The Richest Man on Nausicaa

 Episode Name:  The Richest Man on Nausicaa

   Written By:  Daedalus

         Cast:  B'lor, Daedalus, Jatila, Kogh, Kryn Endilev, Matael, Melec and T'Pral.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Daedalus

     Aired On:  Sat Sep 17 21:56:37 2005

     Stardate:  55271.3

Time: Sat Sep 17 14:47:35 2005

Stardate: 55270.6

The scene fades in on a hallway of worked stone and metal, primitive in technology. An iris-style door with an antiquated security pad beside it is at each end of the hall, and a larger such door in the center of the hallway along one wall leading to the conference chambers. A Nausicaan guard stands at the door -- it is clear that he is the 'elite' since his hair is actually smoothed back and his uniform actually looks something resembling pressed. He bears some kind of polearm weapon, as well as an energy throwing sidearm of some kind. Opposite him, as the scene pans, is the polarized window which looks out over the dirty sky of a major Nausicaan city, which stretches for kilometers in any direction, under a grey haze shot through with light from the setting sun. Under this haze, the teeming, filthy, decaying city of metal and stone and barbarism moves to its own rhythm, what passes for a citadel of relative calm on a dying, chaotic world.

Kryn Endilev has taken the opportunity that the recess has afforded to position himself in front of the window overlooking the city. His hands are folded in front of him, right hand on top of the left to allow for an easy draw of the hrisal strapped to the left hip of his dress uniform. His body is turned at a slight angle; while able to take in the view of the cityscape, he can still see people as they move along the hallway.

Matael positions himself near the Nausicaan guard, but not close enough to seem threatening or prodding. He looks over the guard, particularly the polearm that he is equipped with. After an unimpressed exhale he turns focus to the cityscape outside. With a scrunching of his nose, he peers at the sky and the filthy buildings, shaking his head in disgust. Savagery...he ponders to himself.

Melec slowly follows amidst the exodus of the conference room as they recess for a time. Unlike most, he shows no outward sign of being affected negatively by his surroundings. He moves with even strides towards the windows overlooking the city below, a faint smile actually playing on his lips for a time.

Jatila glances around briefly, rubbing the back of her neck. "And I volunteered for this job..." She chooses to move toward a leaning spot at a wall equidistant from the Cardassians.

T'Pral slowly exits the conference chambers with languid steps, a little ways behind Jatila. The Federation Consul and Aide to Ambassador Rhane holds up her loosely sleeved wrist, quite close to the entrance to her airways. Filtered or not, just the visual fog of the exterior atmosphere is enough to set one's eyes burning. "You did?" she enquires, blandly. (New BB message (2/66) posted to 'Announcements' by Grey: Anomaly/MUSHpark outage)

Kryn Endilev antennae twitch and turns slightly as the Andorian catalogues the various approaching footsteps. His attention turns away from the window to the Cardassian as he approaches. "Does it remind you of home, Your Excellency?" the Starfleet officer asks. He pauses for just long enough to allow the comment to be inappropriate and then "politely" clarifies, "The architecture that is. Very sharp, grey. Very...Utilitarian."

. o O Jatila thinks, "Not to mention ugly."

Matael looks away from the window and to Kryn, "Andorian, this makes Cardassia City look like sheer paradise." He doesn't bother to play along with Kryn's attempt to disguise his own rudeness. "I suggest you be careful out there, one might find himself very ill very quickly if exposed to such air." He then smiles with a nod and turns off towards Melec, walking comfortably with his arms clasped behind his back. He then whispers to the ambassador, "Keep me in line, friend, who knows what I might do." He says with a bit of sarcasm.

Envoy General qoH is, naturally, still attired in a formal robe overlaying the distinctively flamboyant red House Qeth armour. The armour creaks as he strides, and, of course, the Klingon is in good cheer. As always, in spite of current conditions. "And -that- is why House Qeth produces the best armour," he concludes, as he strides into view, ahead of Sogh B'lor - whom he is presumably addressing.

Melec tilts his head briefly towards the Andorian, but as the Kel responds to him instead, the older Cardassian opts to peer out the window some more instead of speaking. His lips form a tight smirk at Matael's words, "Only do what is nessecary, Kel. No sense in wasting your energy on any more then that. There are bigger battles to be fought."

