KnightofTempest
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Chapter 38
🕑 Added 2024-10-18 07:36:14 +0000 UTCThe smell of the Sea was thick in the air as I entered the harborside shop of Stogo of Ferenginar. It was a small place, wedged between two buildings that fronted onto the Old Port, a location that had long since stopped being the beating heart of the City. I supposed that when you could simply use the transporter to teleport goods across continents, sea trade stopped being a vital necessity of a modern economy and instead became a backward relic of another time. The Old Port of Marseille had largely been relegated to tourists, the once beating heart of commerce now silent and used for its view of the Mediterranean.
Inside, the shop was full of shelves of various dusty items. Junk to almost everyone in the Twenty-Fourth Century, this stuff would be beyond cutting-edge on Earth Six-One-Six. Here I spotted an old, Belt-unit, Tricorder from the twenty-two-twenties sat gathering dust next to an Antique Phase Pistol, which shared space with an old Duotronic Computer Padd that looked like it had been state of the Art back when Garth of Izar was in the Academy.
It was a treasure trove of tech that would be considered advanced by folks back on Earth Six-One-Six, but would be positively obsolete here in the twenty-fourth century of Star Trek Earth. While I knew that things like the Iron Man Suit and Doctor Doom or Reed Richards' Various Bespoke inventions would outstrip this stuff, this was better than the very best on the market available for anyone whose name wasn't in the same category as Tony Stark.
"Welcome to Stogo's Emporium! I'm Stogo, how can I help you today? Are you looking to buy, sell, or trade?" Came a reedy voice from nearby.
I turned to see a Ferengi in what appeared to be a green, yellow, and white, floral-patterned, Hawaiian Shirt, a Gold Chain around his neck, and a pair of green-tinted sunglasses. He looked like the stereotype of a sleazy salesman circa TV from the Eighties. Honestly, I wasn't a hundred percent sure what I was looking at, it seemed out there, even for Star Trek.
"Never seen a Ferengi before?" Questioned the Ferengi.
"Never seen one dressed like that before." I deadpanned.
"Ah, well. On Ferenginar when I was growing up, I used to get reception from Old Earth Television Programs, finally making their way across the quadrants to be picked up by whoever wanted to kludge together a receiver. Of course, the FCA keeps an eye out for anyone looking to get free entertainment, so the boom in pirate television didn't last long, but I caught some of them. When I emigrated to the Federation to open up my shop, I started dressing like this because those programs told me this was how Hew-Mons thought salesmen looked like. I quickly got proven wrong, but by the time I thought about changing my wardrobe, it became a sort of signature look, and you can't beat something like that for free advertisement." Explained Stogo.
"Right. I suppose I can't blame you for keeping up with it when you put it like that." I admitted.
"Exactly! Now, how can I help you? Buying, Selling, or Trading?" Queried Stogo.
"Trade. I happen to have a number of novels, movies, and music from the Eugenics Wars Era that survived World War Three in decent condition." I answered.
"Hmm. That could be lucrative, depending on what exactly you have. Plenty of you Hew-Mons are willing to trade hard-gained Latinum or those Energy Credits of yours for lost media, after all. I'm not in the entertainment business, though." Mused Stogo.
"So you can't help me?" I asked.
"I didn't say that. I happen to have a Cousin who does work in the Entertainment Business. If it's good, I can sell it to him, I'm just making sure you know that you'll be taking a reduction in value." Pointed out Stogo.
"Beyond the reduction in value from effectively pawning them, you mean?" I questioned.
"Of course. It's just good business sense. I have to make a profit myself, you know." Smirked Stogo.
"Really pushing that Ferengi Stereotype, huh?" I queried.
"We have that reputation for a reason. It's gotten us far in the Galaxy, after all. So, show me what you've got and we'll see what I can offer you." Nodded Stogo.
"Right." I agreed.
