"Half-hearted"
by Torg
Navigator

Torg's heart raced. Dominated by its Klingon fortitude, the large muscle beat fast more so from
the exhilaration of the hunt rather than from the quickness of gait of which the body carrying
it was moving through the lush forests of Carraya. His nostrils flared too, with equal intensity
catching the scent of his target, and he instantly altered his bearing forcing his stocky
stature through a collection of branches, vines, and other foliage.

Knowing that the Cliffs of Tokath lie just ahead, his chest now pounded with even greater
intensity, undoubtedly in sync with the creature that was now without hope of escape. Torg,
coming upon the small clearing that designated the danger ahead, took an initial gaze upon the
massive animal he had long been tracking, and his level of respect for the creature
heightened even more. Dropping his spear, Torg prepared for close-quarters combat, a more
proper contention since he now would fight his opponent face to face. For with he and other
Klingons following the true path of honor and integrity, one always confronted rivals on
equal terms, whether they be sentient or not.

The quadruped turned at the crackle of leaves sounded by Torg's spear hitting the forest floor.
Snarling to reveal its razor-like teeth, it released a bellowing roar as it raised itself on its
hind legs. Torg balanced himself and squared his shoulders, ready to clash with a creature
standing at least three meters high and twice his weight. Fear had been completely purged from
his mind and body knowing that if he met death, it would be one of honor and his soul would pass
on to Sto-Vo-Kor.

Suddenly, as if the animal had sensed Torg's thoughts of honorable death, a pulsating light
emerged from the creature's midsection and then swirled around its entire body. Squinting and
raising his arm to shield his eyes from a brilliance never before seen by Torg, he perceived the
diminishing size of the animal until it had morphed into an obviously bipedal, humanoid form.
And as quickly as the sparkle of energy had appeared, it was now gone leaving in plain view and
to Torg's amazement the likeness of his Romulan father.

Without uttering a word or taking the slightest action, the Romulan image taunted him, reminding
that neither Sto-Vo-Kor nor Gre'thor--Klingon realm for the dishonored dead--held a place for
him. He would never be among Klingons, for he was not truly Klingon and would never be accepted
as such. Lowering his head in dishonored shame for a moment, Torg looked up again to ask why he
must be tormented in this manner, to ask for death in exchange for the disgrace of his
existence. But again, from his perspective, he was denied.

The Romulan officer slowly began to step backward coming ever closer to the cliff's edge.
Approaching the point of no return, Torg sprinted toward his Romulan heritage. Taking a final
lunge past the support of the Carrayan surface, the Romulan began to plummet almost beyond the
stout, outstretched arm of a man genetically torn between two races. Violently struggling to
break Torg's hold, the Romulan officer peered upward toward his only anchor of existence.

"Allow me to fall you Klingon half-breed!" Torg's father exclaimed. "This is what you always
wanted isn't it ?"

Torg awoke harshly, soaked in sweat and in surroundings that were barely recognizable and far
from inviting. He remembered now that he had accepted a position on board a refitted Ferengi
Marauder commanded by of all people, a Ferengi female. Worse still was that he was being
awoken by the voice of some Ferengi know as Brunt repeatedly quoting one of the Rules of
Acquisition. Torg had not had good initial feelings about accepting Daimon Koda's offer for
the navigator position on board the MV Exchequer, but his "good deed" had left him unemployed
with no other options. He looked forward to the adventures of both making profit and
piloting such a capable vessel, but even his limited experience in the ways of the universe
had told him to stay clear of anything remotely Ferengi. But what was done, was done.

Climbing out of bed, Torg readied himself for his first day as the Exchequer's pilot. "Well,"
he grunted, "I guess I had better first report to the good DaiMon herself." In silence Torg
continued thinking that he could not believe what he had just said. "Who would have ever thought
that a Klingon/Romulan half-breed would be reporting to a female Ferengi DaiMon? What is the
universe coming to?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Golden Beginnings" 
by DaiMon Koda & Trey Forbes 
CO & Financial Advisor

Koda crossed her arms and stared out the window at her new Marauder, motionless inside the
mooring clamps of the spaceport. She had opted to wait for her crew here, at Ariel IV, rather
than in orbit around Ferenginar for several reasons, not the least of which was to avoid the
seeing-off of the FCA. A member of the Authority traditionally stayed on board any newly
commissioned Ferengi vessel, to "have the honor of celebrating with the DaiMon, of course"--or
so they claimed. Koda knew that they did it rather to inspect every inch of the ship, and so
she had declined the offer.

