This storyline is a parallel to, or what is called a spin-off these days, from the story "The starbase 801 chronicles" of which THIS is part 3.
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Bloc almost couldn't contain his excitement and exhilaration as he saw the lines and numbers roll across his screens. All were proceeding to conform to his expectations, and in only a few minutes just forty-three of the numbers now rapidly running up in value would remain on the screen and start flashing.
If any of them read anything else than zero or higher he'd be financially ruined.
If they did all show zero or higher though he would have negotiated for, paid for, and acquired the right for the exploitation of large amounts of space on one of the newest Space stations the Federation has in its possession.
He knew that those numbers consisted of the results from calculations ranging from Kelbanite Ore prices, Latinum Exchange rates, Stock price indexes, and interests on both credits and debits that he was buying and selling according to a carefully thought out strategy, employing business tactics.
The numbers represented maneuvering, attacking, and defending and that the transactions would seem irrational commercial behavior to anyone else, but to him they looked more like the conducting of war instead of the commercial campaign it actually was.
The “Battle” he was waging had been running for little under three hours at the moment and had started when he turned his most overvalued assets into liquidity and deployed the generated liquid funds to purchase large amounts of low-priced commodities on independent markets. Carefully selected ones that were close enough to one of the others for information like enormous purchases to reach one another.
This managed to scare many into following his lead and also purchase as much as they could of those commodities driving up their prices across those independent markets at an ever-increasing pace.
First, there were 3 markets that had followed his lead in buying large amounts or almost all of the available commodities Bloc had selected to target. And this was driving up its prices.
Seeing three independent markets going wild over those commodities scared four other markets into doing the same. Three independent markets all at the same time buying those commodities must mean that there had to be a very good reason for that.
A little bit further out from those markets there were 9 other markets that now heard that there were suddenly 7 markets madly buying up those commodities which were even scarier than 3 markets.
The fear, of course, comes from the fear of missing out on what everybody else is getting.
For instance, beryllium derivative half fabricates, being sold to the very last microgram in over 16 markets meant that businessmen in 16 markets knew something that would cause the beryllium derivative half fabricates to be worth more than they are now and then would make those men rich from selling the beryllium derivative half fabricates at an even higher price then the buying of them had driven the current price to....
And the thought of not being part of those who made that money was very scary to a lot of people, regardless of race mostly, and so they too started buying as much of the worthless beryllium derivative half fabricates as they could get their hands on, no matter how high the price went.
And at pre-set price levels, set to each commodity with strategical precision and considerations, Bloc had ordered the computer programs that did the buying and selling for him to sell it all, and as fast as possible, on all those independent markets simultaneously.
The funds that this action generated, a thousand or more times the initial amount of assets Bloc had started with, were then immediately committed on other markets, too far away from the markets on which they were generated to be traced back, and thus couldn't be traced to him. Finally, the funds were converted into the resources that the United Federation of Planets was asking for in payment for the rights to the Starbase real estate.
Metal ore, Metal alloys, weapons, or facilities in which to construct weapons.
The war which Starfleet was fighting for its Federation was a costly one and so there was much that the Federation had a dire need for.
Bloc had promised to provide a very, very large amount of those resources to the Federation in exchange for the rights to the parts of the Starbase, and after those resources had been acquired he had begun transferring them into Federation possession across two quadrants.
If his strategy was right, his tactics bold and aggressive, and his calculations correct, the numbers would reach zero when all of the resources whose value the numbers represented were transferred into Federation possession and then stop.
If there had been a problem anywhere along the way then the number would continue to go down into the negative representing the amount in which he would then be in debt to someone.
But the prize was worth the risk he was taking. It was simply unprecedented, and therefore priceless! Except for the actual ownership, and a few terms he'd had to agree on, he would be owning almost 18% of the total space on Starbase “Legacy”.
Well, it was actually all the rights to exploit that space on that Starbase meaning the right to make money off every inch of it in any way he saw fit.
