Hit The Ground Running, Part Four

Posted on 26 Feb 2016 @ 1:26am by Lieutenant Benice Gyce Ph.D.

1,611 words; about a 8 minute read

Location: Free Port, Hodorus (Ferenginar-Owned Colony)
Date: June 22nd 2380
Time: 0830 Hours

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Free Port made Mos Eisley Spaceport look like a cute little kitten. It was teeming with Hupyrian and Nausicans and just about any other type of mercenary protecting their male Ferengi employers while they moved about the back hallways of the seedy port.

Some darker corners of the port had undisrupted executions taking place via beat downs and stabbings, as firearms were not allowed. Deals gone sour, Gyce assumed, that bystanders appeared to be used to. There were a few Eliminators in this port, sent from the FCA or some business competitor to wipe said target out. Very few Ferengi wanted to take part in the violence directly.

"Hodorus is a haven for the most crooked of Ferengi businessmen," Avok explained to her as she limped behind him on their way to the port authority's office.

"So they ignore the Rules of Accusation?" Gyce asked her partner while she memorized the exits, twists, and turns of the seedy, dimly lit port hallways.

"They still follow it almost spiritually, and without FCA oversight," Avok corrected. "According to our employer's contact here, Hodorus is governed by a triad of businessmen. And they must pay twenty percent a year of their kickbacks, in the form of charitable contributions to the FCA."

"Why such violence here?" Gyce asked with disgust as they turned down a hallway on their left that had fresh bloodstains on the walls.

"This is considered neutral ground. Cheating any deal in Free Port, will earn you a death mark that the allocaters deliberately overlook. Punishments are carried out swiftly by private and business security, before you can venture out of the complex."

Gyce nodded vaguely at that while she looked at the various kiosks along the walls. Some stalls sold jewels, others clothing accessories and exotic fabrics. Food vending stations of Free Port smelled like gym locker rooms that had not been cleaned in a week. Then again, Ferengi did enjoy their slugs and frogs.

The shifty behavior was mutual between sellers and buyers too. Not all Ferengi seemed interested in cheating their counterparts. The various other aliens in the port appeared introverted. Keeping to themselves. Understandable, since Gyce was certain a few drug sellers were spotted a few hallways back.

Weapon sellers - Merchants of death, really, were forbidden to stock their goods on the market stalls. Those were the craftiest salesmen too. Most had holographic projectors of the phases and disruptors in question. And they did not try and cheat their buyers, since the buyers generally had highly trained mercs with them.

It was when she and Avok turned down the specially allocated hallway of weapon merchants, that she understood the need to look as garbage junkers. The most dangerous of black market weapons was sold here. Only feet from the port authority office too. A sign the port authority condoned the sells.

If any sort of cop was spotted here, the biggest business revenue of Free Port could easily become non extinct. Not just rifles and guns were sold here. Proton shells with launchers. Holographic-displayed anti-ship turrets. Warhead targeting packages. Rotary shoulder cannons that had various firing options on a pre-programmed setting.

What made it all the sickening to see, was the sight of some of Starfleet's weaponry on holographic display. If these miscreants sold Starfleet military pulse-fire phaser cannons, what was that chance they sold -

"Not here," Avok told Gyce, as if he knew she thought their missing warhead would be sold here.

Then the Vulcan pointed to the port authority door. Gyce nodded reluctantly as she followed him in.

The port authority office was sparse. Several chairs placed along a grey-metal wall, near the exit. And two rows of eight facing back-to-back in the middle of the waiting area.

"Two slips to pull a number, one bar to skip ahead of the numbers," spoke a squeaky elderly Ferengi man from behind the authority's desk.

Gyce had to stand on her tiptoes to see him fully, behind his high-styled desk. A light blue unitard, it looked, with a grey military vest and a badge with the logo of the Ferenginar Trade Authority.

"We wish to speak with Allocater Pirm. Our garbage hauler has docked," Avok told the receptionist as he pulled a bar from the inside pocket of his trench coat. "Tell him Captain Drax is here."