Waiting had never been Koda's strong point, especially when waiting for latinum to come
pouring in. But she couldn't very well leave the spaceport without her crew, so she turned
her houghts instead to the wonderfully bright color of latinum. Depending upon the light,
latinum could appear many different shades of gold--sometimes it was a warm, friendly
yellow-golden, and sometimes it was a cold, defiant green-gold. If polished correctly, latinum
could shine like the sun that Ferenginar never seemed to see more than five minutes of; if not,
it would become dull and muted...but never tarnished. Rule of Acquisition number one hundred
and two: Nature decays, but latinum is forever...

William Forbes III, 'Trey' to those who knew him well, was a tired man. He'd started amassing
his fortune at a young age, and had continued to stumble into one financial success after
another. At times, he wondered what he had done to lead such a blessed existence. That his
riches were a direct result of his deceitful ways, taking advantage of those less
fortunate than himself, never occurred to him as an option.

Trey had realized some time ago that he was tired - not of life. Not, by any means, of life. No,
he was tired of always being watched. Being filthy rich had its down side. He'd read a book once,
"The Prince and the Pauper", and he could relate quite well to the Prince, longing to be able to
walk the streets as a common man. Of course there were those who turned their backs on
everything to do that. Trey, however, was not willing to walk the streets a poor man. There had to
be another way. Some way to be free to walk the streets unmolested - without bodyguards.
It was at the spaceport at Ariel IV that his opportunity appeared. On a layover from one
financial meeting to another, he had gone to the fresher - without his bodyguards. There,
he'd overheard a couple of maintenance men wondering about the Ferengi Marauder that was docked
there. Everybody knew that the Ferengi were the epitome of Capitalism - at least *they*
thought they were. Trey thought differently, but didn't think it politic to let his views be
commonly known. That would have led to questions that inevitably
came back to his personal wealth.
Trey was nothing if not fanatic
about keeping his private assets private.

It was the work of a moment, in concert with a small pittance of a bribe, to discover who the Marauder
belonged to. He evaded his bodyguards by climbing out the fresher's old-fashioned window and
went off in search of this DaiMon Kota. He hoped he could strike up a mutually satisfying business
partnership with the Ferengi. One that would allow him to give his bodyguards the slip for good.

Spying the Ferengi he had been told to look for staring out a window, Trey approached quietly.
Too late, he realized that it was just possible that the DaiMon might know who he was. He was just
about to turn and leave when the DaiMon turned away from the window and caught Forbes
watching...her? Trey was confused. The DaiMon was a female, in clothes. He had heard that only
male Ferengi were allowed that comfort. The fact of the matter was that Trey had never seen a
female Ferengi before. He was intrigued and speechless just long enough for Kota to speak to him.

"Can I help you, Hew-mon?"

"DaiMon Kota?" Trey whispered inquiringly.

It was a good thing Ferengi had exceptional hearing, or Koda might not have heard the man at
all. "That's Koda, with a d," she replied warily. "May I have the honor of knowing who you are?"
Koda was careful to be polite; potential customers deserved respect, and everyone was a
potential customer.

Forbes wasn't sure what to make of this female Ferengi. She made no apologies for who she was, and
seemed to be weighing him the way he would weigh latinum, seeing profit. The Ferengi had a saying,
something about wise men and profits in the wind. Her introduction removed all fears
that the DaiMon knew him, at least she didn't know him by sight. Ironically, this emboldened Forbes,
and he began to see possibilities before him.

"Call me Trey," he said by way of introduction. If they could strike up a deal, he'd have plenty
of time to tell her more, later. His bodyguards would never call him Trey. Anything less than a very
formal *Mister* Forbes seemed beyond them. He'd have been willing to settle for 'Bill' or 'Willie,'
but no. A wild plan was beginning to form in Trey's mind, one borne of boredom, and a yearning
to be free.

"Yours?" he asked, nodding out the window toward the Marauder.

"Mine," she answered. "Is there a specific reason you wanted to
know...Trey?" Was this brief
conversation leading up to a business transaction, or was it simply conversation? Hew-mons had
an annoying habit of engaging in what they termed "small talk"-- insignificant chatter that they
deemed important for mutual relations, or some such thing. All it did for Koda was bore her.

Trey wasn't surprised that the Ferengi was cautious in her dealings with him. That had been
typical of his dealings with the few males of the species he'd had opportunity to meet.

"I have a proposition for you."

