Part Three
“It’s another glorious day here in Roplermoop City! Overcast and heavy downpours for the eight hundred and fifty-third consecutive cycle! But while things are damp and chilly outside, things are heating up in the Ferenginar Tongo Grand Prix Finals, in association with Slug-o-Cola!”
“They really are, Brunk. Because this is where things get serious. From over five hundred players who entered the playing hall yesterday, we’re now down to just sixty-four. And there are no second chances in the semi finals!”
“No siree, Kark. The mathematics are simple. Eight tables, eight players per table, and only one winner from each to go through to tonight’s Grand Final. The competition gets fierce this morning, and one thing’s for sure, you need to be on top of your game.”
“Just like Slug-o-Cola are on the top of their game with their brand new Diet Slug-o-Cola! Thirty percent fewer calories, same great flavour!”
“I warned you about this!”
“Could you please complain more quietly?”
Zesh shook his head at Sunek, who was looking even more dishevelled than usual. Next to him, the equally unimpressed Klath folded his arms in disappointment. It was clear to all of them where they stood in the corner of the staging area that the Vulcan had managed to find another bottle of Yddrian gin before bedtime.
“I was just celebrating,” he explained unhappily, “Guy can celebrate, right?”
“Not until he’s actually won something, no!” Zesh snapped back, in a vocal pitch that cut right through the synapses of Sunek’s aching brain, "And especially not with Yddrian gin! You know that’s actually very potent for Vulcans!”
“That’s why it’s so fun,” Sunek muttered, mustering a shrug.
“Perhaps we can use this to our advantage,” Klath offered, “On the eve of battle, it is often good for a warrior to embrace his or her pain. To prepare themselves for what is to come.”
Not for the first time since Klath had begun to show a sudden and curious level of interest in the tournament, Sunek met his comment with a blank stare.
“Seriously,” he managed eventually, “What the hell are you on about—?”
“Sorry, can I jump in here?”
The three of them turned to where Natasha stood next to them, holding the Bounty’s small medkit in her hand.
“So,” she continued, “When you called me here, away from another day of sightseeing, claiming that there was a serious medical emergency, you were referring to a gin-based hangover?”
“Nope,” Sunek clarified with a wince, “A really bad gin-based hangover.”
Natasha rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Ok, either way, this really doesn’t constitute an emergency. And I’m trying to get to the Ceremonial Gardens of Profit before the queues build up, so—”
“Can you just give him a shot of something?” Zesh cut in, gesturing to the miserable-looking Vulcan with a stubby finger.
She glanced down at the medkit for a moment. It wasn’t a patch on even a Starfleet field kit, but she’d worked hard since joining the Bounty’s crew to make sure that the medical supply situation on the Bounty was significantly improved from what it had been before. And she definitely had enough to treat a mild overdose of Yddrian gin.
“I can,” she admitted with a sigh, “But I’m not sure that hangover cures are covered in the Hippocratic Oath. Really, I should just make sure that there’s no risk of alcohol poisoning or liver damage, and then suggest a holistic treatment program—”
“Please just give him the shot,” Zesh whined, gesturing to the other players starting to filter towards the playing hall, “They’re being called to the tables!”
“Fine,” Natasha sighed eventually, reaching into the medkit for a hypospray, “But I want an extra cut of the profits for being so nice like this.”
She depressed the hypospray into Sunek’s neck with a hiss. He immediately perked up as the cocktail of treatments went to work.
“Ah, that’s the stuff,” he beamed, “I’m back, baby!”
Natasha shook her head patiently, while Zesh wagged a finger firmly at the Vulcan.
“Just don’t screw this up, ok?”
“Relax,” Sunek grinned back, “I’m gonna nail this round. Just like I nailed it yesterday. Trust me.”
He spun around on his heels and marched off to join the flow of competitors towards the playing hall, as Zesh shook his head unhappily.