I began pulling a few things out of my bag of holding, starting with music. It turned out that a lot of music from the early nineties had been lost in World War Three and the Post-Atomic Horror that followed. That honestly figured, given how most of the stuff that people listened to was from the late sixties or early seventies at most. I was surprised to hear that they had some knowledge of Grunge, though, but only because the Master Recording of Nirvana's Nevermind had been uncovered intact during an archeological dig that had occurred in Los Angeles in twenty-three-fifty-one. Stogo was willing to buy the copies of Gish, Siamese Dream, and Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by the Smashing Pumpkins that I had swiped from the Bunker. Likewise, he was willing to purchase the copies of Pearl Jam's Ten, Bush's Sixteen Stone, and Alice in Chains' Dirt from me as well.
Once that was done, we moved on to movies. Casino, Goodfellas, the Usual Suspects, Heat, and LA Confidential were all taken off my hands. Apparently, they could be easily adapted to Holosuite Programs which would sell big-time, since the Crime Thriller Genre was a big one with a lot of folks in the Twenty-Fourth Century. Apparently, between Dixon Hill and the recovery of The Godfather Parts One and Two in the past few years, the genre exploded in popularity. He also bought a pair of Westerns, Tombstone and the Quick and the Dead, along with the Rocketeer, since those would be easily converted too.
Moving on to Novels, Stogo bought Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Apparently, the last had been published Postumosly, as JK Rowling had been killed during a suicide bombing in London in the closing phase of the Eugenics War. The Philosophers' Stone was the only book that had been recovered after the devastation of World War Three. He also bought Holes by Louis Sachar and Stephen King's Desperation. The first he'd bought solely because of other surviving literature referencing it, while the second he'd purchased because it was one of a select number of Stephen King Novels that hadn't been recovered after World War Three.
Once everything was tallied up, minus the reductions for this being a fancy, twenty-fourth-century, pawnbroker and the reductions for having to sell them to his cousin, Stogo tabulated everything to come out to be one-hundred-twenty-thousand Federation Energy Credits or roughly twelve bars of Gold-Pressed Latinum. It was a hefty sum.
"While I've got the Latinum to cover you, are you sure you wouldn't prefer to purchase a few items on credit?" Asked Stogo.
"Actually, I have a few things I might want to buy." I admitted.
"By all means, take a look." Grinned Stogo, toothily.
I did so, gathering up enough junk that it would likely make this trip well worth it. I purchased a Tricorder, a Duotronic Computer Padd, a Phase Pistol, a Pair of Gravity Boots, a Skorr Gravity Neutralizer, and a Kzinti Sonic Stunner all of twenty-two-twenties or earlier vintage. That cut my profits down by a decent amount. Apparently, even old technology went for ten to fifteen strips, depending on whether it was just tech or a weapon.
"That brings you down to eight bars and ten strips of Latinum. Would you like anything else?" Questioned Stogo.
"No, I think that'll do." I answered, putting my various purchases in my Bag of Holding.
Stogo watched as first my purchases, and then the bars and strips of Gold-Pressed Latinum disappeared into my Bag of Holding with nothing seeming to change in the bag. Not even a bulging of the bag seemed to occur, which clearly must have twigged something in Stogo's mind because I could practically see his eye turn into GPL Symbols. Unfortunately for Stogo, my Bag of Holding was not for sale.
"Say, you wouldn't be interested in parting with that bag, would you? I'm not sure where you found it, maybe some Iconian Ruin somewhere, but dimensional storage tech like that is worth a pretty bit of Latinum. That's the sort of thing that most people never see in their entire lives. I could make it worth your while." Offered Stogo.
"Sorry, my bag's not for sale." I refused.
"Are you sure I can't make you an offer?" Queried Stogo.
"Positive." I responded.
"Oh well, you know where to find me if you change your mind." Grinned Stogo.
As I exited Stogo's Emporium, I reflected that I wouldn't be selling my Bag to anyone under any circumstances and that it was unlikely in the extreme that I would change my mind. However, with some local currency now, for a given value of local, I figured it might be worth it to head back to Sandrine's Bar for a drink and something to eat before making my way back to Earth Six-One-Six. I could feel my Tower was somewhere in San Francisco, my awareness of it now completely unlocked at all times. If I was headed to Starfleet Central, I wanted to at least have a drink before I did.