Trey waited a moment before speaking further. No doubt by now, Gregor and Horace, the muscle of
the day were beginning to wonder what was taking Trey so long in the fresher. Forbes looked around,
checking to see where his personal security force was. They might not have much time. Without seeming
to look in their direction, Trey pointed the pair out to 'Koda with a d'.

"If you can get those two to leave - without me - I'll personally see to it that..."

Trey stopped. He decided that he was taking entirely the wrong tack with this Ferengi. Ferengi
were interested in profit, and they knew how to have a party. He'd done business with them before,
always to his benefit, although to hear the Ferengi tell it, *they'd* gotten the best of him.

"I don't suppose you're looking for a Financial Advisor?"

Koda blinked, catching the conversation up in her mind. It didn't take long; she tended to treat
everything like a delicate negotiation, and when dealing with other cultures it was often
necessary to quickly digest any information they spewed at her.

Now that she knew what he wanted, though, a smile touched her lips. She put a hand on his elbow
and conducted him through the door leading to the docking bay and the Exchequer, saying, "Financial
Advisor...Trey, isn't it? Trey, why don't we sit down in my office and have a nice, official,
emloyer-to-potential-employee chat, shall we?"

Forbes hurried along after DaiMon Koda, certain that his two
muscleheads would soon come to the
wrong conclusion about his whereabouts. Trey was equally certain that he was about to enter into a
business transaction with the female Ferengi who was ushering him onto her ship. The prospects were
so good, he could already smell the latinum.

"Let's," Trey answered, following Koda to her office. "However,
DaiMon, I wasn't thinking so much
of a traditional employer/employee relationship. Oh, no. I was thinking about a partnership.
Something like... I go with you, and provide sound financial advice, you give me a percentage
of any profit I'm directly or indirectly responsible for bringing our way."

Trey smiled at the Ferengi DaiMon.

"Say... 50/50," he began, fully expecting that the DaiMon wouldn't go for it, and fully
prepared to roll up his sleeves and haggle. No doubt Koda either thought him mad or extremely
amusing. He'd 'negotiated' with Ferengi before.

Koda found herself blinking again. She burst into laughter,
incredulous that he would seriously
believe she would pay him half their profits. When she reassumed control of herself, she sighed. "Oh,
hew-mons...let's continue, hm?" She thought about what he was offering. Good financial advice was
hard to find...but the price had to be reasonable. "Now, the rest of the crew will be paid according
to regular Ferengi employee rates--" She flashed a nasty smile. "--which isn't very much. You, on the
other hand, want to receive a considerable percentage of total
profits." She feigned thinking about
it. "70/30."

"65/35" he corrected, and waited for the DaiMon's response.

Koda regarded the hew-mon thoughtfully. If he was really as good as he thought he was..."68/32, and
that's my final offer."

"Done," he agreed, and then finished the negotiations. "And 100% of anything you consider useless."
Trey smiled. If she was anything like the typical Ferengi, what she considered *useless* could be
well worth more to him than the 50/50 split he'd originally offered.

Koda smiled with satisfaction. There was nothing in the galaxy like the feeling of a closed,
successful business transaction. "Agreed. Welcome to the crew of the Exchequer, Trey."

And so it was that William 'Trey' Forbes came to be Financial Advisor aboard the Ferengi ship.
To prove his worth to the Ferengi female, Trey brokered a deal before they left spacedock. It
profited Koda 1000 slips of latinum, and freed Trey of his obligation to keep Gregor and
Horace employed. Every single slip had the warm, friendly yellow-golden color that Koda
enjoyed.

Koda appreciated Trey's final deal. She appreciated what she suspected would be sound financial
advice even more. Although the man wasn't a Ferengi, he seemed to be the most economically intelligent
hew-mon in existence. Koda smiled as the anti-grav unit moved her newly earned 1000 slips of latinum
into the vault on board the Exchequer. Yes, she could get used to that golden color...and any mission
that began with that beautiful hue was sure to be a profitable one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tara O'Hara was tired of being stuck at this spacedock. If her *POOR* grubby, slimy, boss groped
her one more time, she was thinking just as the *POOR* grubby, slimy creep did just that. Tara
turned around, smacked Bubba, stomped on his foot and stormed off. "I QUIT!!!" she yelled so
loudly that she was heard across the spacedock. She stopped just outside the entrance to the one
and only gambling establishment on the spacedock. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a
round, red lollipop, one of her few vices. Sticking it in her mouth, she turned at the sound of
her name being called.

"Tara, thank goodness! I'm glad I found you," Rob said. Rob was a nice guy. If he'd been rich,
Tara *might* even have been interested in him. "Hi Rob. What'cha doin here?"

