So Long and Farewell

[MrDrankum 0]

SO LONG AND FAREWELL

An Ambassador Drankum Profitable Production

Copyright © 2011, Drankum, LLC.

 

Including Excerpts from “Lamb in a Divided House”

Copyright © 2010, A Halloway Production.

 

 

Stardate 1002.25, 14:56 hours - 29th of April, 2385

VIP Dining Room – Sky Harbor Aegis

 

They had been sitting, eating and making small talk for almost two hours. Midway through, acting First Officer Jorahl and Doctor McKinny, their company, had left. They were alone. Thomas Halloway, one of only ten people to have ever commanded Aegis and the current leader of the U.S.S. Yorktown. Drankum, the Ferengi who had been associated with the station for twelve years and been leading it for one. Trust in the present seemed absent; trust in the past might be their only way out. With privacy, the real problem could now be discussed. Or could it?

 

Drankum shook his head, “That was probably the plan, Captain Halloway. No one left to know or care about past deeds…” The Ferengi looked up and to smile. “Only to see the galaxy’s sterotypes. How could I ever know anything about tactics?”

 

Halloway felt a twinge at Drankum’s remark. He folded his arms. “They don’t know anything about your role in the war, do they?”

 

Drankum blinked, tilting his head. “I find myself a relic. The Great Material Continuum does not care about the past, only the future. But no, those who would have known have since moved on to more profitable things.” The Ferengi dropped to a neutral expression, looking far off. “I was supposed to retire you know, before being thrust here.”

 

“Yes,” the captain acknowledged. “I was surprised when I saw the newsholos, after the Security Council’s decision.”

 

Drankum blinked, returning his focus and aiming it at Halloway. “The game makes sense, even from a financial standpoint. This is the last need to maintain the international agreement. Once this fails, which it probably should have already, everyone will be able to go their separate ways. Profits are made, deals done.” He smiled thinly. “Even the Grand Nagus cannot complain, after all, a Ferengi is supposedly in charge.” His mockery was deliberate.

 

…

 

Stardate 1102.25, 20:19 hours – 17th of October, 2386

Secure Gate G7 - Miami Planetary Spaceport, Florida, Earth

 

He had known that it would not last forever. Their approach had made it necessary and, despite apparent efforts, those involved had finally figured out no one was hiding in the empty suite so many light years away. Even with the Romulen’s efforts, apparently someone had obtained holofeed footage. At least they had made a substantial profit from selling it. The Great Material Continuum had a sense of irony if nothing else.

 

As they stepped down the gangway, Patty smiled and held his arm tight. He had done this before, she not so much. At the time, he had hoped interest would fade and the annoyances would as well. While this would eventually transpire, it would move at a grub’s pace. For their part, continued status at least required continued security.

 

The flashes were blinding. The noise was the most unprofitable thing he had heard in a long time.

 

There were at least two hundred of them when they entered the terminal proper. By a conservative estimate, his name had been uttered eighty times in a minute. His title had been screamed twice that number. He was supposed to look left, look right, answer one question here, answer one there, answer…wait…did that Andorian female just propose marriage by flashing him?

 

Retirement might have its perks.

 

He wasn’t exactly working with the same board as before, but the Ferengi had figured that for the benefit of his own sanity, silence was not always bliss. After a conference message with Jint, they had both agreed that more interest existed in what might be said instead of what was going on. There was only one way to solve the problem, and get Patty some peace, and get him some peace, and enjoy the vacation he paid so much for, AND…something else that had just gone missing.

 

“Well, humons and those that are in denial, I do have a brief moment,” he said approaching a podium lined with holorecorders. Several Federation Diplomatic Service guards were flanking him, as well as some additional terminal security persons keeping the press at bay. Patty stood, as she had for most of the trip, next to him.

 

Drankum looked…relaxed. In fact, some would later claim he had stopped for surgery on his way to the humon homeworld. When he smiled, it was genuine. His shoulders were pushed back, he had a presence about him that Patty herself had not seen in many years. Even his cane somehow looked more expensive. His eyes were not weighted down, the face did not seem as gloomy. Even his skin seemed to reflect better. It took awhile for Patty to adjust. His face, this scene, was likely being broadcast literally everywhere live. What’s more, Drankum knew it. This might really be his last grand entrance. Within a few seconds a shocking reality hit the Bajoran…he was enjoying it!

 

“Mister Ambassador, do you have any comment on the latest news of former Board of Liquidators Assistant Chief Amek’s indictment?,” a reporter asked.

 

The Ferengi nodded, “Yes. Good. They are all unprofitable idiots and I hope every last strip of latinum is taken from their accounts.”

 

“Why haven’t you spoken to the press before now?”

 

“Because I think most of you would eat your own young most days and I had more important things to do.”

 

“Have you spoken to people at Starfleet Command?”

 

“Well, normally when a change takes place, every society loves paperwork. Your humon Starfleet is no exception. So yes, I spoke with them. I had to, now that I think about,” he paused and rubbed his chin. A slight shrug occurred, “Gave me a nice gift basket though, those spa tickets weren’t cheap.”

 

Somewhere, some Admiral had just cursed his name.

 

“Why are you here on Earth?”

 

“Because I am on vacation, why are you here humon?,” Drankum said without missing a beat, pointing to a male Bolian at the back. The figure, taller than many, nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

 

“Sir, your comment on reports that you were involved in a top level meeting on Fereginar that involved the First Clerk and the Grand Nagus days before the corruption probe within your government.”

 

Ah. There it was, took a little longer than he expected. At this, Drankum paused for several moments. He glanced at Patty, then back at the holofeeds, adjusting his weight to cane ratio slightly. “My comment on the reports? Let’s just skip the unprofitable foreplay my blue humon wannabe. I was at the meeting,” the Ferengi said calmly.