“Rule of Acquisition number ninety-nine,” he muttered, “Trust is the biggest liability of all…”
****************************
Natasha strode back through the entrance hall, wondering just how long the queues at the Gardens of Profit might be now. And whether or not the rumours she’d read about the correct way to offer a bribe in order to skip said queue were accurate.
She knew that such practices were common across Ferenginar. In fact, a group of Bolian tourists had cut right in front of her at the Museum of Bribery just yesterday using that method. Which she would have found annoying had it not felt so incredibly apt.
But she also knew that the process of offering a bribe was a noble tradition, with so many subtle variations and intricacies depending on the exact circumstances. And she didn’t want to end up offending Ferengi culture by offering the wrong type of bribe at the wrong time.
She eventually decided that, to avoid any potential embarrassment, she would just say nothing and diligently stand in line. In the noble tradition of her London-born ancestors.
And then she suddenly found that, after all that worrying, she wouldn’t be making it to the Ceremonial Gardens of Profit after all.
“N—Natasha!”
She stopped and turned to see Talda, clad in a fresh FCA uniform, scurrying over to her.
“Hi,” she smiled, “Got any more hot betting tips for me?”
The female Ferengi didn’t match her smile. She glanced nervously this way and that, her eyes darting around the vast entrance hall of the Roplermoop City Auditorium.
“No,” she muttered, “But I need to speak with you, urgently. Come with me. And…act natural.”
With that, the tiny Ferengi scurried back off towards the main doors of the hall, still glancing all around her as she walked. In the process, managing to act as unnatural as it was possible to act when one was simply exiting a building.
With a mixture of confusion and curiosity, Natasha followed in her wake.
The whole display was so distracting, and so inadvertently amusing, that she didn’t even notice that they were being watched.
****************************
A few minutes later, Natasha sat with Talda at a table outside a nearby cafe.
Two steaming mugs of whatever the Ferengi equivalent of coffee was sat in front of them, courtesy of Talda’s surprising generosity. Although from the aroma she could detect coming from the mugs, Natasha felt that she wouldn’t be drinking much of whatever it was.
Around them, the table was protected from the elements by a permanent transparent sheet, held above the table by a central pole and draped all the way to the ground. The usual Roplermoop City rainfall hammered on the sheet, but the warmth of the mugs at least offered a modicum of cosiness to the scene.
“I apologise for the secrecy,” Talda offered as she firmly gripped her own mug in both hands, “But I had to be sure we were alone.”
Natasha couldn’t help but still feel a trace of amusement at this eager yet unconvincing attempt at subterfuge, but her curiosity remained piqued.
“It’s about Varik,” the Ferengi woman continued, “About what you said yesterday, how something seemed odd about him. I’ve done some more research and…I think there’s something amiss.”
“Like what?” Natasha asked, leaning forwards with interest.
Talda took a nerve-steadying sip of the pungent liquid in her mug, then set it down and retrieved a small padd from her pocket, handing it to the other woman.
“First, I tried to fill in the gaps in his past by researching any Vulcan called Varik. There are several in the public records I could access via subspace. But none of the details about them tally with the one on Ferenginar right now. Physical details, age, hair or skin colour. There was always some sort of difference.”
“Huh,” Natasha mused as she looked over the details on the padd, “Ok, what else?”
Talda glanced around again, apparently concerned that someone might have sneaked into their tiny waterproof lair without her noticing, then leaned further in.
“I also checked the entry forms submitted by Varik for the tournament itself. His entry fee was waived completely!”
Natasha chewed her cheek a little at this, then offered a shrug.
“I guess if you’re the hot new Tongo star, you don’t have to worry about entry fees?”
“This is a Ferengi tournament,” Talda countered with a shake of her head, “Nobody gives away anything for free, no matter who you are. Rule of Acquisition number two hundred and six: A free gift is usually nothing but a missed opportunity.”
Natasha acknowledged the point with a slight nod, as Talda sipped her pungent drink.
“Well,” she sighed, “That’s a little weird then, I guess.”
“Everything’s a ‘little weird’ about this Vulcan,” Talda emphasised, “Like you said. Nothing on his background checks, no history of playing Tongo, no personal information, and no entry fee.”