"Right away."

Gyce looked out the door into Death Merchant's Row, she called it. Was this the very place Occupation leaders got their arms from? If not for her cane, she might of gone weak in the knees to the thought that her people could have very easily been cheated in a place like this and been none the wiser.

It suddenly dawned on her that she was weaponless, per Avok's insistence. She felt exposed. In danger, and she did not like that. Not with over a hundred Nausicans following their employers.

"Allocater Pirm," Avok spoke, which brought Gyce out of her dark thoughts.

This Ferengi had a lobe guard on that matched the same uniform as the receptionists. He took one look at Gyce and smiled brightly, hungrily. He wanted her and that made her feel even more exposed. She remained outwardly calm, despite his overtures.

"Let's go to my office so we can discuss your unloading procedures," Pirm continued to smile as he ushered the both of them through a now unlocked door to the left of the reception desk.

Down a long hall of twelve doors on each side. Then they turned left down another hall and walked inside the fifth door on the left. Gyce made note of the emergency exit pathway signs before she entered Pirm's office.

Here, it smelled less of slugs. There was, however, a cajun sort of smell she could not place. His office was littered in expensive glass lamps, sculpture busts of famous Ferengi men, and there was an audio sound of running water from his music player.

As the door closed, Pirm immediately was nervous. Almost cowering at the sight of Avok.

"If this is about that Crawley case, I swear I didn't know what was in the case, Avok," he began.

"We're looking for Kod," Gyce interjected firmly while she continued to case the room. No window here. That meant he was not a very important Allocater, even though some of the knickknacks Gyce spotted, were real.

His busts were forgeries. The lamps were made of ten karat gold. Worthless to Ferengi. Given his association to Avok, Gyce could only assume he was in a spot of importance, but not so important he would likely be watched a lot.

CIs did not live long, once revealed. And Free Port was the apex of criminal business. Not a black market, Gyce reassessed. But a market once highly advertised to the wider galaxy, the criminal world would likely kill the craven Ferengi.

"Kod hasn't been seen in several years. Took a new alias and got a cloak and everything... Vanished once he left dock three years ago," Pirm was quick to divulge when Avok began to stare stoically at him.

"So he was here a full year under a new alias... what did he do here?" Gyce asked rather directly.

"Mostly talked to some of the weapon techs at some of the warhead sellers," Pirm admitted. "He and his son Jokk were intending on going into a new line of sales. Kod got sick very sudden though. Left in a hurry. Jokk still comes around here once or twice a month."

Gyce fought hard to make the connection but it was Avok that asked, "And does Mister Jokk still live here?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Jokk mostly just buys tactical arming packets and contracts programmers... If he's not in Free Port. I believe he makes most his latinum at tongo tournaments in the entertainment complex of the main city."

"I need you to allow us to use firearms," Avok stated. Gyce got the impression it was more demand than request.

A sick dad, down on his luck. Gyce could smell desperation in this plot. Pirm appeared to know it as well, only his fear was more out of self-preservation.

"If I give you permits to carry, and people see you -"

"We aren't to be in Starfleet gear," Gyce assured. She noted his fear of the situation completely stopped his perverse stares at her. "I've private arms to use so they don't know we're aligned to anyone."

"So long as you act visually as a neutral party, I'll give you the permits, but I expect double my finders fee on this," Pirm pressed timidly in Avok's direction.

"We have an accord," Avok agreed, accepted the digital prints for their alias' firearm permits, and motioned for Gyce to follow him out the door.

"You're thinking with a cloak, his presence will not be known," Gyce spoke quietly as she walked back to the exit.

"Affirmative," Avok agreed as he walked beside Gyce this time, back to their docking bay.

"We need to get more guys to unload our gear," Gyce spoke. A code in case anyone wanted to eavesdrop.

"If our shipment is as small as I think, we will not need them."

Translation: If Jokk was already here, there would be no time for backup. They were likely on their own.

A desperate son with a sickly father, and a WMD in their possession? This assignment just got deadly on a global scale...

 

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