"Tara, you can't quit! You know the only reason those tables make any money is because the men
all come to see you. Oh, and those quick fingers of yours." If Rob could have smirked, he would
have, but he was being genuinely complimentary to Tara. She rewarded him with one of her smiles.
"You know who I saw today, Tara? Bet you can't guess!" Rob joked with her.

Tara took a moment as if truly considering her answer. "William Forbes," she answered, naming a
person in the top ten of the Financial "Who's Who". She'd made it a point to keep current on
these things.

Rob was crestfallen. "You saw him in the 'fresher too?"

Tara looked up quickly at Rob, "You're kidding, right sweetie?"

Rob shook his head negatively. "Nope, I saw him 'bout an hour ago. Paid me some to help him
escape out the window and keep his "muscleheads" busy.That wasn't hard." Rob shrugged
self-consciously.

Tara looked at Rob, trying to figure out if he was having a joke at her expense. She really
*wasn't* in the mood. But Rob was a nice guy, and had never lied to her before. He might lie to
others, but never to her. She thought he had a crush on her. It was kinda sweet, actually, like
the boys in high school. They weren't rich either. But William Forbes. Her mind spun with the
possibilities. *He* was R*I*C*H. No one knew how much he was worth, but everyone knew that just
meant that no one could count that high. Could he *really* be in this hole-in-the-wall place?
Inconceivable! But what if he was? Tara's mind raced. "Rob, where was he going when he escaped?"

Rob shook his head. "I don't know Tara. He didn't tell me that." It was the gold-diggers turn to
look crestfallen. "He did ask about that Ferengi Maurader that's getting ready to leave soon,
though. Does that help?"

Tara rewarded him again with a galaxy brightening smile. She didn't know if it would help or not
*But it can't hurt* she thought. With nothing else to do, Tara decided to check the ship out.
She'd heard they were looking for a Casino/Bar Manager. She'd also heard it was being run by a
female Ferengi. One of the nice things about working in a casino was the amount of information
people were willing to tell you, for free. Maybe it was the Klingon Bloodwine, or that green
syrup from Antares, or one of the other legal alcohol substances.. or maybe the illegal ones
kept in the back room. Whatever it was, there wasn't a thing that happened on this spacedock
that she didn't hear about, even if she had to *discreetly* eavesdrop more often than not.

Rising quickly, she gave Rob a kiss on the cheek, and a hurried, "See ya later sweetcakes."

Hurrying toward the spaceship, she worked on a plan to sneak on board, *just to take a look
around*, see if her quarry was on board. Every nerve ending she possessed was screaming at her
that he *was* indeed there, but her cautious side was speaking up too. *Just sneak on board,
take a good look around, ask a few questions. What could that hurt?*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sam McCluskey
Engineer, MV Exchequer

"PetaQ!" he cursed under his breath. Klingon swear word. At least he'd learned something in this
place.

Sam opened the door to his locker wearily and put his duffel bagon his shoulder. And where now?
The cheap food promenade he guessed. His dreams were wheat noodles and slivered brown lizard
meat and peppers these days. Once there had been glowing blue starship readouts, and the moon
wheeling under his feet. All for a crummy piece of script from Starfleet Academy. Nobody would
hire him without it. And it was out of his reach.

He had flunked out of the Academy, returned to New Orleans and the White Corsair; sure, the girls
had comforted him and Madame Melusine had been tactful, but working as the House bouncer wasn't
good enough anymore. Then Melusine had pulled some strings, gotten him a job at Panama
FreightWays working those old tubs to Luna and Mars base and the near stars. What a party! It
was the most fun Sam had known. And yeah, the bulkheads were rusty and dripping, there were rats,
shadows and flickering lighting, the crew was dishonest, horny or both... but there was
something about engines... Sam liked them and flying in space more than anything.

But the Feds had busted Panama. So he had scraped up all his cash and bought a one-way to Altair
Station. If I could only get a chance, I'd work for peanuts! Sam thought angrily. If I could get
my working papers, I wouldn't need Starfleet. If ... If... If...

"Is looking for you are? a good time, mister?" said the being with silver antennae and golden
butterfly silk wings.

"Looking for a job, sorry." Sam said, dumping his empty carton in a replicator pit.

"One hundred eighty-three centimeters tall. Ninety kilograms. Commendable muscle to fat ratio. I
would suggest security." piped up a passing litter robot.

Sam felt embarrassed. "Look, just mind your own business! Anyway, I'm an engineer. I'm looking
for a ship, but... no papers."

