The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [55]
Tork peered out the grimy window of the stockroom. Now he was in debt for a day’s rental of this space, and the means of paying off even that pittance had eluded him so far; however, the bazaar down below was filled with customers spending money. There must be a way to siphon some of those funds back into his own coffers.
That was when he saw them two Vulcans walking side by side down an aisle sporting used engineering parts. Traders by the look of them.
Vulcans usually stayed within the boundaries of Federation space, but this pair probably had been detoured to the Hold by an engine malfunction.
Even before Tork had formulated a plan, his instincts had centered on them as an essential element to recouping his fortune.
A scheme began to gel in his mind.
“Did we sell that universal text translator?” Tork asked his first officer.
“No, DaiMon.”
The details clicked into place. It was, he concluded, a workable plan. Best of all, if it failed with the Vulcans, he could rework it to use on another alien race.
“If you ever hope to receive your wages, Kazago, keep those two Vulcans in sight and guard them from the crooks and thieves on this outpost. They’re our prey.”
Throwing aside his half-eaten food packet, Kazago raced out of the room; Tork pulled out the translator and a wri ting padd and began to compose a letter.
Ten minutes later, the DaiMon had finished constructing his first prop; the other he already had in inventory. He ripped the printout from the padd and scurried down the staircase to the bazaar.
Kazago was hovering nearby and pointed Tork in the right direction. To his relief, the Vulcans had drifted even closer to his stall.
“You! Vulcans! I would speak with you.”
“As you wish,” said one, and they both came to a halt. Their unadorned tunics reeked of spice and grain.
“Vulcans are honorable, that is what I have always been told. So, like a fool, I believed this myth; I trusted a Vulcan when I wouldn’t trust my own grandmother. But one of your kind has tried to dupe me! He owes me a king’s ransom and paid for it with a worthless bauble.”
“What is this to do with us?”
They had listened to his ranting with more patience and civility than he had dared hope, but it was time to present the bait and see if they were hungry.
“This note,” he shook the printout in their faces, “supposedly explains his perfidy, but it is written in Vulcan!”
“I see,” said the taller one with a solemn nod. “You have need of a translation.”
“Brilliant deduction,” exclaimed Tork with an acid sneer. “Your rapier mind should bring you much wealth and happiness.” In his experience, sarcasm and verbal abuse disarmed suspicion by misdirection watch my temper, not your purse.
He shoved the flimsy into the hands of Short Trader. “Tell me! What do those ridiculous squiggles mean?”
The two bent their heads together and scanned the text. After an exchange of veiled glances, Short Trader spoke.
“It is addressed to DaiMon Tork. “I lack the funds to honor my debt at this time, so I have sent a family heirloom as a bond of my good faith. The item itself has little value, but my family holds it in great esteem.” It is signed by one named Suprell.”
Got them! exulted Tork to himself. The message he had forged clearly stated that the debt was paid in full with the Ko N’ya. So, as he suspected, even Vulcans had their price; everyone did.
“What am I to do?” Tork stormed, presenting his marks with the opportunity to take advantage of him. “I need funds, not promises.”
“You have not been misled, DaiMon,” said Tall Trader. “We Vulcans are an honorable race, as I will prove to you.
Suprell’s family is known to me, and I will redeem the heirloom and assume his debt.”
“Excellent!” Tork beamed happily. For all their much vaunted intelligence, Vulcans were an absurdly naive race when it came to practical matters. He would have to pursue more business transactions with them in the future.
“Come this way, come this way, so that we can arrange this matter in private.”
He grabbed the sleeve of the nearest trader and led them both through the