Jatila smiles faintly, giving T'Pral a nod. "Yes. Probably why the Ambassador supplies me with so much ale- to lull me into a false sense of bravado." Her gaze glides toward the window, and she shakes her head.

. o O Jatila thinks, "Damn Ferengi. We would never have let one of /our/ subject worlds get this bad."

T'Pral placidly knits her hands together. "A story of how, for ale, that it came to pass is perhaps in order, another time, Consul Jatila-osu. I would be interested to hear it." To Melec now does T'Pral's attention turn. Ambassador Rhane it may be presumed, has been mostly continuing her policy of disregard. But Rhane is not currently with them. She asks openly, toward the other knots of individuals, "Do any of you feel that we are on the verge of achieving progress?"

B'lor cracks a smirk, "Your house is indeed one with great honor, General." He begins to scan the room for the locations of the others, falling silent as he does so. He makes a mental note as to everyones' location, and places himself relitevely close to Kogh.

Kryn Endilev smiles, showing his teeth off, after the Cardassian officer opts to answer the question instead. He starts to return his attention back to the ruined cityscape, but T'Pral's words once more draw his focus back to the people present. He snorts, pauses, and says, "I have no opinion on the matter, Madam Consul. Although I would hate to think the flight out here and the time spent on this lovely planet is resulting in nothing positive."

Matael keeps close to Melec, watching the goings on with a nose in the air "interested but trying not to look interested" demeanor to him. He does not bother to weigh in, since he's not too good at responding to such questions very politely, and leaves the talking to the ambassador instead, gazing at the ecological mess outside.

Melec tilts his head and turns to face T'Pral slightly, "The Ferengi seem fairly set on doing it on their own, but at the same time, have proven incapable of dedicating the resources to the endeavour. I doubt the Federation's small attempts to intervene will suffice."

"Yes," Jat replies to T'Pral, still looking out the window. "The question is whether the progress is uphill or down."

T'Pral knits her fingers, lacing her hands before her abdomen. To Kryn, in unchanging tone, she asks, "No opinion, or no opinion you feel it is prudent to share at this time?" Asking then of the other respondants, she says, "Left to you and only you, then... what would the correct course of action be?"

B'lor continues to scan the room, and takes mental notes. At the moment, he stays out of the conversation of things.

The big iris door opens. A Ferengi in very splendid attire, emerges with a Lurian and a Nausicaan. Before any of the wits present can make the obvious parallel to one of many bad jokes about a multi-racial group walking into a bar, the Ferengi continues with something of which he had apparently paused in the saying, "But, no, Ku'reh'ta, it can't be that way, don't you see? If the platting of the land occurs along that path, you'll be giving your serfs too much control and too much political representation based on the current worth-to-votes formula. You and I both know that isn't right." He pauses, and the big, silent Lurian pauses in lock-step. It's clear who is the master and who is the bodyguard. "All I'm saying is that you need to be careful. You and your siblings crawled your way out of the mud and made it to where you are now with cutthroat, mercenary business skills any Ferengi would be proud of." He shows rows of teeth as he smiles at the Nausicaan, who starts to interrupt with "But, Nagus Zerobel---". He doesn't get to finish before the little Ferengi, with surprising fortitude in dealing with someone so much larger and more physically intimidating, moves into his space. "Why do you want to risk cutting your own throat and giving the next guy the same chance you got? No, no, Ku'reh'ta, strangle the competition in the cradle, I say." Then, looking around, at all the people in the hallway, the Ferengi says "Er, present company excluded, of course."

"The latter, Madam Consul," Endilev replies to T'Pral's questioning. He doesn't get a chance to elaborate further. The new introduction to the various conversations in the hallway catches his attention, first his antennae orienting as far as they'll go and then his body turning to follow. After present company is excluding from the infanticide, the big Andorian puts both his hands on his hips which has the wonderful collateral effect of emphasizing just how big pretty much everything about him is. "Are we preparing to resume?" he asks in a tone low enough to be addressing the various dignitaries in his 'group.'

Matael finally breaks his gaze from the cityscape to watch the door open. He steps away from the window and eyes the door cautiously. His caution fades as he sees the three beings pass through the iris door, a look of disappointment on his face. A Ferengi...great. He straightens up and stands next to Melec, hearing the Andorian but ignoring him entirely. Its probably best that Matael keeps his mouth shut about now.

