Retail Therapy

Posted on Thu Jul 24th, 2025 @ 11:25am by Ambassador Drusilla Creon

1,559 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Histories
Location: Deep Space Nine, Habitat Ring
Timeline: 2388 (After 'The Check')

Dru double-checked the number she'd written down on a blank page in the notebook Hiram had given her. The habitat ring was easy enough to get to, but turn after turn of identical hallway made for a confusing journey. Finally, she found the room, and pressed the chime.

“Yes?” A dry, growling voice asked. She knew when she heard it that she'd found the right place.

“I'm here to see the brother of the most handsome Ithenite in the Alpha Quadrant.” She said into the speaker with a smile.

“Good thing we're twins.” The voice replied, as the door slid open. Dru passed through it quickly, and it snapped shut. Standing at the panel next to the door was a little green man. Well, not green exactly, but like the twin brother with whom Dru was acquainted, his bronze Ithenite colouring had been slightly altered by his Romulan ancestry, and it wasn't becoming.

“You must be Drusilla. Pleasure to meet you.” He said it in a flippant tone, but he seemed to mean it. They touched fingertips in greeting, and he moved over to the room's main table, its only fixture aside from some counters in the corner. He couldn't have been more than four foot tall. He was a grubby little man, what little of his hair he had left was long and looked as though it hadn't been washed in at least a week. His name was Frath ir-Redu, he was an arms dealer with a Romulan father and an Ithenite mother.

“And you, Frath. What have you got to show me?” She asked, looking across the spartan room. There wasn't much in there except about a dozen silver briefcases, each of which looked like it had been built specifically to deflect penetrating scans. Each also had a little blinking device, he wore a similar one on his belt, probably a transponder to facilitate beaming out at a moment's notice. He probably had a cloaked shuttle sitting at the edge of transporter range. Frath worked with her father's organization, subtlety and secrecy were a matter of life and death for him.

“Oh, plenty, plenty. What are you after? Got a case of the new Varon-T's.” He waddled across the room to the corner where the suitcases were stacked up, and grabbed a couple of them, bringing them back and throwing them on top of the table that was nearly as tall as he was.

“Have they finally discovered ergonomics? The only thing a Varon-T will do for certain is cause hand cramps.”

“Not yet, but they still kill as good as any.” He opened the two suitcases, and an assortment of attractive weaponry was revealed. “Let's see, we've got ah.. let me see.” He ran his little hand across the weapons, searching for one he thought she'd like. Frath was certainly a lot calmer than his brother, Myrol, with whom Drusilla had worked extensively with in the past. He was identical, albeit a lot cleaner, but thoroughly paranoid and dangerously unpredictable, though he did know Federation, Klingon, Romulan and even Breen law like the back of his hand.

“That's a Reman carbonizer isn't it?” She asked, as his hand brushed a slender, pointed pistol-shaped weapon.

“Yeah. Flashy, kills 'em dead, but unless you want to sweep up afterwards, it's best left for the tourists. For a woman in your line of work, you'd probably be more interested in this.” He held up a small gun, with a wooden-inlaid handle, a bulbous midsection and a long, slender chamber that looked reminiscent of an insects proboscis. “These haven't hit the market yet. They're called Ikallan 77's. Get about three hundred shots to the recharge, adjustable sights, easily concealable, invisible to most simple scanners when disassembled, no overheating, minimal trace elements upon disintegration. Doesn't set off weapons discharge alarms, either.”

“How much?” She tilted her head to behold the weapon on an angle.

“Thirty thousand.” He grunted. He made unpleasant sounds, but there was a friendliness to him.

“Hm. Bit out of my price range.”

“Myrol told me you were loaded.”

“I'm saving for a rainy day.”

“Right, sure. Well, how about this one. Polaron pistol, manufactured by the Dominion remnants. Only two thousand.” He held the boxy weapon up to her. She took it, and held it out, moving it around her in a circle, looking down the sight.

“I'd prefer something I don't have to kill with, necessarily. What have you got that'll get past docking security?”

