Gravity - Chapter 6
Chapter 6, Part II
Hades' Apex
Though DaiMon Junt was no stranger to sumptuous excess, even he had to admit that the backdrop to Aldo Ramirez’s office was as breathtaking as it was imposing. He judged that it was no doubt a tactic designed to undermine a potential opponent’s confidence, an effort to mesmerize and awe them with the panorama while distracting them from matters at hand. Junt decided at that moment that Ramirez was cagy enough to maximize his own ‘home-field’ advantage.
The dark, troubled disk of Acheron hung there in space, blacker even than the surrounding cosmos except for the angry flashes of lightening that constantly blazed across its upper atmosphere in great swaths.
Ramirez stood from behind the great desk, stepping around it to offer that most human of greetings, the handshake. Junt shook the offered appendage with a strength and confidence that Ramirez had not expected. “DaiMon, welcome back to Hades’ Apex. To what do we owe the pleasure?” He gestured for Junt to be seated across from him as he resumed his place behind the enormous desk.
Junt settled into the chair as he regarded Ramirez appraisingly, taking measure of the man’s reputed business savvy. “I know your time is valuable, Mr. Ramirez, so I won’t waste it. Rumor has it that you’re a man with problems. I am in the problem solving business. It seems fortuitous that we should have found each other at what appears to be a critical crossroads for your company.”
Ramirez leaned back in his chair as he brought a hand to his face and idly tapped just above his lip with his index finger. “You’ve stopped here to trade any number of times in the past year and a half, DaiMon, but this is the first time you’ve ever requested a meeting with me. Why now?”
“The circumstances seem more favorable now that you might entertain my offer.”
The human lowered his hand and let it fall into his lap. He inclined his head slightly. “And what offer might that be?”
“A question first, if I may be so bold,” Junt rejoined.
Ramirez bobbed his head in silent assent.
“Your operation produces more heavy gaseous elements than nearly any other like sized industry in or near Federation space. You do business with the Orions, Chrysalians, Boslic, even the Stacius Guild, yet you’ve shied away from trading with the Ferengi. May I ask why?”
Ramirez leveled his piercing gaze on the daimon, returning the Ferengi captain’s scrutiny in kind. “Certainly. In the past decade I’ve signed four separate export agreements with the Ferengi. Every single time I’ve ended up having the carpet pulled out from under me due to ‘unforeseen financial circumstances.’ Invariably, some seemingly insignificant detail in the fine print ends up being exploited in order to undercut my profit margin on the deal, and always to the advantage of the Ferengi. A veritable army of lawyers and a legal database only three AI points away from full sentience weren’t sufficient to protect my company from Ferengi duplicity.”
A slow nod was Junt’s initial response. “Yes,” he said after a prolonged pause, “we are adept at such things, regretfully.”
“So you can see,” Ramirez continued, “my incentive for dealing with Ferengi middlemen is nil.”
“I do not doubt you have been unfairly treated by my brethren, Mr. Ramirez, and for that I apologize. However, I stand by my own reputation, which is not insignificant.”
Ramirez dipped his head, awarding Junt the point. “Of course. You gained much notoriety during the war. Who hasn’t heard of the Ferengi brigand audacious enough to raid Dominion convoys and Cardassian settlements, handing over your prisoners and plunder for nothing more than potentially worthless post-war trade concessions by the Federation and the Klingons? Rather bold, really, gambling that the Alpha Quadrant powers would be victorious. If I’m not mistaken, the Ferengi futures markets were all trading on speculation that the Dominion was going to triumph.”
“Sometimes the greatest profits go to those daring enough to oppose conventional wisdom.” Junt flashed a toothy smile composed of razor sharp bridgework.
Ramirez offered a guarded smile of his own in response. “Why are you here, DaiMon?” he asked finally.
“If I could solve the mystery of your vexing disappearances for you, would that be worth something?”
The dark brown irises of Ramirez’s eyes continued to probe the Ferengi’s stare, searching for any signs of deception. “I suppose that depends.”
A long moment stretched out between the two men. Finally, Junt deigned to ask, “On what, precisely?”
“On whether you’re the cause of these incidents in the first place. It wouldn’t be the first time one of your people had created a problem in order to solve it for a price.”
“True,” Junt conceded. “Allow me to counter with a question of my own… would it matter?”
Ramirez frowned. “What?”
“Would it matter whether or not I had manufactured the problem, so long as I was able to correct it?”
The fixed gaze of the human businessman hardened perceptibly. “You’re toying with me.”
“Absolutely not,” Junt answered coolly. “And I categorically deny having anything to do with these disappearances. I’m merely pointing out that the causal factors of your predicament are irrelevant, so long as I’m able to provide you the solution you so desperately need.”