Bars, casinos, shops that sold everything he could create a demand for, quarters from cheap to ridiculously expensive... Space for other business entrepreneurs to begin a business of their own... anything he wanted to put there he could put there.
And he could ask money for every last bit of it all. He was startled, from his thoughts on the opportunities he would have at his fingertips, as the screens suddenly cleared except for 3 columns of numbers.
With wide eyes and pain in his ears from the computer's audible signal beeping with an incredibly loud synthesized sound, rhythmically in sync with the flashing that the numbers on the screen were doing to signal the end of all transactions according to programmed parameters.
Bloc leaped from his high-backed and well-padded main chair with his hands in the sky letting out a roaring cheer from his throat like Klingon warriors did when a battle was won.
“QAPLAAAH!” he exclaimed a second later, “QAPLAAAH, QAPLAAH, QAPLAH!” he repeated in ever lower volume.
Slowly the enormity of what he'd accomplished began to seep into his mind and a laugh erupted from the depths of his soul that shook his entire body and being. No less than 5 minutes it refused to be suppressed and when it finally did Bloc dropped down into his chair like a meteor making impact completely winded from laughing.\
Never before had the exploitation rights to real estate on a fully operational Starfleet Starbase been sold to an independent 3rd party.
Alright, he realized, he was forced to take on the responsibility for all civilian matters on the station and abide by Federation law, and he'd had to agree to some other minor terms to make the Federation put their signature under the contract, but that was a small price to pay.
He'd not be stuck just peddling one or two services to a select few customers. Now he had everything any visitor to the station could have a need for. Docking berths, cargo space, temporary or less temporary quarters, commercial space, office space, entertainment, and services to cover anything else anyone could ever need, he could offer and no one else could offer any of it on that station! He'd have the monopoly on all those markets!
Deciding a celebration was definitely in the order he punched in the Space charts of the area he was in and found exactly what he was looking for, a bar with a Ferengi proprietor.
“Computer change course for chart designation “Kek'S pleasure palace” and increase to warp three” he ordered and after the computer acknowledged the order and the view out of the transparent panes in his cockpit windows showed the ship was doing a warp speed turn to point itself in the ordered direction he rose from his chair and inquired “E.T.A.?”.
*”2 hours, twenty-three minutes at current speed”* the computer answered dutifully.
“Engage full automatic. I'll be in the main room, signal me ten minutes before dropping out of warp” Bloc ordered his ship's computer and left the flight control room without bothering to wait for the chime confirming the computer had received and accepted his commands.
He'd hear the chime anyway even if he was all the way in the back corner of the aft cargo module, having been “Blessed” with the acute hearing of the Ferengi. Ears that had enabled them to survive the evolution into sentience by enabling them to hear danger coming far before it had a chance to come close enough to be dangerous.
He had argued with his mother many times in his early teen years that the huge ears that came with that blessing weren't worth it, certainly not when growing up as a member of the Klingon society.
Fortunately, he had mostly been able to beat anyone he was forced to challenge and his father's reputation had kept the number of those he had to challenge low out of fear because he'd probably have survived to reach puberty if one of those two fortunes had not been with him.
In the main room or living room, he plunked down onto the soft and opulent couch and took a key from the ring off his belt. With it, he opened a little lock in the table in front of the couch and opened the little door. Then he grabbed the bottle the door revealed and pulled out the stopper, put the bottle's top to his mouth, and threw back his head.
Moments later he let the last breath out of his lungs, breathed in a lungful of recycled air, and sighed as he felt the effect of the liquor he had just downed amplify the feelings of relief that flowed through his body spreading out from his chest to his limbs and for the first time since he'd committed himself to the deal of his life he felt relaxed.
Tossing the emptied bottle onto the couch behind the table and slumping sideways into a half sitting, half lying position, and allowed himself to reflect on his achievements.
Then, suddenly realizing out of the blue that he had no cash, or liquid funds at all left available to him and so wasn't able to pay for even a single drink when he arrived at that Pleasure palace of Kek's and that in practice he was actually as broke as a hobo on the streets of Planet Euro.