Kogh had merely listened to the conversation already in progress, apparently not interested in providing an opinion himself. Although he did rather look as though on the verge of speaking - just for a moment - before the arrival of the Ferengi. Now, however, he remains silent, instead. Watchful.

Like much of the group, the one-armed Cardassian soldier-turned-diplomat falls silent as well, his attention turning to the entering group as he waits the the question hanging in the air to be answered. The Federation representative's question going unanswered from the Cardassian corner.

Jatila's gaze slides away from the window to locate and assess the Ferengi and his minions. Her brow furrowing at the cradle comment, she echoes him in a rather chilly voice. "Of course."

. o O Kogh thinks, "Probably preferable not to comment, after all. Better to quietly ponder the most interesting method of extracting the creature's internal organs, I should think."

B'lor turns at the voice of the Ferengi, and studies the new arrivals, still remaining silent, his focus still intently on observing what is going on at the moment.

The Ferengi, perhaps heedless of the great big huge amount of tension his presence and statement have introduced to the gathering, smiles broadly, showing much in the way of crooked, dirty Ferengi teeth. "I think it's going to be a bit longer. Apparently, a few of Ku'reh'ta's counterparts from the other tribes, and, um, citadels --" The Nausicaan near him grunts at the hasty slip and recovery, as if to the Nausicaans, there *is* a difference between the tribal and urban dwellers, here. "--know the Federation Ambassador from way back, and even though the were late to all this, they won't let things resume until they've given her all the ceremonial greetings." A roll of eyes. "That means business has to be shoved to a side table for now." A look at the assembled throng. "But, look, you folks have to be uncomfortable standing around here. I know it's not much, but Ku'reh'ta and I were just going to go roofside. There's a cantina right next to the shuttlepad, and he's got enough rank to clear it out and we can all have a drink at, well, a side table." The unspoken implication that what Rhane and the Nausicaans don't know about any business that might get conducted there, well, harms nobody. "What do you say? We have a few drinks, a few laughs, and watch the people below scurry like ants as the sun goes down."

Kryn Endilev lets his hands fall from his hips lest his continuation in that stance be interpreted in an unfortunate manner. Instead, he clasps his hands behind his back and remains silent in lieu of the Federation Consul speaking. After all, he's just a bodyguard too, albeit, a well dressed one.

Matael perks up at the mention of the word 'drink'...a Kanar would hit the spot right about now...that is..if these people have even ever heard of the drink. Its worth a try, "A drink seems in order." He chimes in quietly and politely...but would like more of a consensus.

"That sounds preferable to having my eyes plucked out with tweezers," the Klingon ambassador observes, with a hint of amusement colouring his tone. Whether that's a yes or a no remains open to interpretation.

The older Cardassian's eyes critically examine all three of the new arrivals as a few others begin to chime in with their replies, clear or not. After a few couple of replies, Melec speaks finally, "If we are not planning on convening soon, then that would be an acceptable alternative."

Jatila hesitates, glancing out the window, then she looks back with a reluctant nod. "As long as we're not outside for more than a moment."

The Vulcan Federation Consul steps forward, tucking her hands into her sleeves comfortably. She gives just the slightest 'this way' inclincation to Kryn Endilev, and answers, "I concur. That would be acceptable, Nagus Zerobel, assuming the atmophere of this cantina is conducive to breathing. A side table, while we wait, would be agreeable... assuming we can all return to resume our business promptly when the the time comes. If you would show us the way?"

. o O Kogh thinks, "Especially since looking out of that window feels, I imagine, somewhat similar. Gah. What a horrendously ugly view."

B'lor smiles at the sound of a drink, "Aye, something brewing in my stomach would suit me just fine." as he eyes the other participants. He constantly stands at Koghs' side, waiting for him to initiate movement first. He watches the others inertly, as he attempts to ascertain a sense of character about them. His momentary bursts of klingon do little to hide his true function. Its obvious what he is here for.