“But, Talda,” Natasha sighed, setting the padd down next to her own untouched drink, “I…don’t understand why you’re talking to me about this?”
The small Ferengi’s head shot down to the ground at this, her timidity coming to the fore once again as she formulated a response.
“I—I don’t really know,” she admitted eventually, “I mean, I thought you might—I, ah, don’t really know what to do now. Really, I—I should report this to Sub-Liquidator Glink. But…”
Natasha studied the Ferengi’s flustered reaction, then smiled in understanding.
“But…all you’ve really got is some circumstantial quirks and random events, all of which might have a simple explanation. And you’ve been doing all this work outside your own remit, which your delightful boss might have more of an issue with than the details themselves.”
Talda glanced back up, surprised to see that this hew-mon had apparently read her mind.
“I recognise the look,” Natasha offered as an explanation.
“I—I just thought,” Talda managed, “I—I mean, yesterday, you seemed to know what you were doing…”
Natasha did her best to ignore the minor ego-boost and considered her options. On the one hand, helping out with an FCA agent’s unofficial investigation into a mysterious Tongo-playing Vulcan hadn’t been high on her list to do during her sightseeing tour of a post-female emancipation Ferenginar. But, on the other hand, as she saw the somewhat lost expression on the face of the reluctant pioneer sat with her, she felt compelled to help.
Damn that Starfleet training, she thought to herself.
“Ok,” she smiled back, “I guess we can take a look at all this together. After all, it’s not really the weather to be walking around some gardens.”
Talda glanced around at the incessant downpour on the other side of the protective table cover, not really following the hew-mon’s point. It looked like the perfect weather to be outside.
But she wasn’t going to pass up the offer of some help.
“Thank you,” she nodded back, “S—So, what should we do now?”
Natasha glanced back down at the information on the padd and allowed herself a quiet moment of thought.
“Well,” she offered eventually, “I think we’ve got enough here to ask a few questions…”
“It’s another glorious day here in Roplermoop City! Overcast and heavy downpours for the eight hundred and fifty-third consecutive cycle! But while things are damp and chilly outside, things are heating up in the Ferenginar Tongo Grand Prix Finals, in association with Slug-o-Cola!”
“They really are, Brunk. Because this is where things get serious. From over five hundred players who entered the playing hall yesterday, we’re now down to just sixty-four. And there are no second chances in the semi finals!”
“No siree, Kark. The mathematics are simple. Eight tables, eight players per table, and only one winner from each to go through to tonight’s Grand Final. The competition gets fierce this morning, and one thing’s for sure, you need to be on top of your game.”
“Just like Slug-o-Cola are on the top of their game with their brand new Diet Slug-o-Cola! Thirty percent fewer calories, same great flavour!”
“I warned you about this!”
“Could you please complain more quietly?”
Zesh shook his head at Sunek, who was looking even more dishevelled than usual. Next to him, the equally unimpressed Klath folded his arms in disappointment. It was clear to all of them where they stood in the corner of the staging area that the Vulcan had managed to find another bottle of Yddrian gin before bedtime.
“I was just celebrating,” he explained unhappily, “Guy can celebrate, right?”
“Not until he’s actually won something, no!” Zesh snapped back, in a vocal pitch that cut right through the synapses of Sunek’s aching brain, "And especially not with Yddrian gin! You know that’s actually very potent for Vulcans!”
“That’s why it’s so fun,” Sunek muttered, mustering a shrug.
“Perhaps we can use this to our advantage,” Klath offered, “On the eve of battle, it is often good for a warrior to embrace his or her pain. To prepare themselves for what is to come.”
Not for the first time since Klath had begun to show a sudden and curious level of interest in the tournament, Sunek met his comment with a blank stare.
“Seriously,” he managed eventually, “What the hell are you on about—?”
“Sorry, can I jump in here?”
The three of them turned to where Natasha stood next to them, holding the Bounty’s small medkit in her hand.
