"The Goldrock Job"

[Joe Manning 0]

Ez Gular leaned against the doorframe and slowly gazed over the scene in the galley. It was two pictures within a picture, side by side, one busy and raucous, the other still and subdued, neatly divided down the galley‘s center. On the left side, closest to the serving table, all the Klingons were seated together, sloppily downing flagons of bloodwine and boisterously thumping each other on the backs as they boasted over their latest exploits. On the right side, closest to the corridor outside, everyone who was not in that first group brooded over their food and whispered to each other. Between the two groups there was a tense interplay that the Bolian’s trained senses were picking up. Much of the boasting of the group on the left side was subtly directed at the group on the right, reaffirming Klingon superiority and territoriality. The subdual of the group on the right was not a factor of submission to the group on the right, but more … conspiratorial, their whispers remarking at Klingon arrogance and forging plans not for the ears of the group on the left.

 

The bisection of QoB’s crew elegantly demonstrated in the ship’s mess.

 

“Are you enjoying the show, Creaseface?” A voice boomed from the left side of the galley and was answered by several nearby laughs. Gular only gave the Klingons a mysterious grin. He would not bother to point out the obvious irony of the insult. Nor would he point out that the Klingon’s challenge betrayed (to trained senses) his discomfort with Gular’s audience with the Commander.

 

“Come!” The Klingon continued. “Join us! I promise that our drink will make you blue in the face!” His comrades laughed again. The Bolian glanced at the right side of the galley. Several looks of contempt were being shot at the left side of the galley, but Gular could sense that the non-Klingons were as curious about the Bolian’s presence as were the Klingons.

 

“Another time, perhaps.” The Bolian finally answered, still displaying his mysterious grin. “My business with Commander Mench is not yet concluded.” He stepped back from the doorframe and pressed his thumb against the access panel with a pointed flare intended to reinforce that his business with the Commander was above their notice.

 

The snap of an old butane lighter turned Gular back to the Commander. Mench’s feet were crossed on top of the small dining table that was used by the crew’s command staff when they desired privacy. A bottle of brandy and an emptied shot glass had been pushed to the center of the table and Mench was touching a cigar to the gold-plated lighter. Luxury.

 

“How did you do it, Lazarus?” The Bolian asked cooly and quietly.

 

“That‘s ‘Commander Mench’ to you, civilian.” Mench laughed self-indulgingly as he tucked the lit cigar into his mouth. “And I’m still trying to figure out how I did it myself. These Klingons sure are a wacky lot.”

 

Gular returned to the table and retook his seat. “An odd arrangement, the crew, but I can understand the necessity. I just never would have envisioned Lazarus Mench commanding a Klingon Bird of Prey.”

 

“Isn’t it great?“ The Commander’s face twisted into a large smile. It was not a pleasant face, short and squarish, the skin marred by battle scars in several places, most prominently the large gash down across his right eye. Somehow, his face seemed even less pleasant when he smiled, as if his contentedness was an affront to the galaxy. “Think about it, Ezzy. A cruiser-sized ship that can disappear from sensors, armed to the gills with the most terrifying weapons this side of the galactic core, and crewed by fanatical Klingon warriors that were desperate enough to give command of their ship to a lousy dog like me.

 

“I suppose all I really had to do was play the loyal servant of the Empire Liberation Project for a year. The last Commander loved me. Made me one of his chief advisors, no less important than one of his Lieutenants, only without the fuss of having to charge into battle swinging a sword like a madman. He let me lead from the rear, you see.”

 

Gular nodded. “Always your favorite place to be in a battle, isn’t it?”

 

“Preferably somewhere else entirely.” Mench shrugged. “But I never bolt from opportunity, and this deal just keeps getting sweeter. Sure, I still got to play like I’ve got any interest in ‘freeing Kronos from the oppressors,’ or whatever the hell it is these Klingons are after. But you saw the scene out there. Every month, we lose at least another one, no doubt rushing like an animal at someone who insulted his mother’s forehead. Then we replace him with one of the captives. I do my part to sweet-talk the captives, make them think I’m on their side and that I’ll treat them better than the ‘Klingon monsters.’ In time, I earn their loyalty. Before you know it, there won’t be any Klingons left. Just me and my merry band of pirates and smugglers hoisting the rig on about the last ship you’d expect to find us.”

 

“Until the authorities locate the ship,” Gular pointed out. “Federation -or- Klingon.”

 

“But that ain’t going to happen.” Mench waved his cigar at the Bolian. “As long as we got that little magic-maker sitting underneath the Bridge. A cloaking device is a wonderful and a rare thing to possess in this business, Ezzy. And besides, if there’s ever even a hint that this rig is going to be captured, I’ll see it coming. I’ll just grab what I can and make a run for it, or maybe try to work out a deal with the captors.”

