If You Like It...

Posted on 05 Jan 2015 @ 10:28am by Lieutenant Olsam Mott

1,998 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: Starbase 84, Gesenejer's Fine Jewelry
Timeline: MD09: 1900hrs

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Olsam slipped inside the jeweler's store wearing an absolutely ridiculous outfit (of course). It was something he'd found in the cultural fashion database for Krios Prime, a high-collared affair with a heavy cowl that helped to obscure his face. It was voluminous and flowing, adding to his already considerable girth. At first he'd thought about just replicating one of those full-body refrigeration suits the Breen wore but that might have ended up getting him stabbed in a dark corridor or something, so he'd chosen the Kriosian outfit instead. It suited his purpose well enough, although the exposed portions of his face were painfully obvious in how blue and Bolian they were.

"Can I help you, sir?" the Flaxian proprietor asked, looking up from an array of gemstones scattered across a cloth that was not unlike the material used in Starfleet surgical gowns. He removed the spectacles he had been using to examine the gemstones and placed them on the counter, folding his hands patiently in front of him.

"Oh, yes, of course, Mister...Gesenejer," Olsam said, trying his best to stay shrouded in the Kriosian gown while still getting a better look at the man's name tag. Given the nature of the business he'd entered he was sure security sensors had made note of his biometric readings the moment he walked into the store so it wasn't like his identity would stay a secret under scrutiny but the point had been to avoid his family on the promenade and thankfully, so far, he'd been successful on that account. "I need two rings. Identical rings. For my wives. I have two of them, that's why I need two rings."

"Right, of course you do," Gesenejer agreed, though his voice was dripping with the sort of sarcasm that consistently went right over Olsam's head. "Do you have any preference as to the materials to be used in these identical rings? Gemstones? Size? Price?"

"Price?" Olsam repeated, questioningly, sounding as if he'd intended to just come in the shop and leave with two free rings. He would have replicated them under ordinary circumstances but that route wouldn't do with his family around. His brother Hars was an obnoxiously curious geochemist, insisting on inspecting damn near every rock that came within fifty meters. And his sister Alba, the executive vice president for compliance and regulatory relations at the Bank of Bolarus, could spot a fake anything from a thousand yards distant.

"Is price a primary concern for you, sir? We do have some less expensive items over here..."

"What? No, no. Of course not. Don't be absurd. I've got plenty of credits. Th-thousands of them to spend. Tens of thousands! But I didn't really give much thought to what they should look like though. Or how much this was going to cost me... Do you have any suggestions?"

"What's the occasion?"

"Our marriage."

"Didn't you say you were already married?"

"Yes, what's that got to do with anything?"

"So, they're marriage rings, then?"

"Yes."

"To be given...after the marriage."

"Well. Yes. Yes, they are," Olsam replied.

"Right then," the Flaxian jeweler said, narrowing his eyes slightly at Olsam. One hand discreetly slid below the counter nearer to the phaser he kept beneath it. There was definitely something odd about this "customer," and it was always better to be safe than sorry. "Can you tell me a bit about them, your two wives?"

"One is human and the other is Trill. Uh, one has got some tattoos and things and the other has spots. Uh, the spots would be on the Trill, of course."

"Of course."

"And... Well. One is a scientist, and the other is a physician. They're both very independent-minded women, very lovely in their own way, quite attractive, both of them. Naturally. I wouldn't be marrying two hideous women, that's for sure. Let's see. They're young. I mean, sort of young. The human is young. I'm not sure how to classify the Trill... If it's a joined Trill, do you count the total number of years of the symbiont or just the host? Anyway, the doctor is very fond of surgery and the scientist is very fond of... Hm. Well. I'm not really sure what she's fond of. Chocolate, maybe? She did throw up on me once and seemed very apologetic about it, so I guess you could say she's a kind person."

"Right. That's all very helpful information for selecting rings... Would you say they have a favorite color?"

"Yes, I'm sure they do," Olsam replied matter-of-factly.

"Uh, and... Do you know what those colors might be?"

"Hmm? No. I haven't a clue." Olsam paused, staring at the Flaxian's bewildered expression. "What? Is that something I should know? Do you know your wife's favorite color?"

"I'm not married..."

"Well then, people who live in coralinite houses shouldn't throw flat rokks, should they?"

Gesenejer the Flaxian's mouth hung open slightly, like he wasn't entirely sure what to say to the man in response. Whatever the Bolian-Kriosian had said was entirely unfamiliar and though he felt there was a proper response he wasn't sure what it would be. Worse, the proper response might encourage the other man to continue speaking, and it was becoming abundantly clear that he should complete the transaction as quickly as possible just to relieve himself of the burden of having the man in his shop. He looked from side-to-side just once then reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small box. He quickly folded up the cloth holding the gemstones he'd been inspecting before Olsam walked into the shop, replaced them under the counter and then turned his attention back to his customer and the box.

"Well, I do have something... A custom order for an Orion client who was subsequently unable to acquire it on account of being murdered in the Tringorian Belt. The rings each have an entire brick's worth of latinum condensed and suspended in Rigellian flame rubies with Corian silverite filigree. Very beautiful, very high-end, and you're fortunate in that the rings are part of a matching set made by the finest silveritesmith on Coria VII."

