Recipe for Success 1

 Personal log: Veronika "Ronnie" Grau, officer commanding USS Falcon NCC-93057

"Diplomacy?" I say. "Since when do I do diplomacy?"

"There was that incident with the Sheliak," says Saval. Give him credit, his bland Vulcan face with its daft side-whiskers doesn't show even a trace of a smile, there. I'm not smiling much myself, to be honest.

"It's a formal request through diplomatic channels for assistance," says Tallasa, my Andorian exec. She has her talk her through it and hope she stays sensible face on right now. "I think it's just that we're the closest real starship in range. The ident code is for a DaiMon Nibb, with a matching FCA clearance... I think it's legitimate, or at least as legitimate as the Ferengi ever get."

"So young and so cynical," I mutter. "OK. Leo." At the comms station, Leo Madena looks up, bright and eager as ever, I don't know what he's smoking but I think I want some. "Put his Nibbs on the screen, then, let's hear what he's got to say."

Leo does the business, and the image on the Falcon's viewer changes from streaking stars to something much less attractive. DaiMon Nibb turns out to be shifty-looking even for a Ferengi, with a narrow, foxy face sandwiched between those huge Ferengi ears. "Robbed!" he says, without preamble. "I have been robbed! Of my dearest possession!" Money, presumably.

"OK, calm down," I say. "This is Veronika Grau aboard the USS Falcon, call me Ronnie, everyone does. Robbed? Why are you calling Starfleet and not the local authorities?"

"There are no local authorities! And I need support! Assistance! I cannot pursue these thieves by myself!"

I turn to Saval and quirk an eyebrow at him. He quirks one back, and, being Vulcan, does it better. "The signal originates on Xi Arietis IV," he says, "an uninhabited world, formerly the site of a relay outpost of the Ferengi Alliance... decommissioned after trade agreements in 2404 opened up alternative routes through Federation-administered space."

"Unimportant!" yells Nibb. "The villains are escaping even now! Their destination must be the trading post at Omicron Virginis VII! I demand immediate action! There are treaties! Agreements! Starfleet must assist! Pursue! Pursue!"

"I think we need some more details, don't we?" I say rather plaintively. "Like, what's been stolen, and who stole it? Just the facts, ma'am."

That last quote just slipped out. It doesn't seem to bother Nibb. "They have taken my pieces of Grent!"

"Pieces of what, now? I've heard of pieces of eight -"

"Grent! Grent! The former Grand Nagus Grent! The value of his remains is - is incalculable! I know, I've calculated it!"

Oh, boy. Every species has its funeral customs, and they all seem weird to others. The Ferengi custom of freeze-drying the corpses and selling them off, bit by bit, as mementoes... well, I suppose it's no sillier than some. But the market for bits of dead Grand Nagus must be pretty niche, surely? "Who stole them?"

"Thieves!" Well, obviously. I wait for him to add some useful detail. I wait in vain. "Thieves with a fast ship! My shuttle cannot match their speed! You must pursue! Pursue! Pursue!" He cuts the channel, for dramatic effect, I guess. I lean back in the command chair.

"Orders, sir?" says Tallasa.

"Pint of lager, packet of crisps, Stalingrad," I reply. I'm calling up the star maps on my command console. "Omicron Virginis? That's way the hell out on the other side of the quadrant. Saval. Have we any trace of a ship out here? This sector's usually pretty quiet, isn't it?"

"No warp signatures or subspace disturbances registered between here and Xi Arietis," says Saval. "Of course, our sensor coverage is very far from complete -"

"Yeah, right." I gaze moodily at the stars on the screen. "Something about this does not add up right," I mutter. "But we won't find out what it is, unless we go look. Jhemyl." Tallasa's sister looks up from the helm console. "Set a new course."

"Omicron Virginis, sir?"

"Cobblers to that idea," I say. "Let's have a look at the scene of the crime, first. Xi Arietis IV, cabman, if you will, and a sovereign if you make it in time for the 4.15 express." Jhemyl gives me such a look.

---

Xi Arietis IV is nothing to write home about. There's a tiny Ferengi warp shuttle in orbit, true, but scans say it's empty. Further scans show the Ferengi outpost on the surface, and some life signs down there - might be Ferengi, might not, who knows? Conspicuous by their absence, though, are the subspace disturbances you'd expect from someone zooming off at high warp speeds.

"OK," I say. "Tallasa, Saval, you're with me, bring some nice butch security guards along for comfort. Leo, Jhemyl, while we're down on the planet, keep an eye on that shuttle, and keep another eye out for bandits. Or thieves. Or dacoits, or wolf's-heads, outlaws or merry men in general." I stand up. "Transporter room, folks, if you please."

"Where are we beaming down to, sir?" asks Tallasa.

"Ferengi outpost. Only possible place, right?"

"That is logical, sir," says Saval without any marked enthusiasm.

Tallasa opens her mouth. "We'll take as read your objections, as first officer, to your CO placing herself in the way of potential harm," I say quickly. "Come on, guys, let's just get this done, shall we?"

They troop into the turbolift with me. "Objections to my CO placing herself in the way of potential harm," Tallasa mutters.

"What about them?" I ask.

Tallasa's antennae twitch. "I don't have any."