A quick movement out one end of the corridor, into an antiquated but functioning turbolift made for a large party, and within about 45 seconds from their departure, the diplomatic assemblage is roofside. There is a slight whiff of toxic air as the turbolift inhales and exhales environment from somewhere -- perhaps itis not completely shielded. But soon the rooftop defensive and environmental shields kick in well enough and any momentary exposure is clearly only that. As they cross the 'tarmac' of the shuttlepad, weaving between the various diplomatic shuttles as well as the big passive-reception dais to which the Station 419 arrivals were beamed down from USS Thomas Paine, the Ferengi speaks again: "So, anyway, in case it wasn't clear from the introduction Ambassador Doga made for me earlier, I'm actually local. Or, as local as Ferengi get here. Been here for, oh, five years or so, running a few exotic farming and ranching businesses. Any of you been to this miserable planet" -- he says this with a smile to his Nausicaan companion, a big wide grin -- "before?"

Kryn Endilev follows at T'Pral's shoulder, slightly behind her, allowing the Vulcan to do her thing. However, the latest question from the Ferengi seems safe enough and therefore he ventures an answer as the group crosses the landing pad. "No, sir. This is my first visit to Nausicaa and I must say, it's certainly leaving an impression. Which in my book is saying something. Frankly, there's too many boring planets in the galaxy."

Kogh grunts (probably with displeasure), nose slightly wrinkled still, following the whiff of unfriendly air. "Never," he asserts, and doesn't sound particuarly displeased at that notion. "But it would seem to be a most challenging environment."

Melec remains silent on the ride up, seemingly unfazed by the brief intake of toxic atmosphere from outside. The Cardassian smirks at the Klingon's reaction, "Challenging for some, perhaps. It certainly has more... character then most inhabited planets I've visited."

Jatila shakes her head, picking her way carefully across the tarmac. Her answer to the Ferengi- "No." - is an idle one indicative of thoughts elsewhere. She watches Melec out of the corner of her eye, remarking mildly, "I imagine you would have found Bajor's moon bursting with character after you slaughtered the people living there."

T'Pral has but to answer openly, honestly, that she has not. "You said you have been ranching, Nagus Zerobel. What have exotics precisely do you specialize in, here... that there is sufficient profit?"

B'lor quirks a foul grin of distaste, "This planet seems to..." looking at Kogh for approval, "Colorful." he adds, and continues with, "Its to cuddly, and warm, for my tastes." he adds, though not so loudly.

Zerobel looks from Melec to Jatila and back, then back again, before tearing his eyes away to answer T'Pral. "Oh, you'd be surprised, Consul ... T'Pral, was it?..." He nods as if he knew that, sure. "You'd be surprised. My biggest pull right now is the local invertebrate they call 'ripperworms'. Savage little annelids, really, but very very valuable to the right folks." He smiles broadly. "The Nausicaans just let 'em grow in filthy cesspools, but it took someone like me to start marketing tanks of the little critters to the Pakleds, the Rynkans, and other starfaring races of less-than-advanced technology. THey can't afford the kind of waste disposal and recycling systems we more advanced people have." He is still walking, as he talks, and pauses so the Lurian and Nausicaan can open the cantina door, then he steps through. "So I make quite a few bars a year on just that sub-venture alone. You'd be surprised the number of uses people have for toxic, spiked little burrowing worms that prefer to dig through waste," a pause, as he flicks a glance at the Klingons, "...but don't mind living flesh if that's all they can get."

. o O Kogh thinks, "An invertebrate exploiting another invertebrate. Fitting for the little trolls."

"How wonderful," Endilev states with more enthusiasm than is likely warranted for sewage eating worms. "Where there's a will, there's a way. When technology isn't available, turn to science, hmm?" At this point he moves ahead of T'Pral to enter the cantina before she does. He stops in the doorway, pretty much blocking access for everyone, until he's satisfied that there's no apparent ambush, villainy, or skullduggery waiting inside.

GAME: B'lor contests its Intellect/Perception & Intimidation vs Routine and Succeeds.

. o O T'Pral thinks, "Organic waste only?"

GAME: Kryn Endilev contests his Search vs Routine and Fails.

Kogh grunts again. "Colourful, yes," he agrees. A pointed glance at Melec. "You doubt that it is challenging, Cardassian?" There is little good will in that tone, but there is a trace of amusement in his eyes. He motions with one hand. "Surely you insult our hosts, when you have only sipped at the challenge they face with such gusto?" He ignores the Ferengi's chattering.

