Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins (12 page)

He found that the ship had a large engineering deck, but Voloczin was the only engineer on board. There were vast cargo holds taking up most of the volume of the ship, and several large-scale replicator units programmed for weapons production.

There were a lot of automated systems overall, so the ship clearly didn’t need a large living crew. Brunt didn’t think that much of it. In his opinion, profit-making needed an audience. There just didn’t seem to be as much fun in being surrounded by automatic systems that couldn’t admire you or feel inspired to earn their own profit or, indeed, be jealous of how profitable and ruthless you were.

The only audience aboard most of the ship was the Breen, and they didn’t seem to care. Brunt caught up with Gaila at breakfast in the gilded dining chamber to ask him about them. The chamber was reminiscent of a good Ferengi restaurant, but with replicators.

“Do you trust the Breen?”

“Of course,” Gaila scoffed. “They’re utterly incorruptible.”

“Really?” Brunt wondered whether this was an opinion worth testing.

“Well, for one thing, nobody wants to hire soldiers who fought on the wrong side of the Dominion War. Secondly, they’re not easy to communicate with, without specialized equipment. Thirdly, I pay them more than anyone else could afford.”

Brunt nodded. That, he could understand; it was the best way to secure loyalty. He still didn’t like them, though.

“You’re a pilot,” Brunt asked. He was trying, more or less, to keep the disdain out of his voice, and as a result, the question came out as something of a squeak.

Pel looked up from the cockpit. The ship was on course on its own, so she was there merely to check that the instruments were working correctly and to see whether any gravitational fluctuations had necessitated a course change.

“I am now.”

“I didn’t think females were allowed to—Well, until recently.”

“I wasn’t always a pilot.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear. You used to be a proper female?”

“I used to be in the service industry. Trying to make my way up to becoming a proper businessperson. I had the confidence of—” She chuckled, ignoring Brunt’s rictus of a smile. “Well, one day I had to give all that up.”

“How did you become a pilot?”

“By necessity. Necessity is always the mother of profit.” She relaxed, her eyes focusing on something only she could see. “I was stranded on Solamin Prime during the Dominion War. Everyone had to do something to keep things running, and I ended up catering for the shuttle pilots. One of them liked me enough to want to show me how to fly the shuttles. At first I wasn’t interested. There was no profit in it. But then I tried it, and found I was a natural. And when I qualified, people would pay for side trips or deliveries. . . . It was more profitable than I ever imagined.”

“How nice for you.”

“Now I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Not even being a—”

“A skivvy? A servant? Oh, you were going to say ’a traditional Ferengi female,’ weren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Brunt said, sounding defensive. She smiled to herself, knowing that she was everything a man like Brunt hated. She knew who he was, of course; his feud with Quark had become legendary among Ferengi. It was true that Brunt was a good if somewhat inflexible Ferengi, but he was no Quark. It was easy enough for Gaila and Brunt to make profit when everything was weighted in their favor, but Quark could make profit out of absolutely nothing. There would never be another like him.

After four days in flight, the
Golden Handshake
dropped out of warp and swept into a parking orbit around Kalanis Major. The planet was an average Class-M world with three moons. Sensors had no difficulty picking up the signs of conflict on the surface.

Thankfully, they also had no difficulty making contact with the leaders of three factions. The existence of a third faction had come as a surprise, but Brunt, Gaila, Bijon, and Pel all took it as a sign that their venture was looked upon favorably. The Great Material
Continuum was flowing their way, and they need only enjoy the cruise.

Gaila had set up a meeting with the government faction for first thing the morning after they arrived in orbit. Brunt then contacted the old Loyalists and arranged a meeting with them for lunchtime. Since there was a third faction, and Bijon had trouble counting that far, they reluctantly let Pel arrange the rendezvous with the counterrevolutionaries that evening.