“So,” she continued, “When you called me here, away from another day of sightseeing, claiming that there was a serious medical emergency, you were referring to a gin-based hangover?”
“Nope,” Sunek clarified with a wince, “A really bad gin-based hangover.”
Natasha rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Ok, either way, this really doesn’t constitute an emergency. And I’m trying to get to the Ceremonial Gardens of Profit before the queues build up, so—”
“Can you just give him a shot of something?” Zesh cut in, gesturing to the miserable-looking Vulcan with a stubby finger.
She glanced down at the medkit for a moment. It wasn’t a patch on even a Starfleet field kit, but she’d worked hard since joining the Bounty’s crew to make sure that the medical supply situation on the Bounty was significantly improved from what it had been before. And she definitely had enough to treat a mild overdose of Yddrian gin.
“I can,” she admitted with a sigh, “But I’m not sure that hangover cures are covered in the Hippocratic Oath. Really, I should just make sure that there’s no risk of alcohol poisoning or liver damage, and then suggest a holistic treatment program—”
“Please just give him the shot,” Zesh whined, gesturing to the other players starting to filter towards the playing hall, “They’re being called to the tables!”
“Fine,” Natasha sighed eventually, reaching into the medkit for a hypospray, “But I want an extra cut of the profits for being so nice like this.”
She depressed the hypospray into Sunek’s neck with a hiss. He immediately perked up as the cocktail of treatments went to work.
“Ah, that’s the stuff,” he beamed, “I’m back, baby!”
Natasha shook her head patiently, while Zesh wagged a finger firmly at the Vulcan.
“Just don’t screw this up, ok?”
“Relax,” Sunek grinned back, “I’m gonna nail this round. Just like I nailed it yesterday. Trust me.”
He spun around on his heels and marched off to join the flow of competitors towards the playing hall, as Zesh shook his head unhappily.
“Rule of Acquisition number ninety-nine,” he muttered, “Trust is the biggest liability of all…”
****************************
Natasha strode back through the entrance hall, wondering just how long the queues at the Gardens of Profit might be now. And whether or not the rumours she’d read about the correct way to offer a bribe in order to skip said queue were accurate.
She knew that such practices were common across Ferenginar. In fact, a group of Bolian tourists had cut right in front of her at the Museum of Bribery just yesterday using that method. Which she would have found annoying had it not felt so incredibly apt.
But she also knew that the process of offering a bribe was a noble tradition, with so many subtle variations and intricacies depending on the exact circumstances. And she didn’t want to end up offending Ferengi culture by offering the wrong type of bribe at the wrong time.
She eventually decided that, to avoid any potential embarrassment, she would just say nothing and diligently stand in line. In the noble tradition of her London-born ancestors.
And then she suddenly found that, after all that worrying, she wouldn’t be making it to the Ceremonial Gardens of Profit after all.
“N—Natasha!”
She stopped and turned to see Talda, clad in a fresh FCA uniform, scurrying over to her.
“Hi,” she smiled, “Got any more hot betting tips for me?”
The female Ferengi didn’t match her smile. She glanced nervously this way and that, her eyes darting around the vast entrance hall of the Roplermoop City Auditorium.
“No,” she muttered, “But I need to speak with you, urgently. Come with me. And…act natural.”
With that, the tiny Ferengi scurried back off towards the main doors of the hall, still glancing all around her as she walked. In the process, managing to act as unnatural as it was possible to act when one was simply exiting a building.
With a mixture of confusion and curiosity, Natasha followed in her wake.
The whole display was so distracting, and so inadvertently amusing, that she didn’t even notice that they were being watched.
****************************
A few minutes later, Natasha sat with Talda at a table outside a nearby cafe.
Two steaming mugs of whatever the Ferengi equivalent of coffee was sat in front of them, courtesy of Talda’s surprising generosity. Although from the aroma she could detect coming from the mugs, Natasha felt that she wouldn’t be drinking much of whatever it was.
