Traan had stopped by a new establishment that he had seen open up recently on his way back to the Shipyard after his lunch break. As he perused the items on sale at the new Emporium, he saw a Ferengi approach.
“Are you the proprietor by chance?” The tall Andorian asked.
Renak’s ears perked slightly. “Why, yes, matter of fact, I am, how can I be of service?” Renak replied.
“Hi, I’m Traan, I help run the shipyard here on the station. How much for the Chrysalian Ground Peppers there? Do you sell it by the gram?” Traan asked as was looking at a large display case with several rare spices and garnishes from all over the quadrant.
Renak’s face brightened imperceptibly at the mention of the shipyard.
The shipyard.
He had met someone who might actually know something.
“Oh.” Renak nodded sagely. “Well then you must be the man who keeps Starbase Bravo’s vessels soaring. Pleasure to meet you Mister Traan.”
He walked around to the spice racks and gingerly picked up one of the crystal jars containing a deep red powder. Opening the lid he took care not to release more than a teasing whiff of the sweet, smoky scent hidden within before snapping it shut once more.
“Pure Chrysalian Ground Peppers.” He announced with a hint of pride in his voice. “Handpicked during Chrysalia’s brief harvest window and dried in the heat of its binary suns. They’re favored by chefs because such a small amount carries so much flavor. Just a pinch can take an average meal and make it extraordinary.”
Renak nodded as if this fact was common knowledge.
“I’m sure you charge a premium then.”
“I typically charge five latinum strips per gram.”
He hesitated for a beat.
“But then again I believe first impressions are just as important as first profits.” He grinned.
Renak’s ears flicked.
“For someone who obviously deals with businessmen- and who I’m sure keeps hardworking businessmen like myself sailing through the spacelanes-I would be pleased to offer you three strips per gram.”
“in that case, I’ll take five. I can’t offer you an immediate quid pro quo, or legally accept a bribe, but I appreciate the gesture, and will reciprocate if the opportunity arises.” Traan said as he looked over his shoulder as he heard two of the stations crew seated on a bench having a loud, animated, obviously drunken conversation
Renaks gaze flicked up to Traan’s uniform and the rank pips of a a Lieutenant Commander for a second before returning to the spices, and recognized that the Andorian was likely reasonably high placed in the Shipyards hierarchy.
“Operating a shipyard seems… comparable to running a successful business.”
Renak snorted.
“One where everyone notices when you slip up.”
“Yet no one’s around to congratulate you-”
He held up both hands with a wry grin.
“When everything goes according to plan.” Traan completed the phrase for him.
Renak slouched against the counter behind him.
“Well Mister Traan. How did you find yourself in charge of one of Starfleet’s busiest shipyards?”
Renak could tell Traan was serious.
“Cursed myself to a series of promotions because apparently I gave some people the impression that I was competent and capable enough to pile more responsibility onto. I’m not solely in charge of the place either, I’m the Deputy Director, I run all the day to day and in house stuff though.” Traan chuckled.
Commerce always started with small talk.
“You got any Hypenarian inscense by any chance.” Though ultra potent forms of the mildly psychoactive plant were regulated in Federation space, Traan knew many shops like this would often serve as a sort of, ‘grey market’. The incense was was known to help with ones sleep and anxiety.
“What type of potency are you looking for mild, or spicy?”
The Andorian smiled, “Somewhere in the middle would be great.”
“I have a batch thats 7% Di-Triptonase. For you, 6 slips per stick.”
“I’ll take five stick of that too then.” Traan reached in his pocket for electronic banking chit.
He gave no indication of haste, just casual banter, and motioned for Traan to put away his credit chit.
“I had my D’Kora- class Marauder, the Latinum Lust docked last week. Lovely ship… reliable. Needs a few minor things updated though, she’s been on the trade routes for awhile.”
The captain held up hands a few inches from his sides.
“I understand your facilities have quite the backlog.”
He smiled sympathetically.
“Just the luck of a thriving business, I presume?”
Renak grabbed something from under the counter and placed a thin metallic card adorned with the Emporium’s logo on the countertop. It wasn’t pushed, simply placed between them.
“Allow me the pleasure.”
A single finger tapped at the card.
“A customer’s credit line.”
Conversation tone. Easy.
“You can use it here anytime. My Trade Emporium… or when it opens, my bar and casino as well.”
He grinned broadly.
“No interest. No payments. Think of it as one businessman greasing the palm of another.”
Pause.
“Of course…” Traan figured the discount would come with a catch.
He avoided Renak’s gaze almost shamefully.
“If your busy self… finds that the Latinum Lust might bump it’s position on the repair list at all…”
Shrug of innocence.
“…I wouldn’t mind.”
Renak lifted a hand to stop the Andorian from speaking.
“Nothin illicit.”
Wide smile.
“Well, if your ship had a reason for me to put in a ‘Priority” work order, then I might be able to expedite things a little bit” Traan mused out loud.
Pause.
“I just like having traders trading, instead of rotting in drydock. But…Yes, we have a perishable stock of…medical supplies aboard.”
There was a distinct glint of Ferengi mischief in his eyes.
“Ah, yes, I see. That changes things, I’ll have a team sent over to coordinate what kind of repairs or upgrades you need tomorrow Mister…?” Traan placed his own hand atop the counter and retrieved the card. As it happened, sending an assessment team to a ship that was awaiting surviving was a standard policy in the shipyard, but Renak didn’t need to know that he likely would have sent a few people over the next day anyway.
“Names Renak. In any event Mister Traan, I hope this is the start of a prosperous relationship.”
He now wore a sincere smile.
“And should those peppers live up to your hype, I’ll certainly see you again. Thanks.”
His ears curled at the corners.
“Was a pleasure meeting you.” Traan said before departing.
As he walked out he heard the two loud drunkards talking about something they decidedly should have been discussing in earshot of the public.
“I heard that some ship got bamboozled by a some Q-like charlatan with a weird little ship that siphoned power from their warp core as they unwittingly gave him a ride to SB80. Our ship did nine runs through the portal to go and save people from other dimensions.” The blueshirted petty officer said.
“No way. We only did two. Had to go save the Federation Ambassador to Argelius during one of them though. She had be plopped into some hellish alternate reality where the Karemma, Ferengi, and the Barzans controlled half the galaxy.” The yellowshirted Lt JG replied.
Traan paused as he was walked by and turned back and walked over to the bench where they were seated. Knowing that both of those events had been classified as Top Secret, Class 3, meaning in required Sierra level clearance and rigid infosec procedures to be enforcement.
“Pardon me, but I would suggest the two of you review the potential penalties for divulging classified information and mind your tongues a bit better when in public. Now, what’s your names and current assignments?”
They told him.
“Computer, identify the names and current assignments of the two people sitting infront of me.”
The computer compiled, and the info matched.
“Atleast you’re both wise enough to not lie to me. I won’t report this to security or the JAG. But I’d suggest that if the booze tends to loosen your lips, consider abstinence or resigning from Starfleet to avoid a prison sentence.”
“Aye sir, sorry sir.” The blueshirt replied.
“Carry on, gentleman.” Traan turned and walked off. After a few steps a little smile crept onto the corner of his mouth as he thought about the irony of him dressing the two men down. Just a year before he would have jumped right in with his own rumors.