Melec shoots a sidelong glance towards Jatila briefly, replying dryly, "The Union has no tolerance for terrorism, just like your government, Consul." He replies simply, turning back to Kogh, with a slight smirk, "Oh, I do not doubt the climate and geography are challenging, I was merely referring to how well our Nausicaan hosts deal with their surroundings."

Jatila just lets a smile drift across her lips as her steps pause, an eyebrow rising with her glance toward the Andorian.

. o O Jatila thinks, "It is quite one thing to use a few painful deaths for an example. Quite enother to destroy the local resources en masse. Idiot."

T'Pral follows through into the Cantina. "Tell me, Nagus, are they limited to soft wastes, then? or are they capable of burrowing through more... solid materials, these ripperworms? They sound to be fascinating annelidae. I would be most interested to learn about their capacities, even their byproducts... perhaps though, not all share my curiousity. I would not wish to make uncomfortable your other guests, my fellow diplomats and representatives." Special emphasis, albeit monotonously flat placed upon that last bit.

B'lor speaks up but only for a moment, and in the direction of the Nagus, "Why do you deal with such awful creatures?" as he continues to stand close to Kogh. His attention falters on the Nagus and the Nausican.

Within another minute, Ku'reh'ta has cleared the non-VIPs from the cantina. A few folks are left, mostly Nausicaans and Ferengi of high-enough status that they can't simply be 'cleared out' that easily. But soon the 'relaxing' diplomatic contingent outnumbers the patrons that remain, and the 'side table' Zerobel had mentioned turns out to be the largest table in the place. The walls are lined with what Nausicaans must considered knick-knacks -- i.e., trophies from battles and hunts ... very odd collections of horned skulls, makeshift weapons, and the like. Zerobel motions to his Nausicaan friend. "The first round's on you." Then he turns back to T'Pral. "I'm afraid I'm not a biologist, really. If you don't want to bore the others, I could get you a brochure from one of the scientists in my marketing section."

Satisfied that villainy is in fact not afoot, the big Andorian continues into establishment and resumes flanking his charge. Endilev watches the various patrons who are cleared out and then takes a quick survey of those remaining.

Matael snaps out of his quiet, walking daze as Jatila and Melec have a back and forth. He comments rudely, not caring about who hears, "Tell me, Romulan...do the dilithium mines of Remus have character? I imagine the Reman slaves who are beaten and forced to work there their entire lives probably dont think so." He smiles to himself, not once even making eye contact with her. He then shifts his speech to Melec, "...insufferable people, the whole lot." His attention is then lost as the place clears and the bar becomes visible. He searches for Kanar, caring less for what the Nagus has to say about worms.

Kogh lapses into silence, offering only a small nod to Melec in acknowledgement of his words. B'lor gets a slightly sharp glance, but the ambassador doesn't comment on his aide/bodyguard's question.

Melec shoots a stern glance to Matael after he speaks, replying to his side comment in a surprisingly harsh tone, "That's enough, Kel." Turning away from the other Cardassian, Melec's eyes briefly look upon the Cardassian but continue moving to the Nausicaan identified as Ku'reh'ta, "Mr. Ku'reh'ta, I don't suppose the cantina here stocks imported alcohols? If not, perhaps you'd be so kind as to suggest something local?"

Jatila settles into her seat, fire in her eyes as she glances toward Matael. "We don't /have/ slaves," she says sharply. "Neither do we force subject women into harems to rip perverted pleasure from them." In fact, her nose wrinkles in disgust at the notion, along with a murderous shadow that passes across her eyes. "Or rape a land of its resources, through bloodlust or otherwise. When you can say the same, snake-" She pauses at Melec's words, pursing her lips, and sits back in her chair, gathering calm like a shroud around herself.

. o O Jatila practices an exercise in obscenity. Wow. Matael did /that/? Nah, an ovine isn't that flexible.

T'Pral exhales through her lips, and stands behind a chair at their side table. Her fingertips ruffle once across the backing. Expressionless, she answers, "Perhaps, it would be better if we discussed your thoughts on our purpose here?" Water off a mallard.

B'lor watches the others with lack of emotion. He says nothing, just contemplates the situation. Sensing the others character as best as he can, and waiting.