When the Minister of Procurement and his entourage materialized on the transporter pad, Gaila stepped forward to greet them. They were humanoid, roughly the size of a hew-mon or a tall Ferengi, but reptilian, with armored foreheads and scaly skin. They wore red armor and harness. “Greetings, Minister. I’m Gaila, representative of Gailtek Armaments and Technologies. This is my partner, Brunt, and our clerk, Pel. Whatever you require, we at GAT will do our best to fulfill the order.”

“We need weapons.” The minister had a female voice, though it was hard to tell if this was truly indicative of its gender.

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be contacting an arms dealer.”

“Quite so.” She—Gaila decided to think of her as she—hesitated. “We’d prefer the most efficient killing machines possible.”

Gaila pursed his lips for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t try to influence a client’s choice,” he began slowly, “but it strikes me that you don’t really want weapons of mass destruction.”

“We don’t?”

“You can’t exploit what you’ve destroyed,” Gaila said reasonably. “No, what you need in order to deal with your undesirable rivals”—as if there was ever such a thing as a desirable rival—“is urban pacification equipment. Crowd control.” He led the delegation first to a display room, filled with both physical specimens and holographic images of Klingon weaponry. Disruptor pistols and rifles of various designs filled the racks and tables.

The minister picked up one, a rifle with a three-pronged barrel and a heavy stock. “This disruptor rifle . . .”

“Ah,” Gaila began silkily. “Klingon Type 47, the very best there is. When you absolutely, positively have to disintegrate every mother-creditor in the room … accept no substitute!”

The minister hefted the rifle. It was finished in black, rather than the red and silver more typical of Klingon weaponry. “It doesn’t look Klingon.”

“We’ve commissioned this upgraded variant to have a seamless outer casing that dampens the weapon’s energy signature, making it less detectable by scanning devices. . . .”

Brunt tuned out Gaila’s excellent pitch as his communicator buzzed. He stepped away from the group and brought it to his ear. “What?”

“The Loyalists are at the transport site,”
Bijon’s voice came over happily. Brunt was immediately alarmed; the last thing he needed was two rival groups on board at the same time.
“I’m bringing them up now,”
Bijon went on.

“No!” Brunt called frantically. The others looked around at him. Cursing Bijon for being even more stupid than Quark’s miserable tribe, Brunt smiled weakly and addressed Gaila. “That was Bijon,” he said meaningfully. “He has acquired some more … credit.” Gaila’s eyes widened, and he paled.

“Go and see to it,” Gaila hissed. Brunt practically ran out the door.

Gaila smiled back at the minister, knowing all too well what might happen now. He still had nightmares about the time Quark caused the Regent of Palamar and General Nassuc to meet at a deal he was brokering with the Regent. It had taken months to shake off the Purification Squads.

“A matter of paperwork that is due,” Gaila said silkily. “My junior partner will deal with it so that we can continue our negotiations. If you’ll come this way, we can take refreshments in the dining hall, and see what we can do for you.” He indicated another doorway than the one by which they had entered, and turned to Pel. “Have Voloczin reset the chamber for Cardassian weapons,” he whispered. She stayed behind, opening her communicator, as Gaila ushered the minister’s group out.

Brunt tried to smile as the Loyalist group marched toward him, their green armor making them look half naked. “I am Commander Lotral of the Kalanis Defense Arm,” the leader said, also in a femalesounding voice. Somehow this fit with the slightly nude impression
given by the color of their armor, and Brunt felt a tiny bit more comfortable.

“I’m Brunt, GIT. Sorry, GAT.”

“G—?”

“Gailtek Armaments and Technologies.” Brunt said. “You’re a little early, but that’s not a problem, is it? The early investor reaps the most interest, after all.”

“Really?”

“Rule of Acquisition number thirty-seven. It’s the code we Ferengi live by.”

