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Lt. Commander
Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 120
# 164 Shut the FERENGI Up!
07-25-2011, 04:50 PM
Rygobeth tugged his Vice Admiral coat. He and his bridge crew were standing in front of the Transporter Pad, waiting for the arrival of the dignitary. They needed to make a good first impression. After all, with the war with the Klingon Empire, this contract negotiation would be crucial to produce more vessels to fight with.

"Admiral, we've received the signal. The dignitary's party is ready for transport."

Rygo glanced over his shoulder and nodded. The transporter chief operated the panel, and activated the transporter. The transporter pad whirred, and three figures materialized in motes of blue light. In the center was a Ferengi wearing incredibly regal clothes. He was obviously wealthy. Flanking him to the left and right was a pair of Hypurians wearing dark clothes, probably for security. As soon as the trio materialized, the Ferengi began hobbling off the platform and speaking in a raspy voice. "Ah, Admiral! Good to finally meet you... I expected you to be... human." Rygobeth's face remained neutral. He hadn't made it to Ambassador without being able to take a few racial comments, although it hadn't helped that he was the only known living member of his race.

Rygobeth said, "It's nice to finally meet you, as well, mister..." His voice trailed for a moment. Admiral Quinn hadn’t told Rygo the Ferengi’s name! “Rantik, you nitwit!” The Ferengi answered, a little rudely. Rygobeth replied, more politely than the diplomat had spoken, “Thank you, Rantik. Admiral Quinn neglected to-“. Rantik interrupted. “Don’t make excuses! And speaking of Quinn, he bragged about this ship quite a bit. Begin the tour!” Rygobeth sighed quietly, annoyed. Rygobeth replied, more cheery than he had felt since the Ferengi beamed aboard, “Of course! Right this way.”

The tour took an hour or so. Rantik had nothing but complaints. “Bah, I could find better in Romulan refugee camps!” “You call that ‘impressive’? That’s not fit for me to spit on!” At one point, Rantik decided to try the replicator, ordering a bottle of Synthahol. He took a sip and spat it in Rygobeth’s face. “You call THIS Synthahol? THIS is PATHETIC!” He then poured the bottle onto the ground. Rygobeth, through all of this, contained his temper to the point of exploding. Finally, they arrived at Rantik’s quarters. He walked in and said, “Is THIS the best you’ve got? No WONDER the Empire is winning the war…” He then moved toward his baggage (which had been transported here upon beaming aboard), opened it, and pulled out a number of objects. They were trinkets, probably personal effects, and brought them to the Admiral. He groaned, “You can have them for… 15 slips of Latinum each.” Rygobeth politely said, “No, thank you.” Rantik seemed offended. “It WASN’T an option! BUY IT!” This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. With an explosive yell, he cried out at Rantik, “SHUT THE FERENGI UP!”

Rantik laughed. “I like that little play on words. It’s about TIME you reacted! I’m impressed, you Federations really are patient. It’ll be a PLEASURE having my mines selling exclusively to the Federation! There’s no better tritanium and dilithium in the quadrant!” The annoying, testy Ferengi laughed as Rygo walked away. Rygo walked back out, thinking, What was that? He was testing me? Arrogant Ferengi…