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Date: Sometime late in 2705:6 Time: Lunch Place: Ferengar Micheldin's sitting room, Pirs Cast (in order of appearance):
Ferengar Micheldin is a fairly young nobleman of a once proud house. His father, well-meaning but lacking business savvy, left the family business of ornate carving and woodcraft in serious debt. Ferengar now struggles to pay the wages of his workers, and has had to cut back on staff and property. He is married, and the pregnancy of his young wife only adds to his financial concerns. Many of his friends have commented on the constant frown he seems to wear these days. So far, he has managed to keep a good face on things; few suspect his financial straits, and the reputation of his house is so far intact; he is present at many gala events, and partakes in political circles, albeit cautiously lest he be required to make substantial financial commitment. He knows the craft from his workshops is of high quality, but lacking the cash to compete effectively has meant selling much of it at reduced rates, barely covering the costs of production. A lucky break, though, might yet save him from the public disgrace of bankrupcy. He has a meeting scheduled at lunch with a guest who claims to represent a trading organisation promising new work. He is not optimistic, but all avenues must be explored. The guest is vaguely familiar, a tall, lean man with a pointed moustache, who introduces himself as Yenath Malsen, claiming to represent "a collection of independent merchants". He comes to the point quickly, after polite pleasantries are dealt with. "There will be a tender shortly for pointwork, decoration and elaboration at the university. I like your work, and I'd like to see you win that contract." Ferengar considers the investment that would take before any profits show, and shakes his head regretfully. "I, ah, don't think I have the capacity to handle that much extra work at present. My workshops are all...very hard at work...and..." His visitor interrupts: "I understand. Naturally you would have expenses in readying your resources for such a contract. I'm authorised to offer assistance in readying yourself for the task." A wad of paper is placed on the desk before the merchant. Ferengar recognises the insignia imprinted on the top note; a Rotan Merchants' Alliance writ. If the stack is of equal denominations, the amount is significant. Suspicion crystallises in Ferengar's mind. He plays along, to trap the spy into admission. "A loan?" "No. An investment. My superiors would expect a return as a percentage of profit, and other things." Ferengar's eyes narrow, and he prepares his accusation. "I recognise you...you were at the Marine Traders' Consortium dinner last month. From the Rotan delegation." "That's correct. You're an observant man, I'm told, and it's obviously true. I have the honour to be head of the Pirsian office of the Rotan Merchants' Alliance." "The RMA? And you're offering me this? You are a spy. 'Other things' are intelligence. I know how it works. You think to buy me." "A spy? No. The RMA does not spy. We observe, and our observations are collected, analysed, and disseminated for further benefit by members, but you must know that many non-Rotan merchants are members of the RMA. I myself am personally from Pirs. We have, as individuals, no political allegiance." "I see. But nevertheless, you would want me to...observe...for the benefit of Rotan? House Micheldin is a proud bastion of Pirs honour, and I would not sully its name with political blackguardship for profit." His visitor smiles gently. "No sir. Let me be frank. The new College is a grand plan, but it also is potentially dangerous for Pirs; infiltration, manipulation, misguidance. My superiors want to keep a close eye on it, to make sure threats are identified, and dealt with, as quickly as possible. It is for the benefit of Pirs, and for the safety of Pirs alone, that we want this accomplished. You see, all reports will go to Pirsian authorities first. Rotan needs strong, stable trading partners, and Pirs is the foremost of those. Anything to protect that stability is considered to be worthy of investment now, for profit later." He indicates the wad of notes lying between Ferengar's hands on the desktop. "Part of that investment would have to be spent in certain ways...membership of the RMA, for instance, as well as ensuring yourself a place on the College Board of Governors. Your family reputation should suffice, with a little...grease. There would be ample left for your business to prepare for the work. A moment passes, and Ferengar weighs options in his mind. He is a careful man, but the "observer's" (hah!) arguments make sense. One of those hands closes over the paper. "All right. Then I'll do it. I'll tender, and win, and help your master observe. But my reports go to Pirs authorities." The guest smiles again, and this time his eyes crinkle in amusement too. "No master at all. A mistress, in fact..." |