STAR TREK - SCE - 14 - Caveat Emptor

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Other eBooks in the Star Trek Starfleet Corps of Engineers series from Pocket Books

1 The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

2 Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

3 Hard Crash by Christie Golden

4 Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

5 Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

6 Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido

7 Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

8 Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

9 The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

10 Gateways Epilogue Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

11 Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

12 Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

13 No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

14 Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

coming soon

15 Past Life by Robert Greenberger

16 Oaths by Glenn Hauman

Star Trek S.C.E. 14

Caveat Emptor

by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

Ian Edginton

117 Overdale Road

Quinton

Birmingham

England

B32 2QS

011 44 (0)121 426 5506

Mike Collins

33 Heol Coed Cae

Whitchurch

CARDIFF

Wales, UK CF14 1HJ

011 44 29 2021 8162

Chapter One

Forg held his breath and listened intently, straining to detect even the slightest sound.

There was nothing.

A trickle of cold sweat snaked its way down the back of his neck, quickly prompting him to bite his lip,

stifling a sudden squeak of terror. Under normal circumstances, the halls of a Ferengi Merchantman

positively buzzed with the chatter of conspiracies and intrigue and of deals being struck. But now there

wasnt even the reassuringly, sensual chink of gold-pressed latinum.

It wasunnatural.

Forg prided himself on having the kind of lobes that could detect the unique sound of a strip of latinum

being dropped thirty meters away. In fact, during his apprenticeship back in the Commercial and

Mercantile Institute of Ferenginar, he could correctly identify seventy-five different forms of currency just

from the way they hit the ground. His father had been so impressed that hed bought him an Institute

Commendation, to be deducted against his future earnings of course.

Forg nibbled uncomfortably at his lip. The discomfort was nothing compared the growing fear in his

stomach. It was either that or the spore pie hed eaten after hed finished his shift six hours ago.

Six hours, had it only been that long?

He reached a junction and hesitated. Flattening himself against the wall, he peered tentatively around the

corner. The corridor beyond was deserted. He allowed himself the luxury of exhaling. At the far end lay

the escape pods. If he could just keep his nerve for a little while longer, he would be free of this

nightmare. Tiptoeing as gingerly as he dared, he cast quick glances at the doorways either side, expecting

them to suddenly hiss open at any second and see one of them standing there.

Forg froze. There was something on the floor just ahead. He recognized it as a strip of latinum. Whats

more, it was still in its mint wraps. And it wasnt alone. There were others, lots of them. So many, in fact,

he could buy this ship a hundred times over and still have enough change to keep him hip-deep in Dabo

girls for life. Forg felt the familiar tingling sensation of greed washing over him.

He followed the glittering trail to the bank of escape pods. A green light winked on the control console

above one of the hatches. A pod had been launched. Someone else had escaped.

Down at his feet, a gray security crate lay on its side, spilling latinum. Like the rest they were all still in

their wraps, as a shiny and pristine as the day they were minted. He recognized the family crest stamped

on the wraps. This wasnt just anyones personal horde. It belonged to the ships owner, DaiMon Phug.

Forg's momentary glee soon faded as he wondered what it was that could force Phug to abandon his

fortune barely a meter away from freedom? Whatever is was, it wasnt there now and as such was Phugs

loss. Forg balanced his fear against his avarice and found they came out pretty even. He decided to go

with the latter; after all wasnt it the Sixty-Second Rule of Acquisition that stated, The riskier the road, the

greater the profit?

Besides, he had a plan.

He popped the hatch of the nearest pod and began loading the latinum inside. Initially, he assured himself,

he was only going to take the strips that were within arm's length. There was no need to take foolish

risks.

But

To abandon those strips only a few steps away seemed foolish, not to mention wasteful. So he took the

steps, then some more, and even more still, each time scuttling back to hurl another armful into the pod,

mentally tallying up the worth of each load.

A matching pair of latinum lobe buffers and fang sharpeners. A complete, lifetime's wardrobe of the finest

Tholian silk (including underwear). An estate in the Colloid marshes. A brand new, not reconditioned,

trading schooner with its own captains yacht. A moon-maybe two.