“Who says I’m desperate?” Ramirez feinted, secretly startled by the Ferengi’s keen grasp of his circumstances.
“You’ve extended discrete feelers not only to Starfleet, but you’ve even gone as far as communicating with the Romulans in order to complete your fickle particle fountain. Your conversation with that Nero fellow was rather… enlightening. Seems his government is allowing him to dabble in proscribed Borg technology to engineer their next generation of mining ships. The fact that you’d even consider such a thing smacks of desperation.”
Ramirez’s cheeks colored, his ire percolating now. “Those were privileged conversations,” he growled.
“All’s fair in love, war, and business,” Junt offered. “One-hundred and eighty-seventh rule of acquisition.” The Ferengi made a show of settling more comfortably into his chair. “One would assume that if you are that desperate to complete work on your new mining rig, and your labor relations with your workers’ union are as bad as is rumored, such a spate of vanishings among your employees would threaten to unravel the very delicate tapestry you’ve woven around this world, Mr. Ramirez.”
Aldo struggled with the urge to touch his foot to the hidden panel on the inside of his desk that would bring his security detachment flooding into the office. He wanted to eject this arrogant Ferengi, as much for the daimon’s conceited presumption as for the fact that Junt was absolutely, undeniably correct in his assertions.
Instead, he fought to control his breathing and clear his mind. Ramirez could not afford to allow Junt to live rent free inside his head. “And if you were able to solve this problem for me, DaiMon, what would be your price?”
“Nothing exorbitant, I assure you,” Junt purred. “I would be seeking trade concessions that would allow me to act as your broker for any and all business conducted with or through members of the Ferengi Alliance.”
“Making my product less competitive due to what will undoubtedly be a significant markup by yours truly,” Ramirez observed dryly. “Hardly a boon to my business model.”
“Not at all, Ramirez,” Junt said, emphasizing his point with a mollifying raised hand. “Three percent on all transactions made through my network of contacts, no more.”
Ramirez raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Three percent? Really?”
“Indeed. You see, I believe in a diversified portfolio of ventures. I do not, how do the Klingons say, put all my gagh on one platter. Such diversification allows me to aggregate my profits from numerous concurrent operations, and avoids bleeding my suppliers of their own earnings. In that way, we all remain solvent, and we all continue to profit from our business relationships as our networks grow and expand.”
A wan smile took shape on Ramirez’s face. “You talk a good game, DaiMon, I’ll grant you that.”
“I don’t play games, Mr. Ramirez,” Junt shot back with an icy conviction that Aldo found disconcerting coming from a Ferengi. “You’re the one whose business empire is teetering on the event horizon of a singularity. Think of all you stand to lose here, the hopes and dreams of your father and grandfather, all reduced to cinders on your watch. How unnecessarily tragic.”
Ramirez blanched, despite himself. “Starfleet is already investigating this matter,” he croaked, hating the anxiety that had crept into his voice.
“I don’t fear a bit of healthy competition,” Junt chortled, clearly savoring Ramirez’s evident discomfort. “If they can solve the puzzle before my people can, so be it. However, if I can deliver a solution to you first, what have you to lose? Through my contacts, I can open even more previously untapped markets for your product. Starfleet will only maintain the status quo.”
Junt stood gracefully, offering a polite bow. “Think on it, Mr. Ramirez. Profit or security? Progress or stagnation? Which shall it be?”
With that, DaiMon Junt strode confidently out of Aldo Ramirez’s extravagant office.
*****
USS Gibraltar
Juneau had to crane her neck to see the display over Ashok’s broad shoulder. “What have you got?”
As data scrolled up the screen dominating the Bolian’s attention, he replied, “Lieutenant Taiee requested that I review the sensor telemetry from our shuttle at the time of the emergency transport. According to Lieutenant Trumbley, Harrier had a crew compliment of six. We only beamed five off the ship. A Tiburonian petty officer named Huu’Sau-Nuwi is unaccounted for.”
Juneau looked askance at the engineer. “He probably suffered terminal injuries before you caught up with the ship.”
Ashok shook his head fractionally. “No. The captain utilized a broad-spectrum transport protocol, designed to encompass any complex biological matter onboard Harrier. That would have included any recently deceased tissue from a crew member who had just expired due to traumatic injuries.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, Lieutenant, the sixth crew member that was aboard the ship before it lost power was no longer there when we beamed the others away.”
"Escape pod?" she postulated.
"All accounted for," he repied. "And sensors confirmed all exterior airlocks on Harrier were sealed."
Juneau frowned, the fullness of her lips making the expression appear more of a fuming pout. “What happened to him, then?”
“That... is a very good question,” Ashok rumbled with evident frustration.
*****
That was great! All it needed was Ashok turning to Sandhurst at the end and asking, "Boxers or briefs?"
