[Prologue] Executive Director of Direct Acquisition Singen Wrath - Polite Dinner Conversation
Karrod Niac
((Private Dining Room, CSS Juggernaut ‘Persecutor’))
The tink and scrape of latinum utensils on jevonite plates was interrupted only by the undisguised mastication of the man at the head of the exceptionally broad table. Occupying a seat that could comfortably hold half a dozen smaller humanoids the solitary diner moved from dish to dish like a plague of locusts, devouring each in turn with little sign of satisfaction as his massive Brikarian jaws crashed together like tectonic plates grinding themselves to dust. His enormous hands were surprisingly deft as he manipulated his meal, belying a delicacy and precision that seemed contrary to his hulking appearance. He wrapped those same hands around an oversized goblet holding a bottle's worth of the finest Saurian brandy and slurped it down, small drips escaping his maw and falling onto the Tholian silk napkin tucked delicately into the collar of his finely tailored, dark crimson suit.
The doors to his dining room parted silently as two of his lieutenants dragged in his guest for the evening, a wild eyed Tellarite who had been until very recently the Captain of the freighter now burning in the Persecutors’ wake. The man was slammed into a seat to his immediate right and looked around, terrified and confused, as the meal continued uninterrupted.
Jath: This the Captain, boss. We kept the remotes off him sos’ you could talk to him, like you said…
He brought his napkin to his calcified mouth and wiped delicately before dropping it to the side of the many empty plates before him.
Wrath: Thank you, Jath. Will there be any other guests joining us this evening?
His lieutenant looked momentarily uncomfortable but didn’t hesitate long.
Jath: No boss, the ROLF’s…uh…well…the rest of the crew….
Singen Wrath held up an oversized hand and fixed his lieutenant with a casual gaze that had caused more than one being to void their bowels in reflexive terror.
Wrath: I see. An effective field test of the new model, I take it. Was there any trouble with the transporter system? Your predecessor had some difficulties operating it.
Jath’s dermis flushed of color and his expression grew terrified. Everyone knew what he had done to Jath’s predecessor and none enjoyed reflecting upon it. Singen’s smile was soft and lethal, fondly reminiscing about the walls of his ship echoing with the screams of the man who had too long delayed in getting the technology operating properly. It was amazing to him how easily a crew could be motivated by the simplest things, like listening to a man in an EVA suit trapped in a decaying orbit, slowly suffocating and burning alive as he skipped across the top of a gas giants atmosphere for the better part of a day.
Jath: No boss! Transporter worked perfec’, no problems, no problems. We made all the modifications you asked for, ain’t no chance people will miss the Starfleet signature.
Singen took another massive gulp of his beverage and let the goblet rest on the table, the crystal ringing pleasantly in the otherwise silent space.
Wrath: Good. Please stay for a few moments, Jath, I’d like to have a brief conversation with Captain…::he glanced towards the Tellarite whose eyes widened in primal terror::...Captain?
Cettoch: ....uh…uh…Cettoch…Glur Cettoch…shipmaster of the freighter Cutting Rejoinder…
Wrath leaned back in his comfortably oversized chair and let his gaze linger on the Tellarite until the man's mouth snapped shut again, his species normal tendency towards confrontation apparently muted by his situation.
Wrath: Captain Cettoch. I realize you’ve had a challenging day, Captain, so I won’t take up too much more of your time. Would you like something to eat? To drink? My kitchen staff is among the finest in the quadrant. I believe we have several vintages of Tellarite spicewine in storage…and I so rarely have the opportunity to open a bottle.
Cettoch: What? Wine?! You…you destroyed my ship! Killed my crew! You and those…those things you beamed over! Why?! WHY!?
Wrath smiled as the Tellarite regained enough composure to push aside his fear and begin shouting in earnest.
Wrath: Manners, Captain, Manners. I dislike shouting…I find conversations that are conducted in a civil manner lead to far better outcomes, don’t you? As a man of commerce I’m sure you’ve learned this yourself.
Cettoch: Manners?! MANNERS?! You murder my crew and wreck my ship and drag me into this…floating palace and you expect me to mind my manners? When the Federation hears about this they’ll hunt you down!