“Egh. That's not so easy.” He coughed as he closed the case, and wiped whatever came out on his pants. He carried the two cases over to the pile, and brought another pair over.

“They've got the docking ring locked up tighter than the Elasian Dohlman's chastity pantsuit.” He grumbled with an dissatisfied raise of his eyebrows. “Here.” he threw open the two suitcases. “If you want to get this onto the docking ring, you're gonna have to do some talking. Other than the Ikallan, these two are all I've got that'll get past security.” He handed her a weapon that looked like a hairdryer.

“Is this a hairdryer?” She asked, realizing the obviousness of it.

“No, but scanners will think it is. And so long as you keep the catalyzer separate, any spot search will make it look like one too. It's a bio-disruptor.”

“A biological weapon?” She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a war criminal.

“No, no. It doesn't kill. Well, it might, with nine or ten full powered shots. It's based on the technology they use to get malnourished people back to health. It makes the digestive system go turbo, so long as you can hit your target in the torso. Limbs won't do anything, the head might.”

“I need the option of killing people, Frath, not making them shit themselves.”

“Believe me, you get hit with one of those, you'll wish you were dead. Y'don't necessarily shit yourself, sometimes it comes out both ends. It's not lethal, but it's debilitating.”

“Charming.” She held the weapon out. It was light and small, it would fit in her handbag.

“Who are you killing, anyway? If you don't mind me asking.”

“A group that's double-crossed the Asfanjoori organization. They're aboard a freighter in port.” Frath was safe to talk to. She liked having someone she could be frank with about her work, even if he just was an arms dealer with very poor hygeine. It was remarkably soothing, she could almost feel her back un-knotting. Her stomach wasn't happy, though.

“I know those crooked fuckers. They've tried to run me off the station three times already. Word is they tend to kill people instead of paying them, I'd be careful if I were you.”

“Is that so.” She didn't really trust Hiram, she didn't at all trust Murane. She put a hand to her stomach, the sickness was back. She'd spent much of the morning over a bowl. “May I use your bathroom?” She asked, as she felt the colour drain from her face.

“Yeah, sure, through there. Might be in a state though. You pregnant or something?”

“Had breakfast at that Ferengi place on the promenade.” She lied convincingly as she moved quickly towards the bathroom.

“Now there's a fuckin' crook. He sold me what he said was two cases of ketracel white during the war, turned out to be vanilla yoghurt.”

She didn't respond, too busy with her silent dry-heaving. After a couple of minutes, when nothing emerged, she flushed the toilet, and moved out of the surprisingly clean bathroom. She felt a little better.

“I'll take the disruptor. What was the other item you mentioned?” She asked as she returned to his presence.

“This one. No need for permits, just tell 'em it's for shaving your sensitive lady parts.” He withdrew a small metal object with an inlaid emerald handle, and passed it to her. She unfolded it, and discovered it was a straight razor. She smiled as she handled it, it was not unlike the training weapon she'd had when she was younger. “You single?” He asked, suddenly.

“Yes. Happily, thank you.” It was a graceful refusal of his assumed offer.

“Ha! I got me a wife. Deltan. Things she can do with her hands. Telepathic sex will blow your mind. Simultaneous mental orgasms! No, I ask in case someone needs to be contacted if the Afjanjamma's decide to vape you instead of paying. Your dad thinks you're dead, you know.”

“I realize. I'd prefer it remained that way.”

“Yeah, sure. I sell guns, not secrets.”

“Good. I'll take both.”

“Alright. Five hundred for the disruptor. Hell, have the razor for free. You're the prettiest customer I've had since I showed up. All Nausicaans and Tellarites and ugly-ass Klingons.”

“You're more of a gentleman than your brother gives you credit for, Frath.” She handed him a carbon card, which he immediately fed into an encrypted reader from his jacket.

“I've got a bigger dick, too. But that's neither here nor there, is it?”

“I suppose not. It's been a singular pleasure doing business with you, Frath.”

“You too, Drusilla. Good luck with those assholes.”

She smirked as she put the weapons into her handbag, removing the catalyzer from the side of the weapon. “I don't need luck, Frath.”

Quietly, she suspected she might.

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