Surprise Visit

[Sorehl 0]

A summary of the conference between Sorehl and Drankum, as played at the 09/05/08 sim.

 

Drankum had been summoned back to the station by a young, familiar face. Jeralla Ramson, the young Cardassian girl who’d grown up at SB405 and the Canar Trade Mission he’d established there, showed him into what she said would be a private conference with a spokesman from her native government.

 

Noting the low lighting, he entered and heard the door hiss closed behind him. “This had better not be another joke,” he warned aloud.

 

There was a single table at the center of the darkened room. Two glasses sat on the table, a small one filled with green liquid, the wider one with something purple. In one of the two chairs, a figure sat in the robes of a Cardassian aesthetic with hood raised.

 

Almost immediately, the figure gestured to the open chair. Standing, he drew back the hood. The face was not Cardassian. “Please come in, Ambassador,” Sorehl invited.

 

Drankum turned his head slightly. “No,” he growled, the anger clear. His voice rose to a near scream, “The Great Depository, you aren’t supposed to be here! Damn you!” He slammed his fist into the conference table, refusing to even look at him but instead the table itself.

 

The Vulcan tried to diffuse the tension. “Really, Drankum,” he cautioned, almost playfully, “you must learn to govern your passions. They will be our undoing.”

 

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he growled again, anger still lacing his words.

 

“I believe you walked out on our last drink,” Sorehl implored. “Please, Drankum, sit.”

 

The Ferengi looked up at the Vulcan, shaking his head. “There is no time....”

 

Sorehl pulled back his own chair, lowering himself into it. “We measure time by artificial standards, my friend,” he reasoned. “Let us not rush headlong into anything that need not come to pass.” His voice grew more quiet. “I must admit, I am... embarassed to be here.”

 

Drankum tilted his head at the remark, some of the muscles in his shoulders visibly relaxing. A calm actually seemed to come over him. “For what purpose?”

 

The former captain’s response was not direct. “Earlier, you accused me of conceit. Now I sit here at the height of it, believing that somehow, despite the efforts and negotiation of fine diplomats, that somehow I might have the means to help bring us back from this brinkmanship. Is that not indeed conceit?”

 

Drankum stood up straight, resuming his composure. “It was a trait that never suited you.”

 

“Agreed.” Sorehl inclined his head slightly and blinked. “Worse yet… I am here to implore you based on ‘emotional’ merit, building on our shared foundatoin. I am here to convince you to answer when I ask, ‘What would you have me do?’”

 

The Ferengi diplomat moved to stand behind the chair across from Sorehl. “You asked me that already,” he answered pointedly, “though I don't believe I actually answered.”

 

“No,” Sorehl confirmed. “Once again, you said there was no time. But I am here to make time to listen.”

 

Drankum eyed him skeptically. “To listen? To listen to the arrogance of the self- righteous people I defended? To listen to the arrogance of peoples that I tried to protect - who only cast us aside without a second thought?” He forced a smile. “There is a lot one could listen to around here.”

 

“Yes,” Sorehl confirmed again. He leaned in, steepling his fingers. “I have no standing with the Federation. I laid down my role as Commissioner several weeks ago. As such, I can negotiation nothing. But I can listen and see if we can understand each other.” He leaned in further, unusually furtive. “What can we do to keep this from happening?”

 

Drankum let out a low chuckle. “Understanding? That requires trust.”

 

Sorehl seized on the word ‘trust’, which they had traded at their last meeting. “A commodity that cannot be bought?”

 

Drankum looked wistfully in the distance. “A commodity that cannot be sold either.” He redirected his gaze to the Vulcan. “To you, I will trust. What you can get them to do, I will trust. Beyond that...”

 

Sorehl was uncertain he could get them to do anything, but he could not gauge his ability without knowing the task. “Let me help,” he pressed, invoking the favorite three words of the famous essayist from Zeta Orionis.

 

Drankum finally sat in the chair. “They did not ask,” he noted bitterly, “nor pretend to ask.”

 

Sorehl nodded. He had previously admitted similar guilt in that.

 

There was a long pause, as if Drankum were waging some internal debate. At last, he continued. “The Ferengi Alliance does not... want... this station.” The admission seemed to have taken significant effort.

 

His Vulcan mind sifting through possibilities, he opted not to try to conjecture what their want truly was. Instead, he moved on the opening itself, “Then help us work toward what they do want. Take the higher road and step back from this brinkmanship, so we can work this out.”

 

Drankum propped both hands on his cane, bringing it under his chin to rest. He looked across the table at the Vulcan, then sat up and took the glass of purple liquid.

 

And then they talked…

[Sorehl 0]

The follow-ups to this log are contained in On the Table and Ferengi Amendment.