The deal he'd made with the Federation had literally cost him every single possession he'd owned and every slip of latinum from every bank account he had to his name. He had nothing, save the ship that carried him and the clothes he wore... and had in the closet.... and could replicate....
The uncontrollable all-out laughter that erupted at that moment lasted more than five minutes. Much, much more…
He punched in a key on the wristband he wore and after the bleep, he said, “cancel current destination, set a course for Starbase 801, and engage at cruise speed.”
He was broke anyway so why not go directly to the place he had pored all he had into and start making some of it back?
*“Course set and engaged. E.T.A. Eight hours and thirty-nine minutes.” * the computer answered from the little speaker on his wrist.
He nodded and decided that gave him enough time to relax, sleep a few hours before getting himself ready to take his place as....” he frowned as he thought about how he'd like to be known from now on.
He needed something catchy, authoritative, and honorable to be called. Boss Bloc, as his former employees had taken to calling him just wouldn't do anymore.
“Lord of the Legacy,” he said out loud as the idea came into mind. A smile split his face and he decided he like the sound of that.
“Ready or not Legacy, your Lord is coming! And things are gonna get a lot more lively than you've ever seen!” he said to himself and grinned at his reflection In the mirror, hanging on the wall of the main room inside the cargo/passenger cruiser IMV Ferengon, speeding towards Starbase 801 “Legacy”.
I am Bloc, son of Quch of the house of wISuq.
As of yesterday, Star Date 52113, I am the Civilian Chief Executive for Star Base 801 "Legacy" as well as the proprietor of a large section of its Civilian space.
In compliance with one of the stipulations in the contract between myself and the Federation, I shall record a personal log. This is that log's opening entry.
I arrived at the Station last night and proceeded directly to the temporary quarters that have been assigned to me. This morning I started work in my new position.
I have to admit the extent of the responsibilities which come with the position I agreed to take on as part of the deal I made with the Federation is far greater than I had imagined and, at first, were a bit daunting.
I am confident nonetheless I am capable of performing the duties required of me, just as I am confident the rights to the civil areas I've acquired will prove to be profitable.
Being the owner of the rights to the usage of 18% of the Civilian area's on the Starbase makes me the second-largest operator on the Station after Starfleet. I cannot deny it makes the appointment to Civil CEO an arguably logical decision.
I have sent communications to the station's Commanding Officer, Captain Teron, requesting a meeting to get acquainted and discuss our relationship as well as a message to the Chief of Engineering. It’s the Chief with whom I need to discuss the possibilities available to me, in regards to redesigning the layout of the areas i have the rights to, and the power-consumption possible in those areas.
I have also begun drawing up a list of the personnel currently working on civil administration and management as well as a list of functions I intend to create for my staff.
An obvious vacancy that needs to be filled quickly is that of my assistant which I intend to call the Civil Executive Officer.
Another is the position of my Office's Secretary.
The other positions will have to be determined after my meetings with Captain Teron and Lt. Landry.
I have also compiled an inventory of all the assets that I now own, after the completion of the deal with the Federation. To my great relief and surprise the number of transactions I have made on some exchanges earned me a discount on the transaction fees varying from 0.5 to 1.2 percent.
The savings which I have centralized into a running account on Ferenginar amount to one hundred and thirty-nine bars of gold-pressed latinum.
Though this is a large number of funds in anyone's language I shall need every slip of it to fund the upcoming reconstructions which I shall need to have carried out, as well as for paying the personnel I need to get them carried out.
I had intended to sell my cargo/passenger cruiser, the IMV Ferengon, to fund these investments but now I might be able to hang on to the old lady a while longer.
As for my plans for reconstruction on the areas I've gotten the rights to there is little to reveal at this time. All I know is that the center of everything under the control of "Bloc Enterprises" shall be "Bloc's Legacy, Hotel-Resort-Casino".
thank you for reading this!
Stay safe and stay happy!