 

“Is that what happened with the Raven?” Gular asked, his face showing no emotion.

 

Mench plucked the cigar from his mouth and grinned inquisitively at the Bolian, slowly releasing a stream of smoke. “What do you know about the Raven, Ezzy?”

 

“No more than anyone else, I am afraid.” The Bolian answered. “Only that the ship has not been seen in over a year. My attempts to open a private channel with Captain Vance were unsuccessful. So I went to one of our mutual contacts. I was told that Raven’s crew was now operating off of a Klingon ship. I found that somewhat strange … but so did the dealers. They directed me to you since you are now directing Raven business … something else which I found strange.”

 

“Did you, now?” Mench laughed.

 

“Yes. I did recognize two of the faces I saw out in the galley -- Raven crew, no doubt, though I must wonder if they joined the crew of this ship as willingly as you did. You did mention that the Klingons take captives? And that these captives are often expected to serve as crew?”

 

“That’s right.” Mench chuckled and drew another stream of smoke from the cigar. He was keeping his gaze on Gular, trying to determine if the Bolian came here to exact some kind of retribution for the death of Captain Vance. He was never certain just how close Gular and Vance were. “Poor Captain Vance. He didn’t see the profit I did in signing on with the Klingons. But you must know as well as I do, Ezzy, that Vance lacked the vision that I possess. So come on, why were you looking for him? You must have a job.”

 

“I do.” The Bolian replied. “But I am beginning to wonder if this crew, with its unique situation, is an ideal fit for the job. It will take you far from Klingon space and I am not sure if the warriors whose aims you must appease would approve.”

 

“If there’s profit to be had, I can spin it to them. Their cause needs funding more than anything. And manpower, if your job can provide that.”

 

“In other words … “ Gular tilted his head. “If the job would allow you to take more captives?”

 

“Precisely.” Mench gave the Bolian a wicked grin. “With discretion, of course.”

 

“Yes, discretion. This job would require a good deal of it.”

 

“Now, you do remember me telling you, Ezzy, about this little thing called a ‘cloaking device?’ Come on, spill the beans. What do you have?”

 

“A robbery.” The Bolian retrieved an isorod from a hidden fold of his tunic and slid it across the table. “With a bit of sabotage blended in. There is a mining planet in the Hyades cluster which certain associates of mine would like to expand to.”

 

“Hyades cluster?” Mench raised an eyebrow at the Bolian. “That -is- a long way. But it’s also out of the way. Pretty far from the Federation core.”

 

“Precisely.” Gular nodded once. “Federation patrols are not particularly thick in the region, and the planet itself only stations a single security outpost, planet-side, beside the canyon where the majority of the mining takes place. Population is mostly colonists who conduct the mining operations. They maintain a small settlement called Goldrock, built around the security station.”

 

“What am I robbing?” Mench asked.

 

“Should … we agree to this arrangement … you would be robbing tritanium.” Gular answered. “The Goldrock mines are the only source of tritanium in the region. In addition to supporting the main colony in the Hyades cluster and a few smaller colonies spread beyond the cluster, they prepare large bi-annual shipments back to the Federation core through the Aldebaran colony. One of those shipments is scheduled for transport to Aldebaran in three months. There will be a week just prior during which the tritanium stores scheduled for this shipment will be assembled for pickup. You will have the opportunity to grab this assembled shipment and move it directly to your cargo hold. Once you have dealt with the security force, obviously.”

 

Mench furrowed his brow, looking down at the isorod as he twirled it around his fingers. “How does this benefit your associates?”

 

“My associates comprise a group that is seeking to gain a foothold in the Hyades cluster. The Federation believes that the territory is ripe for expansion. Our sources suggest that they will soon be mounting a mass colonization effort in and around the star cluster. Our group wishes to assert control over the shipping and trading aspects of this colonization effort. Unfortunately, the Federation plans to assign this responsibility to the group which currently manages the tritanium mines at Goldrock.”

 

Mench laughed. “And if that group’s operations were to be discredited …”

 

“Our group could move in and offer our services instead.” Gular continued. “This is but one phase of the displacement. We have been working for the past two years on discrediting them in other ways, mainly by implicating their board members in a variety of illicit activities … real and invented. Losing their main tritanium shipment in the very area where the Federation plans to expand would be a heavy blow. As my associates also have access to significant interstellar security forces, we could use our ability to defend Goldrock against a pirate attack as ample incentive for the Federation to accept our services.”