 

Suddenly the noise grew from the blob of supposed reporters. Really, did these creatures believe that screaming over one another was somehow going to increase the production value of their report? No wonder humon society had spent centuries trying to figure out ways to get rid of them. Hadn’t their World War III been about killing all the reporters? Or was that World War V? Apparently they missed a nest.

 

Through all of the noise, Drankum heard a muffled question that he actually wanted to answer. Pointing to a female Vulcen in the back, the others silenced themselves.

 

“As I was asking, is your sudden departure from the Aegis project a sign of your own involvement in the situation plaguing the Ferengi government?,” the logical being inquired.

 

Drankum smiled and tilted his head. At that moment, for that very brief moment, he felt as if he was on top of the galaxy. That had been the question everyone really wanted an answer to, here, there…everywhere. It was the only nagging thing about the previous chess match he had just played. That game had ended well, this new one was far less certain. Then again, the stakes were not as high.

 

After pondering his response for a good twenty seconds, the smile never leaving his face, Drankum spoke.

 

“That is probably the most profitable question asked, and the one the rest of you really wish to know. Leave it to a pair of ears to ask. However entertaining rumors might be, the truth is that no…I was not involved in the current corruption probe within the Ferengi Alliance. After working with the upper levels of my government, I decided that the time had come for me to focus on more,” he paused searching for words, “personal matters.”

 

He stopped again, questions started to be asked but he raised his left hand to indicate he was not yet finished.

 

“My involvement in things involving Aegis has been a cornerstone of my career. That project, which many unprofitable fools are quick to criticize at every turn, has done more to bring cooperation between governments than anything I’ve seen in the last three decades. I did my job, I made my latinum, so now I get to enjoy the profits of my labor. Will I miss those back there? Some of them. Do I regret my decision? No, but…”

 

“Were you forced into retirement by the Grand Nagus?”

 

He hated being interrupted, yet it wasn’t the worst timing ever. He looked at the humon female to his right, “No, it was actually my idea. Check your history, I’ve tried to do it three times in my life. Fourth finally worked.”

 

In normal circumstances, the press would do anything possible to continue to attempt an association where none existed. Yet all had known of the statement issued an hour earlier by First Clerk Jint personally, on behalf of the Grand Nagus, thanking Drankum for many dedicated years of profitable service and other platitudes. The message itself was done nicely, the fact Jint had been the one to make it though…that had been enough. An infant Pakled could have followed the profits on that one to know what it meant. As such, a simple ‘no’ was enough.

 

And then it came.

 

“Ambassador, it seems from statements issued today that the senior members of your government are quite pleased with you. Many were reportedly surprised by your decision…”

 

Now, he cut one of them off, “Why retire?”

 

Drankum paused again and looked at the ceiling directly ahead of him with a neutral expression. After a moment, a smile returned to his face as he prepared to answer.

 

“As I had told a profitable person once before, I am a relic of a period and time that has since plundered its way into your history notes. While there are sometimes uses for such historical artifacts as me, they are limited. The Ferengi government, the Aegis Project, me….we have all done what was the most profitable during our time together. I have been involved in many interesting twists and turns, seen many things and even caused some of them. But nothing, not even the most profitable of ventures, lasts forever.”

 

He paused again, “That and I heard of a great deal on a winter home on the Klingen homeworld.” He shrugged as some chuckles came from the remark.

 

“Is it true you have signed a book deal?”

 

Now that was surprising. He actually seemed a little taken aback by the question but figured the limits of journalistic bribing likely matched those of most Ferengi, “Yes.”

 

The Drankum paused, reaching back and taking Patty’s hand, “I’ll take one more annoyance…we do have a rather expensive meal waiting.” This was starting to lose its appeal to him and, now that he technically wasn’t paid to care, he could leave whenever.

 

“What do you say to those that are concerned the current crisis, on the frontier and in the Ferengi government, due to …”

 

Alright, now that was just flat out irritating. He cut the male Bajoran off.

 

Shifting his stance, Drankum let go of Patty’s hand for a moment and held one side of the podium. “What I have to say is simply this. No one in this galaxy is perfect. I did the most profitable I could for the longest I could. I survived more bankruptcy attempts, phaser blasts, unprofitable bureaucratic meltdowns, diplomatic fiascos, irritating Ambassadors, small brained officers of every denomination and other disgusting things longer than most,” he said calmly.

 

Drankum paused and looked down at the podium for a moment before looking back up. “As for everything else,” he said lifting his left hand in the air and waving it slightly, “I’ve had a very profitable run. Now it is the kids’ turn to plunder the galaxy and clean up the mess…”

 

A few more questions were being prepped, but he used his raised hand to motion a stop before they really got going. What some humons would describe as a boyish grin was on his face, at least the best one could find on someone of the species.

 

“And with that I say….Tor-ang….Vaj tIq 'ej….Si longtemps et adieu…"

 

Most didn’t immediately respond, some just took additional pictures. After all, who in their profitable mind would have thought he could speak native Vulcen, Klingen and humon French…correctly? Or was it? The galaxy is full of secrets, isn’t it? Before they could ask, he was gone.

 

An hour later they were on some island Drankum couldn’t remember the name of, drinking something he couldn’t even pronounce, eating something he had never seen before…and enjoying every minute of it.

 

While on a beach late that night, Patty had finally leaned over and asked.

 

“What was it? What did you tell them?” she inquired inquisitively. It wasn’t as if either had turned on a terminal to watch the news.

 

The Ferengi smiled and leaned back in the reclining chair. He sipped his drink and looked up at the stars.

 

“So long and farewell.”