As I returned to Sandrine's, I was greeted by the sight of a familiar face hustling a group of Nausicaans at the pool table. Sure, he was younger, more cocky, but I recognized Tom Paris when I saw him. Unfortunately, it seemed like the Nausicaans might decide to jump him if he won, judging by the strips of Latinum that had been put on a nearby table, matched against a bayonet that looked like it had some sort of emitter along the edge, my powers of Comprehension via Amestrian Alchemy telling me that it was a Nanopulse Weapon that enhanced the edge with laser technology, effectively making it a laser blade. Had Tom Paris baited the Nausicaans into putting up such a weapon as stakes in a pool game he was hustling them in? It seemed like a thing he'd do before he wound up on Voyager.
As I bellied up to the Bar, I ordered a shot of Bourbon, non-replicated, passing over a strip of Gold-Pressed Latinum for the trouble. The Bartender ducked under the bar and returned with a dusty bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, pouring me a shot and nodding to me. I could just tell via Force Empathy that the Nausicaans were about fed up with Tom Paris and his Pool Hustling, it would only be a matter of time now before a bar fight broke out. As I downed the shot, the high-quality, real, Bourbon burning down into my belly, I kept an eye on the situation as Tom managed to sink his fourth straight ball in his run on the table.
"Three, two, one. . ." I counted down under my breath.
As if on cue, one of the Nausicaans growled out something unintelligible and went for a dagger that was concealed at his waist while the other lunged for Tom Paris with his bare hands. Tom backed away from the lunging, grasping, Nausicaan even as the other pulled his blade. The bar fight had begun, and I just knew that it would draw in Starfleet Security to arrest folks.
On the one hand, that was bad for me, since I'd already pissed them off earlier. On the other, as I watched Tom Paris frantically try to dodge a swinging Nausicaan dagger, I realized that letting him deal with this on his own probably wouldn't do well for his ego. If he handled two Nausicaans, one of which was armed, while he was unarmed, that could only lead to big screw-ups like the one that got him assigned to a Penal Colony down the line. On the gripping hand, if he didn't handle two Nausicaans by himself and got stabbed, then that would probably muck with the timeline badly.
Sighing to myself, I decided right there to help out. A subtle bit of Force Telekinesis allowed me to trip up one of the Nausicaans to stumble into a table. He did so, smashing the wooden furniture allowing Tom to dodge another knife slash instead of being caught from behind by the now-tripped Nausicaan. That wouldn't put the Nausicaan down for the count, though. I would need to take a more active hand in the fight for that.
Nodding to myself, I waded into battle, hoping to help Tom beat the Nausicaans and scram before Starfleet Security showed up. . .
XXXX
AN: All right, so here we have the next part of Jan's adventure on Star Trek Earth. It turns out, a lot of media was lost in World War Three and the Post-Atomic Horror. It's why we have things like Riker being obsessed with Jazz or Tom Paris liking old Flash Gordon Stuff from the Fifties and Sixties. A lot of stuff just didn't survive and what did is often incomplete, hinting at broader series or genres while only leaving fragments behind.
It's why he was being paid so much by Stogo for the media he recovered. Mind you, Stogo and his Cousin will be making way more on the Holoprogram Rights for this stuff, so it worked out in the end. As for Stogo himself, TV signals reaching alien planets is a trope that I couldn't help but use here, especially as most Ferengi have never so much as seen a Hew-Mon before now thanks to Zekk doing his Obfuscating Tactics to try and shield Ferenginar's Economy from the Federation, whose unrestricted use of Replicators in industry means they can easily outproduce the entire Ferengi Alliance and flood the markets with goods if they so chose.
Mind you, the Federation doesn't really do Economics like that. They have a voluntary economy where people earn energy credits beyond the normal living stipend should they choose to run a business, like Sandrine's Bar, Chateau Picard Vineyards, or Joseph Sisko's Cajun Restaurant. They certainly don't do trade wars, not that the Ferengi realize that yet. It's still early TNG, after all.
At any rate, the next chapter will open with a bar fight with Nausicaans alongside Tom Paris.
Stay tuned. . .
Comments
Austin
Love the story thanks for the update