Plus, of course, a substantial donation to the Prophets of the Divine Treasury-ensuring his name was

recited in the Annual Tally so that he might be looked upon favorably by the Blessed Exchequer and the

Celestial Auctioneers. Forg wasnt usually so diligent in his spiritual devotions, but it never hurt to hedge

your bets.

Somewhere among his fantasies of prospective underwear, real estate, and a comfortable afterlife, Forg

failed to hear the hiss that hed so previously dreaded. However, his terror returned with a vengeance as

he waddled down the corridor laden with booty only to be confronted by a short, dark stranger. The

tumbling latinum broke two of his toes but fear had stolen Forgs voice.

The figure was dressed in a floor length hooded robe improvised from black cargo sheeting. In his hand,

a staff as tall as the figure himself was cut from a section of conduit piping. The figure slowly lifted his

head to face him. Forgs eyes widened in recognition.

Zin? he finally croaked, incredulous.

No, not anymore Forg realized. He began to slowly back way, managing only a few agonizing steps

before the ominous rustle of more robes behind him rooted him to the spot.

Please, he whispered, dont. But his plea fell on large, deaf ears.

He saw Zins dead eyes.

He saw the staff.

After that nothing.

Chapter Two

The tiny Klingon paced furiously along the top of Captain David Golds desk, neatly skirting a cinnamon

bagel the before resting his spiked boot defiantly on the lip of a china saucer.

No, no, no!" he snarled. The frustration was evident in his contorted little face. Your enunciation is a

disgrace. Do you even know what a syllable is?

Gold set down his coffee cup. He contemplated replying but thought better of it. The small holographic

Klingon was clearly on a roll.

And as for your pronunciation! Pfagh! he spat with undisguised venom. You sound like a toothless old

man too long in his cups!

I understand, Gold replied with bemusement bordering on irritation.

In Klingon! bellowed the warrior, who looked to Gold as if he was about to have an aneurysm any

second.

jIyajchu, Gold answered, attempting to correctly pronounced the uniquely hacking, phlegmy sound that

punctuated most Klingon grammar. The warrior gave a sharp snort of approval just as the door chime to

Golds quarters sounded.

Saved by the bell, he muttered. Come.

Commander Sonya Gomez, the da Vincis first officer entered, breaking into a broad beaming grin when

she saw the miniature Klingon glowering up at Gold.

Good morning, Captain. I hope that Im not interrupting?

Interrupt away," he said, glancing over at the small, antique silver travelling clock. A captains timepiece

from the Napoleonic Wars, it had been a gift from his wife Rachel on their twenty-fifth wedding

anniversary. Im just about finished here.

But I am not! the warrior bellowed. We are done when I say so!

Like hell. End program.

The fuming Klingon dissipated into a swirling cluster of light particles, returning to the small oval

holo-emitter on Golds desk. A single red light winked like an angry red eye, signifying the program had

been shut down.

Now if I could have done that to certain teachers at the Academy. I'd have been the most popular

person in my year.

Gomez smiled. Every student's fantasy. I didn't know you were interested in learning Klingon.

I'm not-exactly." Gold indicated the holo-emitter. This was a gift from my grand-daughter, Esther-you

remember, Daniels youngest? Her new beau is a Klingon politician, and she insists I bone up on the

rudiments of the language so I can address him correctly. I think shes reprogrammed it herself to reflect a

more realistic Klingon temperament. Shes a tinkerer. Wants to be an engineerthis week at least. She sent

it to me a month ago, but I didn't really start using it until-" He hesitated.

"Kursican?" Gomez prompted.

Gold heaved a heavy sigh. "Let's just say that after what happened with Gus Bradford on Kursican, I've

become a lot more conscious of family." Brightening a bit, he went on "In any event, were all supposed to

be having dinner on my next shore leave. Poor Rachels going frantic trying to find a recipe for a Kosher

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