Eighteen Bricks and a New Beginning

Captain Zedd Lafayette Sykes stepped off the rickety shuttle ramp and into the thick humid bustle of Profit Plaza, New Ferenginar's sprawling capital. The air hit him like a damp towel, marsh fog laced with starship exhaust and sizzling street food and the faint tang of replicated bloodwine from a dozen vendors. Neon signs flashed overhead in garish colors promising everything from genuine Romulan ale to guaranteed warp core alignments. Towering skyscrapers rose around him, their holobillboards cycling through the Rules of Acquisition like religious mantras.

Zedd adjusted his leather jacket, the familiar weight of his concealed dataport a quiet reminder at the base of his neck. He had come a long way on anonymous freighters, the Vault of Shadows fortune converted to bricks of gold pressed latinum and tucked safely away. Freedom was close, he could almost taste it, but the Black Nebula and Crimson Corsairs had long memories and he needed a ship. Something fast, discreet, and capable of disappearing when necessary.

He spotted the cluster of starship vendor storefronts and wove through the crowd. Ferengi merchants darted between off worlders like schools of fish, lobes twitching at every potential deal. Humans, Bajorans, even a few Cardassians moved with wary eyes, many of them sporting glowing exemption badges to avoid the planet's more colorful customs.

Zedd pushed through the door of Zorol's Stellar Emporium. The showroom was big, bigger than it looked from the street, and packed with flickering holograms of ships in various states of repair. Negotiation drones hummed somewhere overhead and every so often a satisfied cackle drifted out from one of the back offices.
A squat Ferengi came around from behind the polished counter with his lobes gleaming under the lights and his suit doing its best to blind anyone who looked directly at it. He spread his arms wide.
"A customer with discerning taste! I can always tell." His grin showed a lot of teeth. "Zorol, at your service. What can I interest you in today? A nimble shuttle? A sturdy freighter for private cargo?"
Zedd leaned on the counter. "Save the sales pitch. I'm looking for something with teeth, fast, armed, not too flashy. And no questions about previous owners."

Zorol's eyes narrowed as he looked him over. "No questions? That costs extra. But first, customs. Male off worlder, traditional attire required, prosthetic lobes and modest codpiece. Enhances focus, you know."

Zedd chuckled and pulled out a small pouch. "Heard about your traditions. I'll pay the exemption. How much?"

Zorol rubbed his hands together. "Wise choice! Five strips for males, upfront, non refundable."

"Five?" Zedd raised an eyebrow. "That's steep."

"Profit is profit." Zorol shrugged.

Zedd slid the strips across and Zorol bit one to test it, then pinned a glowing badge to Zedd's jacket with a flourish.

"Welcome to civilized commerce. Now the ship." He activated a hologram before Zedd could say anything else. "I have exactly what you need. Saber class refit, light cruiser, once a patrol vessel and now perfectly suited for independent work. She's called the Dutchman. Sleek and capable, 364 meters of opportunity."

Zedd's interest sharpened at that. He had studied Saber refits on the run, compact and warp capable with room for a small crew and enough firepower to discourage trouble. "Specs?"

The ship rotated slowly in the hologram, sleek hull and tucked nacelles and an extended shuttlebay aft.

"Length 364.77 meters, eight decks, standard crew of forty but she runs fine lean. Warp 7 cruise, 9.7 max, 9.85 emergency for two hours. Ten multi frequency shield generators, auto modulating and metaphasic regenerative. Type 2 ablative armor. Four Type XII phaser arrays, dual torpedo launchers, full loadout of photons, quantums, and tri cobalts. Six Type 11 shuttles, a Danube runabout, four Workerbees convertible to Attackwasps."

Zedd nodded slowly. "Price?"

"Twenty five bricks," Zorol said smoothly. "A bargain."

Zedd laughed at that. "Twenty five for a refit with patches? Fifteen."

"Fifteen? You wound me! Twenty three and a full resupply."

