A Challenge - Forfeit and loss

Posted on 26 Mar 2010 @ 12:05pm by Commodore Da`nal of the House of Varal

2,254 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: M4: The Cartaris Strain
Location: SB 47
Timeline: MD 1 - 1445

ON

The big day was approaching. Business was a-boom as highrollers from across the sector and beyond were already placing bets on what Mok had hyped up as the 'Race of the Decade' between two battle-hardened fighter pilots. Of course, it didn't hurt that the contestants were both Starfleet officers and the course itself was less than safe. Mok catered to a certain clientele, after all, and they loved to see Starfleet officers lives at risk. And it made him very nervous.

But today he had on his typical salesman smile, baring his horribly green teeth and wearing his finest quad-colored jembok-threaded suit and matching headdress. It was his most expensive outfit, reflecting the importance he was placing on this race. He was going to make big money once this race was done and over, enough to finally pay off his mounting debts and even retire to his own moon.

His establishment was packed with a number of people making those big bets he had been counting on. A couple Andorians from the less-than-reputable House of Thivvin were at a private table. Once they had come in and ordered their drinks, they cloistered themselves off, which was all fine and good for Mok. They had placed a bet of 4000 bricks alone on Bell, on behalf of their House and Mok wasn't going to bother them one bit...at least not until the race had concluded.

But while the Andorian House 'representatives' (as they were listed on official Starfleet manifests) were being nice and quiet and only getting into fights with those immediately surrounding them, another House, the Klingon House of Kel'Rok, had sent their own 'representatives' to monitor the fight. The biggest of the lot, a burly half-drunk braggart nearly seven feet high came stumbling in followed by a few other Klingons.

"Mok, you piece of gagh! Get over here!" he slurred out, as his posse burst out laughing. It almost sounded like thunder, they were so brutish. But Mok did as he said. House Kel'Rok almost blew as much money on races and the like as Andorian House Thivvin.

Approaching the group, Mok nervously clasped his hands then spread them out in greetings, "Ah...Welcome, Rohk son of Qorc! It has been too long. You should stop by more!" Mok hated these Klingons. After every visit, they left his bar half destroyed...and that's when they're sober. Luckily, they spent most of their time in Klingon space. "You don't seem drunk enough. Bloodwine?"

"Ha! I expect more than just bloodwine for me and my crew after throwing down over 2000 bricks of gold-pressed latinum on that Wandella lady in this little race you're hosting! Now go and fetch us a couple dead targs for us to snack on. It's been a few hours since we last ate. Right boys!? Ah, ha, ha, ha!" They all started laughing, punching each other and throwing chairs around. You know, typical Klingon banter. Mok scurried away backwards with a smile and nod, no need to argue with the House of Kel'Rok, not while you're still living. He just hoped they didn't get into a fight with the Andorians who were still huddled in a corner discussing something, likely some criminal dealing.

But just as Mok relayed the Klingons' orders to a couple waittresses, Mok began to notice a flood of people entering the game house. Some he recognized, many he didn't. Of those he recognized, he noted some Orions from Trellius III Agency of the Orion Syndicate who specialized in, what else, slaves. But these Orions also loved gambling, and are not the type to screw over. Mok gave them a quick greeting, but was pushed aside as the Orions made their way to the dabo tables where they would kill time before the race commenced.

Trailing them were some humans which Mok recognized as being from Minikahn Okena's gang, if you can call it that. He was the most flamboyant, debonaire pirate operating in the Neutral Zone. So much so that he had even dubbed himself the 'Master of Commerce and Navigation in the Neutral Zone,' a title the Romulans would love to personally strip from him. It was amazing how easy it was for him to come and go on a Federation Starbase, despite his lengthy criminal record and well-known face.

"Oh, Master Okena! It's always a pleasure to see you enter my business!" Mok spoke with genuine glee as he knew that Okena's gang loved to spend money as fast as they stole it. They may be good pirates, but they were terrible with money management skills. "Please, help yourself to a table and drinks from the bar."

Okena beat his chest and let out a hearty laugh. His voice was deep and powerful, he almost could have been an opera singer if he didn't enjoy killing people so much. "A-HA! Be careful, Mok, my boys may just do that! A-HA! And when they do that, things get messy..and smelly. A-HA! When does this race of yours begin, anyway?"

Mok laughed nervously at what he knew was absolute seriousness on Okena's part. His 'boys' never seem to have been house-trained like normal people, but they were big-spenders so he let it slide. After this race, he wouldn't need this dump of a bar and he'd never need to see any of this scum again. At least not until he wanted a second moon. '"As soon as the racers arrive at their ships in the docking area. Don't worry, I'll alert everyone before it begins. Now go enjoy yourself and SPEND, SPEND, SPEND!"

As Mok turned away and headed back to the bar where he was going to comm Captain Da'nal, he noticed a face, no two faces, he honestly didn't expect to see again...ever. "You two? What do you want? I said you'll get your money after the race! Not a second before!" It was the Toorm Brothers, the two Ferengi who loved to make Mok's life a living hell. Mok had been perenially in their debt since long before he ever arrived on SB 47. In fact, he came to the station many years ago to escape them, but they seemed to be getting better at tracking their prey.