Zerobel likewise seems to ignore the great big dancing creature that is thed animosity between Jatila and the Cardassians. He gives the Vulcan a nod, instead. "Well, look, Consul, I'm a businessman, really. What's good for that bottom line is good for me. You folks, well, you want to clean this planet up, and I suppose that's alright, as long as it doesn't get in the way of business. I don't just mean mine, I've made more than a few Nausicaans rich, too, you know." He gestures to his apparent junior partner, even now returning to the table with the round of drinks. "I mean, we've all got a lot invested here."

Kryn Endilev watches the spat between the Cardassian and the Romulan with undisguised interest. That is, until both sides choose to break it off. Given the opportunity now, he walks away from the group of dignitaries and back to the door. From there, he begins walking a slow circuit of the establishment, seemingly examining the decorations.

Matael opens his mouth.....then abruptly closes it, he may be arrogant and stubborn but not enough to anger the ambassador. No slaves? He scoffs and then seriously ponders...apparently shes never met a Reman or is just ignorant. He shrugs to himself and swipes a drink from the table, sniffing it and turning his attention to the Nagus, actually listening with interest...for once.

GAME: Kryn Endilev contests his Search vs Moderate and Fails.

Melec turns his attention to the Ferengi once more, listening to his words, and thinking on them for a moment before replying, "Your government, however, seems unusually slow at providing aid to protect your assets here on Nausicaa. I'm sure an ecological disaster of the magnitude that has been described to us would hurt not only the Nausicaan people, but many Ferengi investments on the planet as well." Theres a pause for a breath before he adds, "Is there a reason for this delay?"

Jatila's gaze flicks to the Nausicaan, then back toward Zerobel, settling into quiet observation for the nonce. She ignores the drinks.

T'Pral makes no order for a drink. She does however take her seat, observing, "Naturally, change concerns the profit-conscious entrepeneur... but perhaps if we knew what concerns you and your compatriots have, they might better be addressed, to everyone's greater satisfaction."

Kogh lifts a hand, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. He leans forwards ever so slightly, armour creaking. "If I may be so bold," he says, quietly, thoughtfully, "to note that the cleanup should only serve to provide new markets for local business. New growth avenues. Not to mention developments, of course. It's quite possible that new practical applications of existing technologies - or new technologies that could grow from such a noble joint venture - could be of exceptional value to those visionary enough to embrace their potential. - Not to mention trade. A motive Nausicaa is a productive Nausicaa." He motions with one hand, vaguely. "Those who build earn great wealth - whether in latinum, as the Ferengi desire, or in honour and rememberance, as Klingons seek. But all who build great works find great gain."

B'lor yawns a borish yawn at the air of politics around him. He looks at the Nagus and gauges his reaction to Koghs' words of wisdom as he barks to nobody in particular, "thlingan ale!"

GAME: Kogh contests his Persuasion/Oratory+A vs Challenging and Dramatically Succeeds.

"Hey, look," says the Ferengi. "I sympathize with what you're trying to do -- I mean, I see your point -- so maybe I should speak more plainly. I mean, I'm the richest man on this planet, so I clearly don't want to have to abandon it, right? No, of course not. A nice wave brings all skiffs to shore, you know? I'm trying to get the same answers out of my gover--" His Nausicaan companion's hand on his arm pauses him. "Nagus. I want to hear your answer, so please shut up for a second while I take care of some business. I don't like the way they're looking at us, and it needs to be taken care of." Ku'reh'ta then rises, his manidbles clacking once. He is looking in the direction of the Nausicaans drinking on the other side of the room, and begins to proceed over to them. For his own part, the Lurian bodyguard moves his chair in closer, both to let Ku'reh'ta step around him, and to interpose himself in a more direct line between the other Nausicaans and his employer. At the body language, perhaps the Nagus seems to get the idea of danger, because Zerobel just nods, sheepishly, and shoots apologetic looks at T'Pral, but even moreso at Kogh. Perhaps the Klingon's words hit home. "Yeah, he deserves to hear my answer to that. Let's give it a sec. But ... yeah." He continues to nod at Kogh. "Yeah."

Kryn Endilev has over the past minute or so made a complete circuit of the room, ostensibly examining the nicknacks and memorabilia and what-have-you. Even so, he's been paying attention to the conversation going on at the large table. The words of Zerobel's Nausicaan associate bring the Andorian back around. Casually, he returns to the table and takes up a posting standing behind T'Pral.