The haggling kicked off in earnest, Zedd poking at the outdated AI and the questionable sensor dampeners, Zorol touting hidden cargo bays and stealth refits. A few passersby slowed to watch the familiar dance.

Half an hour later Zorol threw up his hands. "Twenty bricks, final!"

"Eighteen," Zedd countered, "and we inspect her in orbit."

Zorol hesitated, his lobes twitching, then nodded. "Eighteen pending inspection. Let's go."

They took a private shuttle from the rooftop pad and rose through marshy skies until New Ferenginar fell away and the orbital rings came into view, massive structures bustling with traffic. Zorol directed them to Docking Ring Alpha.

The Dutchman hung clamped to an external berth, her hull catching the station lights, a sleek refitted arrowhead with faded Federation markings. Zedd felt the pull immediately. This could be it.

They beamed aboard directly to the bridge. Consoles hummed softly and the viewscreen showed the Gamma Quadrant's starfield stretching out ahead.

Zorol spread his arms. "Pristine. Engines tuned, core purring."

Zedd jacked in via dataport and let the data stream straight to his mind. Systems solid, AI outdated but tweakable, weapons and shields as advertised, hidden bay spacious enough for what he needed.

He disconnected. "She's good. But the runabout thrusters need alignment and the Workerbees need calibration. Seventeen bricks."

Zorol's lobes flushed. "Seventeen? Nineteen, final!"

"Eighteen," Zedd said, "and a clean registry transfer. No traces."

Zorol paced and muttered Rules of Acquisition under his breath for a moment. Then he extended a hand. "Eighteen. Deal."

Latinum transferred and Zorol beamed out with one last satisfied cackle.

Zedd stood alone on the bridge and had a look around before settling into the captain's chair. The padding fit like it had been waiting for him. The Gamma Quadrant waited beyond the viewscreen, trade lanes and nebulae and dangers and opportunities all tangled together out there.

Freedom. Or close enough to it for now.

But forty stations for one man made the ship feel hollow and he tapped the console.

"Computer, maintain standard orbit around New Ferenginar. Low emission sensor dampeners, visible but boring. No departure yet."

"Acknowledged, Captain Sykes. Orbit stable. Traffic control query estimated in fourteen hours."

"Plenty of time."

Zedd leaned forward and scanned the readouts. The Dutchman was perfect, fast and armed and discreet, but she needed crew. Skilled hands he could trust, or at least ones that wouldn't sell him out at the first opportunity.

New Ferenginar was risky for recruiting, informants everywhere and the Corsairs had reach, but it was also the best market in the quadrant. Misfits and exiles and talent looking for profit without oversight.

Zedd stood and adjusted his jacket and headed for the turbolift. "Computer, open a secure channel to Docking Ring Beta public directory. Filter for crew recruitment boards, mercenary listings, Cantina Row forums. Priority on engineers, pilots, tactical specialists, and medical. Flag any Black Nebula or Crimson Corsair mentions."

"Channel open and compiling listings," the computer said back at him.

Zedd sat down at the ready room terminal and thought about it for a second before he started typing. Simple and professional, nothing that would spook the wrong people or attract the right ones for the wrong reasons.

---

Independent light cruiser Dutchman seeks experienced crew for long range exploration and private venture operations in the Gamma Quadrant.

Positions: First Mate, Engineering, Pilots, Weapons Officers, Medical, General Deck Crew.

Competitive shares of profit. No questions about past affiliations. Discretion assured. Inquire aboard Berth 47-A, Docking Ring Alpha.

Captain Zedd Sykes.

---

He sent it out with light encryption across the right boards and then prepped a shuttle for Cantina Row. Face to face was still the best way to read someone's eyes.

At the viewport he paused for a moment. New Ferenginar spun below, orbital traffic glittering all around it. Somewhere down in that chaos the crew that would turn this ship into something real was already out there waiting.

"Computer, monitor responses. Wake me for direct pings. Shields on standby."

The computer acknowledged and Zedd stepped into the shuttle and sealed the hatch behind him.

The Dutchman held quiet orbit, sleek and patient, her captain already out hunting.