Wrath sighed audibly, a sound like a wind gust cutting through sharp mountain peaks, and briefly turned his attention away from his meal. He leaned forward and suddenly the Tellarite seemed to realize he was yelling at someone who was several meters taller and several hundred kilos more massive.
Wrath: What a perfect segway, Captain, thank you. You see, my organization is expanding its operations into this region and I’ve discovered it’s always valuable to know ones…new neighbors. Does Starfleet have much of a presence here? Ships? Bases? I’m very much looking forward to…reacquainting ourselves with them.
Singen had detailed reports, sensor readings and even visual records that would probably outshine even those collected by the numerous intelligence organizations that operated across the quadrant but in his long centuries of life he’d always found it valuable to speak to the ‘man on the ground,’ who invariably had their own unique perspective on matters. The Tellarite seemed perplexed and unsure how to answer and defaulted back to an argumentative tone that must’ve been simply habitual.
Cettoch:...Starfleet? They’ve got…uh…fleets! Fleets of ships out here. Hundreds of them. And bases! Bristling with weapons and sensors and…and…more weapons. In fact I bet they’re on their way here right now to drag you off to a penal colony!
Wrath rolled his eyes at the wanton display of bravado and gestured towards Jath, who took several judicious steps backwards.
Wrath: So basically no presence at all then? That confirms what I expected…dashing Starfleet, always so noble and brave and comically under-resourced. It’s very difficult to be the police force of the quadrant when you’ve only got a handful of ships to patrol whole sectors of space…and this region is so…tumultuous these days. A perfect opportunity for an enterprising man, like yourself, to make a profit wouldn’t you say? Speaking of…how much were you charging those refugees to transport them out of the danger zone? I’d imagine they weren’t particularly happy about their accommodations…squeezed in like stembolts, shoddy life support systems barely keeping the air breathable…and you had, what, nearly a thousand of them in your hold?
The Tellarite Captain flushed with some combination of terrified anger and sickening guilt, his last bit of sturm falling away as he slumped into his chair.
Cettoch:...two bars each…one bar for the children.
Wrath’s laughter was like the falling of sharp stones during an avalanche.
Wrath: An enterprising man indeed…and compassionate too. How unfortunate that they chose your vessel as their means of salvation. Perhaps you’d like to discuss some form of remuneration with them, considering you weren’t able to complete your contract?
The Tellarites expression twisted up in confusion.
Cettoch: Discuss it? But they’re all dead…your machines kill…
Singen’s massive right hand shot out and wrapped itself around the Tellarites head like a vice in one smooth motion, applying enough pressure to make bone crack and tendon snap audibly as the Tellarite screamed in brief agony. Singen watched the Tellarite helplessly wriggle within his grasp, frantically grabbing at his stony hand as if flesh could somehow compete with hard stone. Wrath allowed the man a moment more to hope and slackened his grip just enough to see the Tellarites ruined eyes widen in terror before he closed his grip all at once. With a sickening crunch the Tellarites head collapsed and a viscous geyser of fluid sprayed through the gaps in his grip, marring his suit.
Singen sighed as he dropped the body and dabbed at his suit with his napkin, grim ichor dripping from his hand and joining the growing pool on the floor. He turned his attention back towards his meal and picked up his knife and fork , delicately gripping each even as blood dripped down along the knife and onto the tablecloth.
Wrath: Jath…please summon my tailor…my suit will need to be replaced. And send the distress call that we discussed…I’d like Starfleet to see the little gift we left for them. It should give us a wonderful opportunity to get to know our new neighbors here in the Alpha Isles.
His lieutenant gingerly stepped around the shattered body and spreading fluids on the decking, trying his best not to look directly at it.
Jath: Uh…yeah…of course boss….uh…do you want me to uh…have that…removed?
Wrath’s shrug was a dispassionate tectonic movement.
Wrath: I doubt he’ll be much more of a distraction. Have the bridge set a course as we discussed…oh and Jath?
His lieutenant had beat a hasty retreat for the door but halted and turned, a brief flash of terror on their features.
Jath: Yea boss?
Wrath: Have the kitchen send up a few more dishes…dinner conversation always leaves me famished.
[TBC….]
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Singen Wrath
Polite Conversationalist
Executive Director, Consortium Direct Acquisitions
CSS Persecutor
V239509GT0