The butterfly being frowned, and then said, "Not paying much, she. Another cheap Ferengi is, but
over there you look, yes?" Sam read the padd on the turbolift frame. "The MV Exchequer. The
manifest logs say it is owned by a DaiMon Koda. Engineering post open for interviews."

Sam beamed too. "Great! You've done me a real favor, what can I do for you?"

"We are watched, good for business, no? you kiss me now." To Sam's surprise the butterfly being
slipped a piece of holowrap into his pocket as they sank into an embrace. She forced his chin up
and away from it, and shook her head slightly, and vanished into the crowd.

As he rode the lift to the ship, he pulled it out. Tarot bubble gum. So what? Just for fun he
held up the wrapper to see which card.

Death.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Just sneak on board, take a good look around, ask a few questions. What could that hurt?*

With those words still echoing in Tara's mind, she spied a train of maintenance personnel heading
toward the Marauder.  Quickly scanning the faces, she realized there was no one on that detail
that she knew. *Hmmmmmm, I wonder...*

Tara headed to the maintenance closet and grabbed herself a hat and jacket. Quickly dropping her
casino visor and vest, she donned the clean-up crew articles of clothing.  Stepping out of the
closet, she looked both ways. *Whew, the coast is clear,* she thought.  Tara joined the end
of the train as unobtrusively as possible.

Entering the ship, no one paid her a second glance.   She was almost peeved about that, she was
used to earning second glances, but then she remembered why she was on board.  Picking up a tool
case, she began her search.

Slowly making her way around the unfamiliar ship, shortly, Tara found herself looking into what
could only be called a "Casino".  With a quiet laugh, she entered and felt at home right away.
The "dealer" was impressed with the quality of the games, the richness of the seats and tables.
She took a quick look under the tables, at the bar, scanned the controls. It wasn't long  before
she found the cheats. 'Pretty clever,' Tara thought, 'but I could hide 'em better. Those poor fools
wouldn't even know what hit them!' she thought proudly.

As she wondered around the bar/casino, she had a thought. In a voice almost too quiet to be heard,
she asked the computer, "Computer, do you know if William Forbes is onboard?"  Much to her surprise,
the computer answered, "There is no one by that name on board."  Tara shuddered at the sound of the
computer voice. 'I'm going to *have* to do something about *that*," Tara stated firmly to
herself. She gave herself a shake. 'What am I thinking?  I don't even work here.. but if I did..."
Her mind began formulating the lines of code that it would take to replace that *awful* voice.  

Tara was disappointed at the computer's answer, but unwilling to give up. "Computer, did anyone
join the crew roster lately... say...within the last hour?"

"One person joined the crew roster within the last hour.  Male, human, "Trey."  That was all the
computer had for her.

Tara just about decided to give up, when she remembered that William Forbes' nickname from
childhood was "Trey".  His father started calling him that because "Trey" was the third
William Forbes. A small, self satisfied smile curved her red, red lips.  She was determined now.

Removing the jacket and hat, Tara threw them in the reclaimer and hid the tool box behind the bar. She
began setting up, making *lots* of noise. She enjoyed singing, and was singing a "rowdy" song from
her homeworld. Amidst the noise and clatter she was making, Tara hadn't heard anyone enter.

"Hew-mon," came an unfamiliar voice, "what do you think you are doing on *MY* ship?"

Tara calmly turned around to face her first visitor. "You must be
DaiMon Koda!  How nice to meet you, at
last! The agency sent me. They heard you were looking for a Bartender/Casino manager and they
sent me right over!" Tara kept smiling and fiddling at the bar.  "Can I buy you a drink, DaiMon?"

The DaiMon was nonplussed.  She had not informed any agency, but was not about to look a gift horse
in the mouth. She was nearly ready to leave, and no one had applied for this job yet. "Tell me,
hew-mon, what makes you think you can run my casino?"

Tara smiled again, approached the DaiMon and took her by the arm.  "Let me show you, DaiMon. Deeds are
*so* much more effective than words, no?"

The experienced dealer showed DaiMon Koda where she had found the
"cheats." Within minutes, Tara had
rerouted several of them, as to make them nearly impossible to find, and making them harder to even
suspect. Giving the Daimon a triumphant look, Tara said, "So, Daimon, what do you think? Normal
employee wages and benefits? *And* I get to keep 50% of what I can "make" at the games. Oh, I would
like to talk to you about holosuites, too...I have a few ideas."

Tara settled back into a comfortable chair, and waited for a response.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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