Around them, the table was protected from the elements by a permanent transparent sheet, held above the table by a central pole and draped all the way to the ground. The usual Roplermoop City rainfall hammered on the sheet, but the warmth of the mugs at least offered a modicum of cosiness to the scene.
“I apologise for the secrecy,” Talda offered as she firmly gripped her own mug in both hands, “But I had to be sure we were alone.”
Natasha couldn’t help but still feel a trace of amusement at this eager yet unconvincing attempt at subterfuge, but her curiosity remained piqued.
“It’s about Varik,” the Ferengi woman continued, “About what you said yesterday, how something seemed odd about him. I’ve done some more research and…I think there’s something amiss.”
“Like what?” Natasha asked, leaning forwards with interest.
Talda took a nerve-steadying sip of the pungent liquid in her mug, then set it down and retrieved a small padd from her pocket, handing it to the other woman.
“First, I tried to fill in the gaps in his past by researching any Vulcan called Varik. There are several in the public records I could access via subspace. But none of the details about them tally with the one on Ferenginar right now. Physical details, age, hair or skin colour. There was always some sort of difference.”
“Huh,” Natasha mused as she looked over the details on the padd, “Ok, what else?”
Talda glanced around again, apparently concerned that someone might have sneaked into their tiny waterproof lair without her noticing, then leaned further in.
“I also checked the entry forms submitted by Varik for the tournament itself. His entry fee was waived completely!”
Natasha chewed her cheek a little at this, then offered a shrug.
“I guess if you’re the hot new Tongo star, you don’t have to worry about entry fees?”
“This is a Ferengi tournament,” Talda countered with a shake of her head, “Nobody gives away anything for free, no matter who you are. Rule of Acquisition number two hundred and six: A free gift is usually nothing but a missed opportunity.”
Natasha acknowledged the point with a slight nod, as Talda sipped her pungent drink.
“Well,” she sighed, “That’s a little weird then, I guess.”
“Everything’s a ‘little weird’ about this Vulcan,” Talda emphasised, “Like you said. Nothing on his background checks, no history of playing Tongo, no personal information, and no entry fee.”
“But, Talda,” Natasha sighed, setting the padd down next to her own untouched drink, “I…don’t understand why you’re talking to me about this?”
The small Ferengi’s head shot down to the ground at this, her timidity coming to the fore once again as she formulated a response.
“I—I don’t really know,” she admitted eventually, “I mean, I thought you might—I, ah, don’t really know what to do now. Really, I—I should report this to Sub-Liquidator Glink. But…”
Natasha studied the Ferengi’s flustered reaction, then smiled in understanding.
“But…all you’ve really got is some circumstantial quirks and random events, all of which might have a simple explanation. And you’ve been doing all this work outside your own remit, which your delightful boss might have more of an issue with than the details themselves.”
Talda glanced back up, surprised to see that this hew-mon had apparently read her mind.
“I recognise the look,” Natasha offered as an explanation.
“I—I just thought,” Talda managed, “I—I mean, yesterday, you seemed to know what you were doing…”
Natasha did her best to ignore the minor ego-boost and considered her options. On the one hand, helping out with an FCA agent’s unofficial investigation into a mysterious Tongo-playing Vulcan hadn’t been high on her list to do during her sightseeing tour of a post-female emancipation Ferenginar. But, on the other hand, as she saw the somewhat lost expression on the face of the reluctant pioneer sat with her, she felt compelled to help.
Damn that Starfleet training, she thought to herself.
“Ok,” she smiled back, “I guess we can take a look at all this together. After all, it’s not really the weather to be walking around some gardens.”
Talda glanced around at the incessant downpour on the other side of the protective table cover, not really following the hew-mon’s point. It looked like the perfect weather to be outside.
But she wasn’t going to pass up the offer of some help.
“Thank you,” she nodded back, “S—So, what should we do now?”
Natasha glanced back down at the information on the padd and allowed herself a quiet moment of thought.
“Well,” she offered eventually, “I think we’ve got enough here to ask a few questions…”