The Flaxian cracked the lid of the box and moved the top on its hinges, revealing two sets of jewelry neatly divided into equal halves of the container. Each set contained a ring along with a matching pair of earrings, a necklace and a bracelet. They were just as beautiful as he'd imagined, obviously displaying the high degree of craftsmanship that came with custom pieces.

"They're very beautiful," Olsam said, reaching out to pick one up but stopping halfway to glance up for permission. Gesenejer smiled and nodded, allowing Olsam to pick up one of the delicate looking rings in his fat blue fingers. He turned it around to admire the work then replaced it in the box after almost dropping it. Twice.

"Would you like to take a look around and see if anything else tickles your fancy?"

"No, I think my fancy is tickled enough," Olsam said dumbly. "I'll take the rings."

"Oh," Gesenejer said, frowning by way of apology. "I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't possibly bring myself to break up such a fine set. It's nearly part of the jeweler's code. But if you'd like to purchase the entire collection, I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement...."

Olsam narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking the Flaxian was suddenly taking on something of a Ferengi-like appearance. "The whole set?"

"It's the least you could do for your wives, especially since you're buying their rings after the wedding."

"Well, I suppose," Olsam huffed, looking offended at the suggestion that he was somehow a neglectful husband. "All right. I'll take the set then."

"Excellent," Gesenejer said, shutting the box with a loud snap that made Olsam jump in place. The jeweler picked up a PADD and opened an invoice, preparing the paperwork for the sales transaction. "Your name?"

"Um, I'm Doctor...Ham...uh...Mop. Dr. Ham Mop. Dr. Mop. You may call me Dr. Mop. I am a doctor of...veterinary sciences. Yes. I love animals. I love animals very much. They're really delightful creatures, and I treat them at my veterinary clinic for sick and dying animals. In fact, that's what it's called: Dr. Mop's Veterinary Clinic for Sick and Dying Animals. It's on Krios Prime, that's why I'm wearing this ridiculous outfit. Because I work on Krios Prime. It's Kriosian, the robe. They love animals, too."

"Yes, I'd heard," Gesenejer said skeptically, turning his attention back to the PADD. He wasn't the least bit concerned with who the man was or what he did for a living. All he was worried about was unloading the jewelry that had been collecting dust for six months, largely out of the price range of most of the schmucks that shuffled in and out of his shop on the backside of nowhere. "Okay, Dr. Mop. The total cost, including luxury tax and customs duties, will be 73,947 credits."

Olsam made a hacking sound, like a cat trying to expel a hairball. "Seventy...three...."

"Oh, I see," Gesenejer said, slowly sliding the box across the counter back toward him. "I'm sorry, I must have overestimated the size of your veterinarian clinic. I apologize, I didn't mean to mislead you with such finely crafted items. We do have some more affordable rings in our clearance-"

"What? No! Don't be absurd, it's an enormous veterinarian clinic. I'm ridiculously wealthy. Fabulously wealthy. I have seven houses. Why, my clinic is the largest in the province. It's four stories tall. We treat 11,000 patients a day," Olsam boasted, quickly jumping to the defense of his fake veterinary clinic. Only after the number had been blurted out did he realize how ludicrous it sounded. "Um, there's been a particularly bad case of feline influenza running around. It accounts for the number. Naturally."

"Yes... Naturally. And what will be your method of payment, Dr. Mop?"

"Oh, right, payment," Olsam said, producing a PADD from somewhere within his Kriosian robes. He handed over the device to the jeweler, requested payment details and then transferred the credits from an anonymous account he'd established long ago at the Bank of Bolarus for just such occasions. Well, not just such occasions because how could he have anticipated having to recruit two colleagues into pretending to be his wives to get his family off his back? But certainly for occasions that were emergencies and required a lot of credits. An exorbitant amount of credits, really. 73,947 credits to be precise. For some rocks and latinum.

"Uh, Dr. Mop?"

"Huh? Sorry, I was thinking."

"Yes, I'm sure you do a lot of that," Gesenejer agreed. "Would you like me to have these items delivered to your accommodations on the station, or would you like to take them with you?"

"Oh, I'll take them with me. I need to put these rings on them immediately."

Gesenejer cringed a little at the choice of words, thinking it sounded a bit like branding livestock, but remained silent nonetheless. When someone was willing to pay the full price upfront without the slightest bit of negotiation, no matter how...odd...they seemed, it was best to just go along with whatever they said. The Flaxian deftly secured the box, confirmed payment, issued a record of the sales transaction and then handed the box over to Olsam. Before the Bolian could move entirely out of earshot, he called out, "Uh, Dr. Mop, if I may... Are you sure your wives won't be upset to receive the same exact ring without the slightest differentiation? They seem to be very different women."

Olsam scoffed, laughed, chuffed and chuckled. "Don't worry, Mr. Gesenejer. If there's anyone in the galaxy who understands the intricacies of a woman's heart then it's me, Ham Mop."

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Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D.
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

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