Met By Chance?

Posted on Tue 24th Jan, 2023 @ 6:32am by Trav & Morva & Criswell Sandbags & Captain Torrog
Edited on on Wed 25th Jan, 2023 @ 6:56am

1,265 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: A Fresh Perspective
Location: Tivoli Gardens, River Walk
Timeline: MD 9, 1045

Torrog meandered down toward the dock where the river boats came in to pick up passengers. He had gotten into the habit of coming for lunch at least once a week. The taste of home couldn't be made by anyone who wasn't born Ferengi, though some tried. Morva was a native, and she was also a good cook. His mouth was already watering, thinking about some of her gree worm stew. Perhaps today, he would have slug steak, though, with a side order of fried tube grubs.

If he'd been human, he would have been whistling as he reached the dock and started toward the end. His mouth couldn't form the right shape, so he contented himself with a monotonous hum. He could see the river boat still up-stream, so he had some time. He walked to the side of the dock, leaned on the railing and stared into the river. There was nothing much to see, but occasionally a flip of a fish tail would snap out of the water. He wondered what those tasted like. Maybe he'd ask Morva if she ever used them in her dishes.

Criswell was not usually late, but there had been some ruckus at the casino and he'd been needed. He hadn't forgotten his meeting with Torrog. He'd even carefully counted and recounted the bars of gold-pressed latinum that Torrog was due for their last... deal? What would the "correct" word be other than "scam?"

It had been quite a scam too, though Criswell was not sure who had dropped the proverbial note in his metaphorical lap that led him to the derelict dilithium mine that he and Torrog had assured their poor Tellarite mark would be an excellent investment. In truth, the mine had been abandoned for decades and the entire moon was completely dry of dilithium, but it would take at least two years of expensive manpower until the Tellarite would know. This was, of course, assuming he had enough money left for the manpower. To add icing on the cake, the mark had been one of Criswell's lazy former roommates, the ones who had made Criswell pay the rent for six miserable months. Criswell believed it was an "opportunity" well earned. He couldn't wait to tell his adopted Ferengi father about this one!

Criswell was also humming to himself as he approached his Ferengi associate. He stood beside Torrog and carefully handed him his part of the plunder.

"Fifty percent, as promised," Criswell assured him.

Torrog never took anyone at his word, especially a human, and most especially not a human brought up by Ferengi. He carefully counted his latinum, and stuck it in the bag inside his inner pocket. "As promised." He quietly looked over the water, making a point of not meeting the eyes of his companion in what Torrog considered a soft crime. No one really got hurt. A smarter mark wouldn't have fallen for their sales pitch on the dilithium mine, and certainly would have conducted their own survey. The captain was very good at making charts and graphs look promising, and backing it up with research, even if the research was decades old. His schemes rarely failed for lack of preparation.

"I've been thinking about more opportunities to do business together. I have some revealing planetary surveys you might want to look at. Maybe you know just the right person to ... entice into a business deal. You interested?" He turned toward the end of the dock as he heard the river boat moving alongside. "Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch. My treat, of course." Torrog wouldn't lose a penny on that investment.

"Of course," Criswell said.

They both boarded the river boat. Criswell figured Torrog was taking him to the Ferengi restaurant built into the boat. While Criswell had used the river boat before, he'd only visited a few of the several restaurants on the banks of the river, none of them Ferengi establishments. Ferengi food was not the most popular among non-Ferengis, something Criswell had considered changing. Growing up on Ferenginar eating the food from his father's restaurant had given him a deep appreciation of the cuisine, even the foods that made his poor hoo-mon stomach queasy. Of course through time the queasiness had mostly subsided as his body had become more attuned. He also doubted those foods would be found on a Federation starbase anyway.

They arrived at the gate as the last passenger stepped off the river boat, and Torrog paid for tickets for both of them. "How's it going, Trav?" he asked easily. He'd been here enough times, and had enough conversations to be, if not friends, then at least friendly. Nodding at his companion, he added, "This is my business associate, Criswell Sandbags. Criswell, meet Trav, owner of the Ferengi Barge Company, whose wife makes the most delectable cuisine outside of Ferenginar. Maybe inside it, too!"

Criswell's eyes widened and shifted around nervously. "I don't know," he said. "My father's restaurant has been a very popular and prestigious establishment on Ferenginar for three generations." Then he quickly added, "But I'm sure this place will be every bit as good!"

Trav laughed and smiled at Criswell and Torrog. "There's room enough for more than one excellent Ferengi restaurant in the galaxy!" he said. "Does your family own just the one restaurant, or do they own several? Morva will want to know all about it, though I'm sure she's eaten there at some point."

Torrog listened and observed the two men interacting. While he completely believed that latinum and profit were the bottom lines, he also was smart enough to know that both could be acquired more easily if he also had knowledge of the players and their games. As the barge began to tug away from the dock, he smiled a toothy grin at the owner and said, "How about taking us down to Morva and telling her that her reputation is on the line this morning?"

Criswell nearly blushed. "My goodness!" he said. "I hope you didn't take my comment as competition. To answer your question, Mr. Trav, my father owns just the one location. It has been in my family for several generations."

"No offense taken at all, Mr. Sandbags. You must tell Morva and me all about it, so we can visit the place the next time we take a trip home! Come along with me, and I'll show you the restaurant. Morva will be delighted to meet you. This way!" Trav said and led the two men to the restaurant part of the barge after speaking briefly to the barge pilot.

The Slug and Grub was a cozy place--if you were a Ferengi. Most of the seating and the tables were lower to the ground than was usual for humans, and the fragrant aromas were more suited to Ferengi tastes than to most humanoid preferences. Pale green lighting cast the restaurant in an odd part of the spectrum for human eyes, but the Ferengi guests who were present seemed to be tucking into their food with no complaints. There was even one human guest in a red Starfleet uniform who was eating algae puffs and a bowl of rice with yamok sauce.

Criswell's nostrils flared with exuberance at the aroma of the restaurant. Overcome, Criswell stopped walking and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. "I haven't smelled true Ferengi cuisine in so many years," he said, and took in another sniff. "Mr. Trav, your establishment smells exactly like home. I already know your food will more than please me!"

 

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