GAME: Kryn Endilev contests his Security vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Matael alerts at the possibility of voilence and places the drink he hasnt even sipped down. He puts a serious face on and watches Ku'reh'ta intently, switching between observing him and the surroundings.

Kogh quietly settles back in his seat, folds his arms across his chest with a low groan of protest from the armour beneath his robe, and waits - directing a glance at Bor'la, and then another at the Nausicaans across the room.

Melec listens intently to the Ferengi as he speaks, and then follows the Nausicaan with his eyes as he departs and heads across the room, otherwise falling silent. Eyeing the group across the room critically.

Jatila looks back toward Ku'reh'ta, then beyond to the Nausicaans he's heading for. Considering for a moment, she rises quietly from her seat, taking a few steps back from the table. Her hands twitch a little forward at her sides before she places them firmly behind her back, lacing her fingers.

T'Pral glances to Kryn Endilev as he takes up what appears to be defensive posture, and she sits quietly. Looking across to Kogh with a softly arching brow, she wears a keen look upon her features that is not quite an expression. She turns her head to track Jatila's movement.

B'lor gives a slight nod of acknowledgement to Kogh, and turns his attention to Ku'reh'ta. He reaches his right hand up to his side, as if he is scratching himself. His armor does look rather uncomfortable.

GAME: B'lor contests its Security vs Moderate and Marginally Fails.

GAME: Matael contests his Search vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Ku'reh'ta is talking in low growls to the other Nausicaans, even going so far as to put his hand forcefully on one of his 'fellows', specifically at the wrist, quietly but surely forcing the arm to remain on the table. He leans in, overshadowing the table a little, and his mandibles click in the other Nausicaans ear. The server who had been about to bring B'lor's drink sees what might be impending violence and steps back towards the bar again. But Ku'reh'ta's point seems to have been made, and he makes his way back towards the table in a slow, steady motion after releasing the other fellow's arm. The Nausicaans at the table sulk a bit, in hushed tones, as Ku'reh'ta makes his way back around the table, around the Lurian, and back towards his seat. He makes some kind of sweeping arm gesture to indicate to Zerobel to continue ...

...and that is when comes the flash of green light and the high-pitched whine as the very air energizes, and the richest man on Nausicaa falls backwards from the chair, his molecules already starting to discorporate in brightly lit motes like the embers from a bonfire that has just been kicked by a booted foot.

GAME: Kogh contests his Intellect/Perception+D vs Moderate and Fails.

GAME: Melec contests his Search vs Moderate and Succeeds.

Kryn Endilev blinks as the Ferengi suddenly becomes so much vapor transiting out of the continuum, though whether from surprise or the flash isn't readily apparent. Even so, while most everyone else is still reacting, he's in auction. His left hand grabs the Vulcan consul and without gentleness or so much as a 'By your leave', he physically removes her from the chair and forces her face down on the deck. Kneeling over her, he goes to draw his concealed phaser.

Matael reacting to the flash of light, and not even noticing the now dead Ferengi, he takes a page from "Protecting your target 101.", as Kryn apparently also did, and slides under the table, like he has done this thousands of times, with the back of Melec's attire in his hand, dragging him down with himself in a not too gentile way using the huge table and the chairs for a barrier.

Kogh grunts - a sound indicating deep distaste - but remains seated, a slight look of confusion in his eyes, which track about the room as if searching for something. He didn't flinch at the green light or the unfortunate demise of the Ferengi, however, and doesn't appear particuarly interested in moving.

As chaos errupts around him, Melec remains seated; eyes quickly surveying the scene around him, but not in a frantic way. His eyes shoot from the group across the room to Ku'reh'ta and then his gaze is torn from his surroundings as the other Cardassian grabs the back of his uniform and drags him under the table. Melec doesn't seem to resist, he simply lets himself fall to the ground.

Jatila drops like a stone, diving for the dubious safety of space beneath the table. Once there, she snaps her gaze around toward T'Pral's chair, nods once shortly- is that approval of the Andorian's actions in her eyes? Elements forbid. That done, she scuttles sideways and backward, nearly on her belly, to seek better cover.

. o O Jatila thinks, "This is not... going according to plan."

. o O Kogh thinks, "That's terribly inconveniant. - Pah! Klingons do not hide."

. o O Kogh feels a surge of aggression, and a desire to make things suffer greatly. There's also a curious tinge of amusement, a sense of aesthetic approval, and a slither - a tiny, tiny slither - of discomfort. Not quite fear, but in that direction.