The two sat there grinning. One was tall and skinny, with relatively clean teeth for a Ferengi, while the other was short fat and missing an eye. It was the short one who spoke first. "Oh, dear Mok. You're not even going to offer us a drink? For old times?" He had a sinister grin on his face and Mok, snarling, almost snapped at him before the taller of the duo held his hand up. "Shut up, Denar. Mok, we are here on business. It would seem your little race has reached the ears of some of our clients. And, as you well know, they are not the type to be disappointed. So, I hope you can handle a bet of..." he paused as he leaned in closer to the now-astonished Mok, and whispered "...20000 bricks of gold-pressed latinum?"

Mok's eyes widened and it took all he could muster not to burst out in glee and laughter. Things just kept getting better for Mok, but then he realized the type of clients that the Brothers dealt with. They were the type who didn't lose...even when they lost. "You don't mean those Breen warlords, do you?" Both of the Brothers nodded as their sinister smiles seemed to get more sinister. They knew Mok couldn't refuse, and wouldn't want to. Mok realized that this was a great way to pay off his debt to the two and possibly get on the good side of some powerful Breen at the same time. "Of course, I can always accomodate a late bet. The race hasn't started yet, anyway. So, who would you like to bet on?"

The taller of the Brothers almost laughed, "Does it matter? We'll win either way."

Mok knew that was true, so he nodded and walked off after taking their bet. After a cursory glance around the bar, he began to wonder what would happen if security were to walk in right now. Some of the most wanted criminals in the sector were gathered here, and even more had representatives here monitoring the race on their behalf. It put a grin on his ugly, orange face as he thought of all the money he was going to make, not just on the bets but also on beverages and food these fat slobs were choking down. He began to laugh to himself, when suddenly a hand found it's way on his shoulder, startling the Ferengi. It was the Captain of the Freedom.

Da`nal had taken in the new faces and the shear volume of people in the gaming hall as he had entered. He felt Mok jump slightly as his hand landed on the Ferengi's shoulder. "We need to talk..now."

As Mok turned, he heart began to race. He may appreciate the business Starfleet officers brought to his place, but he still felt uneasy about their presence, especially with the currently assembled rabble. He took a look at the Orions slave-traders, Klingon warriors, Human pirates, shady Andorians, and even a couple Tellarite bankers and Nausicaan enforcers now making their way in for he race. This was certainly a crowd not to disappoint. "What is it, Captain? I've already arranged for the delivery of your requested goods directly to the Freedom so you better be here to pay up."

Leading the Ferengi away from the crowd ,"You are a man of your word. The supplies I requested are being stowed as we speak. However I have some unfortunate news. Bell was transferred off the station, and he didn't mention it to me or anyone associated with our veture. As it stands...He has forfeited the race."

The fury and angst was visible in Mok's face, as his natural Ferengi face fat cringed and his ear hairs stood on end. "By the profits!?" He shouted the phrase he had learned from Bajoran workers in the past, though he gave it a different meaning. "Ah! Doesn't Starfleet know I have a business to run, they can't just go and move people around like that! Listen, just find someone else. None of these fools know who Bell is, they've just seen bland statistics when placing bets. Find someone and just call him Bell, and quick!"

"I'm afraid a replacement...even a secret one is out of the question. The Freedom has recieved new orders and will be departing tomorrow."

Mok expressed a look of defeat as he slumped over the bar. None of the seedy patrons noticed anything wrong, except for the Toorm Brothers. They were ever watchful of Mok, but kept their distance while Captain Da'nal was around. Mok looked up, his mind already at work on how to salvage the profits he had been counting on. And he didn't have much time. "Fine, then get out of here. You're going to get me killed setting something like this up and pulling out. Or worse yet, bankruptcy. Now go on, go, go!"

As much as he hated to admit it he felt sorry for the Ferengi. His regret had surfaced when he first heard of Bell's transfer and was cemented when the Freedom had recieved her orders. He had propsed the race to teh Ferengi in the first place and thus felt responsible....at least partially for his troubles. Da`nal pulled a padd, "I have made arrangements through my House for a payment of 500 bars of latinum to be delivered here. And per our original agreement you will have transport priviages on not only ships of the House of Varal, but those of the House of Moqrat." Turning a brief glance to the Romulan before turning back to Mok he continued. "You can also contact Ambassador Isha e-Khellian i-Ramnau t'Illialhla on DS5 for the same privilages throughout the Romulan Empire." While the most would never think of crossing the Klingon House of Moqrat; SB 47 was more influenced by Romulan politics than Klingon and the t'Illiahla were well known in this sector. Especially with what had recently transpired on Romulus.

Mok cursed in Ferengi under his breath in a flippant tone. But the mention of latinum and trade rights, two very valuable commodities no matter what sector you're in, spurred the orange gremlin into a more sarcastically conciliatory tone. "Well, that's a fair start. I've never done business with either House Vanal or House Moqrat, so I apologize if I don't jump in glee."

Mok moved behind the bar and further down away from the Captain and the Toorm Brothers. He grabbed a glass and rag and cleaned it, though it was more for show than actual necessity. Speaking in a low tone that the Ferengi scum at the other side of the bar couldn't here, Mok asked temporarily taking a hand from his cleaning duty and waved it towards the door, "Well, if that's not all?"

Da`nal took a few steps towards the bar...not towards the entrance Mok was flipping his towel at. "Just be careful Ferengi...my father, Ambassador's Toran & t'Illialhla aren't as understaning as I am." With that he tossed the padd, with the authorization code for the latinum, to the Ferengi with force and left to see to his ships departure.

OFF

Mok (PNPC)
SB 47
Played by Nico

Captain Da'nal of the House of Varal
CO, USS Freedom

 

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