What Am I Doing Here?

[MrDrankum 0]

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

An Ambassador Drankum Profitable Production

Copyright © 2009, Drankum, LLC.

 

It was loud. Too loud. The fact was that if the noise did not stop there would be consequences. Why would anyone allow such to be played? Who in their right mind was allowing this unprofitable junk? It needed to stop! It must stop. Then it did. With force he would regret later, the bottom of a fist slammed into the table. Three things immediately became clear. First, the noise had stopped. Second, his hand was hurting. Third, the noise had accomplished the goal of waking him up. What a way to start a Monday...

 

In the course of the next hour, all attempts were made to resume sleeping. Different positions were tried, different methods utilized. However, the acts eventually proved a dismal failure and the reality of having to awaken to face the likely profitless challenges of the day became clear. Then, he sat up and glanced out the window. The stars continued to fly past as they had so many hours ago and a valid assumption could be made they were still at warp. The journey itself would take longer than he wanted but then again, it wasn't like he was having to pay for the fuel anymore.

 

Then it really hadn't been a nightmare. The events of the previous four days really had happened, the faint attempt to assume that an evenings over indulgence had caused mental instability wasn't working. That is when the words and conversation had started to replay like a bad holonovel in his head. As the process of getting prepared for the day continued, the replay seemed stuck without any end in sight.

 

The scene had been like thousands before it. A conference room, a fruit tray, people and humons around, with individuals holding an overstated view of their own importance jockeying for position about who would get to sit closest to the head of the table. Even at that point, Drankum had been bored with the entire affair and more annoyed than anything. There had been a clear promise he would be left alone, period. It was in writing, it was certified, the filing fee had been paid and it was official.

 

Only one question remained...what in the name of the Great Depository was he doing at this meeting? Most of the players were larger than he had been in a long time on the galactic scene, something he had become less interested in these days. While he had met and even worked with a few during his period on the humon homeworld almost two decades ago, the vast majority the Ferengi only knew due to reports or news footage. Thus far he had counted at least half a dozen members of the Starfleet Admiralty and at least two members of the Federation Council. On the far end of the room was a Bajoran male whose name he could not recall, but Drankum had worked with almost a decade ago during initial discussions about creating a station near Cardassia. Then entered Equia...oh this was getting interesting.

 

Equia was, by humon standards, a forty year old Ferengi female who had rapidly rose to power in diplomatic circles after the reforms of Grand Nagus Rom. She had served on Earth as the Chief of Staff to the Ferengi Ambassador for the last five years. In fact, the stock exchange was currently holding she would become the next Ambassador to the Federation Council with the suspected retirement of her boss in the near future. Although Drankum had never met her before, the female had a reputation worth commending...if you were in to that sort of thing. This caused an immediate calculation about the others in the room. Whoever that Klingen and Romulan already seated were, a good bet would be they received a pretty good paycheck each week. This meeting was about something and it wasn't how to optimize shipping lanes.

 

Then it was called to order and mostly became a blur. Drankum's recognition of events had resulted in a timeline similar to certain types of anomalies. The meeting dealt with Aegis, so at least why he was here wasn't that much of a stretch. It was the sixth of such conferences since the end of last year. What an amazing fact, maybe they would throw a party when they reached ten? The meeting was to confirm a decision reached during another meeting, wonderful...when was lunch again? Following this, a series of remarks came out that made no sense to the zombie Drankum was attempting to keep from becoming. Decisions not to amend the minutes from the previous meeting were just so engaging after all....

 

At first, he was afraid that sleep had overtaken him. "It will be seen as a political maneuver that may not have any long term benefits," one had said. This was followed by comments about current disasters, future disasters and a prevention of them. The words "resolve towards future success" were mentioned several times by the Bajoran. This had prompted one of the humon Starfleet Admirals to question the concept with statements of "inability to cause more harm" mixed with something like "clear objectives of mutual interest." Somewhere along the line, the words "viewed as nothing but politics" were said...probably by the Romulan but he couldn't be sure. They did always mumble...

 

Then, it was clear that someone had drugged him. The Klingon female in the room could not have just said that. No, that member of the Federation Council repeated it. This caused Drankum to sit up slightly and regain his focus. Wait a second...what was he doing at this meeting? No, what was he really doing at this meeting? This situation was changing quickly, too quickly. So he finally interrupted some pompous Admiral in the middle of reading what was probably his Academy dissertation on the effects of long term waste management systems and asked.

 

It was not the answer he had even remotely expected.

 

Now, four days later, the hope that some type of practical joke was being played had completely faded. If the conversation with the Grand Nagus had not helped to make that clear, the portfolio bearing the seal of Starfleet and the contents within did. Drankum really was entering a completely new...concept. He had come to retire, not to do...do...whatever this was it obviously had nothing to do with retirement! This was not supposed to happen, it was not part of the master plan of profit.

 

The fact was, a new plan was going to be needed and quickly. He had just been handed a new business to manage. The problem was that throughout numerous humons and even the rebel Ferengi, he had made it his mission to criticize the plans of those running this business. How can one do that and then have to become...that person? He couldn't complain because he would be...oh Great Depository, what had they done...