“Good for you.” The commander followed Brunt into the corridor. The door to the transporter room had only just closed when Brunt heard the worst sound he could imagine right now: Bijon’s voice, too muffled to make out the words, and the whine of the ship’s transporter. Brunt felt as if the contents of his stomach were about to fall out and go clean through the floor. Thankfully, none of the commander’s group seemed to have heard the sound, and Brunt was grateful that not every species had Ferengi ears or Ferengi hearing. He hastily opened the nearest door, which turned out to be the door to his own quarters. “This is … the executive lounge,” he said hurriedly, and opened up the replicator and bar that were against one wall. “Please make yourselves at home, while I check with my secretary that the display models have been prepared.”

He ducked back out and locked the door, praying that none of the commander’s people would try to leave and find this out. He ran back to the transporter room, and sure enough, a third group of Kalani were just stepping down from the pads. This lot wore a mix of differently colored armor and harness, presumably acquired from wherever they could find them.

“Bijon,” Brunt snapped.

“They were ready,” Bijon said mildly, “so I thought we don’t want to keep them waiting—”

“Bijon, don’t you know what an appointment is?”

“I’ve never been to … Appointia.” He shrugged.

“Where is Pel?” one of the Kalani demanded. None of them were armed, but they flexed their hands threateningly, and Brunt suddenly
saw that the four digits on each hand had extended a thick black claw as long as one of his own fingers.

“Pel is just setting up the display models for you to browse. She sent me to greet you while she finished.”

Wondering whether Bijon even had a share in the profits, of which he could be stripped, Brunt gritted his teeth. “Would you call Pel and ask her to come here, and tell her that—” He looked at the Kalani questioningly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either, so we’re even.”

Brunt decided not to bother introducing himself. His former reputation as a Liquidator wouldn’t intimidate them, and he was in no mood to be nice to this one. “That a representative of the Kalani Republican People’s Democratic Front is waiting for her.” Brunt hurried out as Bijon made the call and ran all the way to the dining chamber on the deck above.

Gaila looked around from the head of the table as Brunt came in. “Ah, Brunt, you’re just in time to witness the signing of—” He halted, seeing Brunt’s harried expression. Brunt leaned in close. “They’re all here.”

“What?”

“The Loyalists are in my quarters, under the impression it’s a lounge, and the People’s Front are in the transporter room!”

“How?” Gaila hissed through his suddenly frozen smile.

“That half-Pakled factotum of yours!”

Gaila groaned. “I should have sent one of the Breen to supervise.”

“Who’d have thought operating the transporter was a two-man job?”

“Anyone who knew Bijon.” Gaila sighed. “Is Pel with them?”

“She better be, by now.”

Gaila nodded. “You entertain your group, and let the People’s Front browse the Cardassian products. While the KRPDF are doing that, I’ll escort the minister and her people off the ship. Then Pel can bring them here, and you can sell the Federation weapons to Commander Lotral. There’s no reason any of them should meet up on board.”

It sounded suicidal to Brunt, but he could do nothing else but nod.

Five minutes later, Pel was showing off Cardassian pistols and rifles to the KRPDF, and Brunt was in his suite, insisting on sharing a drink with Lotral. It stung to be so free with his supply. Brunt wasn’t incapable of generosity, but he much preferred it to be in the context of giving a little to recoup a greater return. He forced himself to remember that the sale of Federation phasers to the KDA was a greater return.

When Pel buzzed his communicator to let him know that she had taken the KRPDF contingent to the dining hall, Brunt magnanimously opened the door to his quarters and stepped out, followed by Lotral and her group.

Movement out of the corner of his right eye caught Brunt’s attention, and he tried to look in that direction without turning his head. Three of the minister’s aides were still in the corridor, not yet in the transporter room.

Brunt hastily leapt in front of the door to his quarters, and pointed down the corridor to the left. “Right along there. I mean, not right, straight. Straight along there to your left.” Miraculously the six reptilian soldiers all did as they were bid, without looking the other way along the corridor. Perhaps it was because being soldiers made them more receptive to commands, or maybe it was because the drinks in the impromptu lounge had made them relaxed and suggestible. Brunt hoped it was the latter, as this would make for an easier sale.