 

“Corporate warfare, is it?” Mench gave Gular an incredulous look and laughed again. “I’ve been signing on with the wrong employers my whole life! I imagine your ‘associates’ will pay well. We get to keep the tritanium?”

 

“No,” Gular answered. “The tritanium you would deliver to my people, who, in turn, would deliver it to buyers in the Gorn Hegemony.”

 

“The Gorn?” Mench asked with interest.

 

“We have sources who hint that a coup has taken place within their government and that they are now initiating a renewed military buildup. Thus, their demand for starship construction resources has increased, and tritanium is a resource which they possess in short supply. My associates could set a very favorable exchange rate. In addition, we could gain the favor of an alien power near the Hyades cluster, an aim that will certainly benefit our long-term plans for the region.”

 

“Very interesting.” Mench grinned at Gular. “I think I can spin that to my crew. I know that the Gorn aren’t on the best of terms with the Empire. I might convince the Klingons that this could gain them an ally in their fight against the Chancellor.”

 

“I can promise no such alliance. We do not wish to upset the Klingon Empire.” Gular warned. “In fact, we are similary maneuvering to gain their good graces as well. You are free to tell your crew what you wish if it will gain their trust, but they will gain no support from the Gorn.”

 

“I hear you.” Mench said. “So what -do- we gain?”

 

“Equal trade for the tritanium,” Gular answered. “In whatever goods you desire. We -can- secure Klingon goods -- disruptor weapons, blades, perishables … possibly even intelligence -- whatever you feel will appease your crew. I understand that with this ship cut off from the Empire, those goods are not easy to come by.”

 

Mench shook his head. “We raid the occasional Klingon freighter, but it’s always more difficult than the Federation hits. Their cargo shipments have a greater tendency to be under heavy guard. And even a lowly Klingon cargo hauler fights like a madman. They’re also quicker to hit the self-destruct button before we have a chance to grab anything. They -never- let themselves be captured.”

 

“So the Klingon faction of your crew is never replenished. A circumstance which is not entirely unfavorable to you, correct?” Gular asked.

 

Mench laughed and dropped the isorod in a pocket in front of his vest. “Well, I know you’re good for payment, Ezzy. And you know I’m as capable as Vance of getting the job done.”

 

“I only hope,” Gular said, standing up. “That you can control your crew. Klingon outcasts and captives turned officers? A dangerous situation. That cloak you boast about is an asset, I admit, but it is not one to be taken for granted. If any complications should arise that jeapordize this operation, my group will disavow you; you do not wish to know what that means.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Mench glared at the Bolian, not liking the implied threat. “I can take care of my crew.”

 

“We will see. You will first proceed to a star system twenty light years from here -- the coordinates are on the data rod, along with schematics of a cargo ship which will pass through the system in two days. You will raid the cargo ship in your usual manner. The fate of the ship, its crew, and its cargo are of no consequence to my associates -- take or destroy whatever you wish. Your primary target is a crate which my associates have planted in its cargo bay. It is painted red with two black Klingon runes. This crate contains equipment which will aid you along with further details of the mission.”

 

“Got it.” Mench patted the vest pocket. “Cargo ship, two days. We‘ll be there.”

 

“The crate is -scheduled- to be delivered to its intended destination a day later. If the crate should be delivered safely, we will take it as an indication that you have not agreed to perform this operation, and we will proceed with our contingencies.”

 

“You have contingencies?” Mench gave the Bolian a searching look.

 

“Of course.” Gular grinned. “My associates -always- have contingencies. And we are always aware of the activities of those we employ.” The Bolian turned and strode back to the door. “I will show myself back to my ship. Good luck, Commander.”

 

Mench watched the Bolian leave the private lounge, biting down on the tip of his cigar. A mysterious one, that Gular. No telling who he was working for or what his true angle was. Rumors were that his associates were not men to be crossed; the Bolian’s confidence in waltzing onto a Klingon Bird of Prey and entrusting a known scoundrel with corporate schemes and political secrets about the Gorn Hegemony could only be the product of a powerful backing. His message had been clear -- do the job faithfully or you all die.

 

Whether any of what the Bolian said was the whole truth, Mench couldn’t be sure. And he certainly didn’t like doing the bidding of men who used threats to gain compliance. But he remembered that the most enjoyable days on the Raven were days after her crew finished a job given to Captain Vance by Ez Gular. Gular’s jobs always paid well. It wouldn’t hurt to gain the backing of such powerful agencies, either, and it would be good to get away from Klingon space with the Imperial patrols getting so thick of late.

 

It was a risk, and Mench was always the sort to play it safe, but this opportunity was too tempting to pass up. He put out his cigar on the tabletop, stood, and crossed to the door. They would do it, alright. With a cloaking device, what could possibly go wrong?