus. The wreckage will be useful to our needs, and may even sustain our growth for several months, if not longer. I'm sure we could come to an agreement that covers any loss on your existing contract."
Without hesitation, I quoted double and a half of what I would get from Starfleet for the ship, an offer that should have anyone moving for a counter-offer.
"That's a lot of latinum. Most of what we have to be honest." Now either Ootini was an Orion or she had worked with Ferengi before, because her voice was so full of syrup at just the right harmonic for the Ferengi ear that most would have traded her the ship for Oomox.
"I understand that miss. However, my cost margins on this trip are substantial," which was the truth. Romulans, imperial or republican, aren't very tolerant of my colleagues and I. I stuck to my guns. She countered with an offer that was essentially equal to my rate with Starfleet. The game was on. I'm sure she was hoping that debating in the desert would wear me out, but we negotiated for at least two hours.
I had just made my final offer at 190% of the Starfleet rate. She was about to counter-offer, I figured 175%, when one of her assistants alerted her to something. Instead of another offer, she turned to me and accepted the deal. About two-thirds of the for the deal latinum was beamed to our site immediately after. Then she gave me a PADD with account information for the rest. (It all turned out to be legit, with some other useful information as well.)
"A pleasure to do business with you. Please feel free to contact me again if you need to."
"We will, Drogo. For now, farewell." And the cloaked figures vanished back into the shadows. We returned to our shuttle and went back to the other salvage sites.
By the end of the week, we were lifting off with our goods and heading back to Starbase 146 with ship in tow. On our ascent, I had the conn take us over the site of the gamma section, just to see if they had started making any changes. I figured they'd start to build a habitation complex or communications outpost. Instead, the ship was gone, as if it had been absorbed by the desert. Even the crash trench was no longer visible. It was the oddest thing I had ever seen, and yet, one of the most fortunate.
After dropping off the ship we salvaged, I went home to Ferenginar and made a pilgrimage to the Sacred Marketplace. After all, some profits merit offering thanks and sharing business with one's peers.
My nephew, Drek, son of my late brother Runzu, came to me recently with a suggestion (not to mention the two slip suggestion fee). He asked if I might write my memoirs, following in the footsteps of Grand Nagus Rom, and of course his brother Quark. I guess it's nice to be considered in that company, if only by my nephew. But if he wants to try his hand at publishing for profit, who better to turn to than the family member that he takes after most.
Anyway, I'll be using this log to record anecdotes and events as I think of them. Let an editor figure out the order later.
***
So, recently I was contracted to recover a downed Federation starship, or rather two of three sections of it, as it was one of those multi-vector Cerberus class ships. The ship had been commanded by none other than the fighting Caitian, scourge of the Dominion, Kiso Hsalo. Well when someone of his reputation asks for a deal, you certainly listen (if anything, the reputation is good for at least a 5% increase in mark-ups). The ship had been destroyed in a battle in the Nimbus sector, and the remains crashed on none other than Nimbus Three.
Why Hassan the Unsvelt decided to set his gang up there, I'll never no. The place has never turned a profit for anyone, including those with the same lack of scruples as Hassan. But I digress.
Anyway, the deal was to recover the remains of the alpha and beta sections for the Admiral, and the gamma section was all mine. It was an interesting arrangement to hear, and instantly profitable, Since my salvage contract with the Federation already covers any salvageable material, getting payment from Kiso for what he wants, and then some from Starfleet for the gamma section, it's like pressing latinum!
Finding the remains of a recently crashed ship on Nimbus turned out to be more trouble than what one might expect. Aside from the leftovers of the battle, apparently ships full of desperate people try to get there regularly to escape from some awful situation. Some ships crash because they don't figure out the landscape, others crash after having been tracked and shot down by their pursuers or by the Orions. Eventually, I found it.
My crews went to work right away on the alpha and beta sections, beaming down structural frames for rigging and towing. The work wasn't going to be too bad. We started over to the gamma section to see what was there to recover. Again, it wasn't too mangled or shattered--left a nice long trench actually, and several dozen aehallah worms were clearly smashed on the nose when the ship hit ground.
That's when the situation got strange. A group of people approached from the shadows. They were wearing brown hoods, some had masks that had glowing eyeshields. Some kind of desert face protection thing, I guess. They all had some tools with them which I couldn't recognize, and only a couple had what looked like Starfleet hand phasers. We were on our guard a bit, but I announced boldly that the ship was mine to salvage under contract, and that they were trespassing on my property.
For a second, they chattered in some kind of code, and one started to point his phaser at me. Eventually, one came up to me that I took as the leader. Without wasting any time, she--I assumed it was a she anyway, thanks to the voice, the shape of the outfit, and the fact that they kept calling her "Ootini", a female name if I ever heard one--asked whether the contract was negotiable.
Rule of Acquisition 17: A contract is a contract is a contract, but only between Ferengi. If the remains of the vessel were worth to them than to me and Starfleet, then certainly I have a right to profit from their need.
I said yes, everything is negotiable, save for the phasers being brandished. Ootini seemed to relax her stance and indicated the others should as well. "We are part of a new colony here on Nimbus. The wreckage will be useful to our needs, and may even sustain our growth for several months, if not longer. I'm sure we could come to an agreement that covers any loss on your existing contract."
Without hesitation, I quoted double and a half of what I would get from Starfleet for the ship, an offer that should have anyone moving for a counter-offer.
"That's a lot of latinum. Most of what we have to be honest." Now either Ootini was an Orion or she had worked with Ferengi before, because her voice was so full of syrup at just the right harmonic for the Ferengi ear that most would have traded her the ship for Oomox.
"I understand that miss. However, my cost margins on this trip are substantial," which was the truth. Romulans, imperial or republican, aren't very tolerant of my colleagues and I. I stuck to my guns. She countered with an offer that was essentially equal to my rate with Starfleet. The game was on. I'm sure she was hoping that debating in the desert would wear me out, but we negotiated for at least two hours.
I had just made my final offer at 190% of the Starfleet rate. She was about to counter-offer, I figured 175%, when one of her assistants alerted her to something. Instead of another offer, she turned to me and accepted the deal. About two-thirds of the for the deal latinum was beamed to our site immediately after. Then she gave me a PADD with account information for the rest. (It all turned out to be legit, with some other useful information as well.)
"A pleasure to do business with you. Please feel free to contact me again if you need to."
"We will, Drogo. For now, farewell." And the cloaked figures vanished back into the shadows. We returned to our shuttle and went back to the other salvage sites.
By the end of the week, we were lifting off with our goods and heading back to Starbase 146 with ship in tow. On our ascent, I had the conn take us over the site of the gamma section, just to see if they had started making any changes. I figured they'd start to build a habitation complex or communications outpost. Instead, the ship was gone, as if it had been absorbed by the desert. Even the crash trench was no longer visible. It was the oddest thing I had ever seen, and yet, one of the most fortunate.
After dropping off the ship we salvaged, I went home to Ferenginar and made a pilgrimage to the Sacred Marketplace. After all, some profits merit offering thanks and sharing business with one's peers.