T'Pral goes wide-eyed, both at the act of violence, and by her subsequent forcing down, face-first to the deck. Yep. That is one stunned Vulcan. Stiff as a poker.

B'lor stands slowly as he takes in the demise of the late Ferengi. His left hand goes for his Mak'bar dagger, and his right hand goes for his concealed phase disrupter. Once both pulled, he positions himself next to Kogh, sliding his left hand back to allow Kogh easy access to the dagger, where he can take it should the need further arise. He waits cautiously, with impudent caution, waiting for something to happen, and preparing himself to act accordingly.

Ku'reh'ta, for his part, dives away, as well, growling, mandibles clacking. There is a moment's pause, and then the Nausicaan scrambles wildly in the direction of the other Nausicaans, who are themselves heading for the door.

. o O Jatila's thoughts coagulate with a sharp click. "Ku'reh'ta was bringing the Ferengi here. Ku'reh'ta went over to speak to them. Ku'reh'ta flees with them. Enough circumstantial evidence to warrant a nice, long, /deep/ interrogation. And no ripperworms in sight." She sighs.

GAME: Kryn Endilev contests his Energy Weapon/Phaser vs Routine and Succeeds.

Kryn Endilev plants his knee firmly in T'Pral's spine to hold her in place and orders, "Don't move, Madam Consul." Once sure that he has her as secure as he might an enemy prisoner of of war, the now freed left hand grips the hrisal strapped at his hip and yanks it from its scabbard in a reverse grip, the blade of the short sword running back along the length of his arm. The hand holding the phaser begins to track the lead element of the fleeing Nausicaans. Inhale, exhale, hold, fire.

Matael sits crouched behind the line of chairs that he is using as a makeshift barrier. He has one hand on Melec's shoulder to make sure he is still there and no one decides to yank him away while hes watching the door. His other hand moves down to his phaser and grasps it, removing it from the holster only halfway. He continues to watch the fleeing and chaos as he holds his weapon. "Are you alright, ambassador?" He says gruffly, his eyes locked on the door.

Kogh grunts quietly, motioning towards the Nausicaans. "Well, shoot them, Sogh B'lor. It would be unwise to allow them to escape unhindered, no?" He doesn't make any move to give chase - it's not as if he'd -catch- them, anyway.

Melec seats himself comfortably on the ground, fumbling a bit since he only has the use of one arm. He doesn't seem all that shaken by the events, a small smirk plays his lips, "Looks like Ku'reh'ta finally had enough of that Cardassian's incessant babbling and self-interest. He shot the Ferengi." The last part is said under his breath, so that it would be difficult for anyone but Matael to hear.

Jatila curls up behind her chosen cover- the Cardassians- and leans around to peek an eye from behind a table leg, gazing after the Nausicaans. Her lips purse within an growly expression.

. o O Kogh feels a rising fury that no amount of internalized joking and amusement can smother.

T'Pral struggles wildly under Kryn's leg, just as if she had not heard him at all. She flails, but is wildly unsuccessful in dislodging the pinning pressure from her body. Her expression, could it be seen, is one of complete terror, which is very... un-Vulcan, to say the least. "OFF," she demands.

B'lor extends his hand with the disrupter in it about the same time the orders come to shoot. Not one to disobey orders, he concentrates, takes aim, but doesn't waste time with inhale, exhale, hold, shoot. He just decides he is going to shoot the nausican, and pulls the trigger.

. o O T'Pral feels as though she will suffocate like this, though there is almost no pressure on her lungs. Her fear is like a chilled fist gripping her vitals.

GAME: B'lor contests its Energy Weapon/Disruptor+A vs Moderate and Dramatically Succeeds.

And in a moment's breath, Ku'reh'ta himself becomes the victim, but it is also apparent in a moment that B'lor's weapon was *not* set on one of the more gentle settings, and the Nausicaan drops to the ground, a hole charred in his back, and he is very, very still, an acrid smoke somehow more toxic and pervasive than the hazed outside filling the room.

The other Nausicaans? They are out the door and gone, with the exception of the one dropped by the Andorian, who ... drops. But not as smokily or violently as Ku'reh'ta.

...and the two dice-throwing Ferengi in the corner? They are still in the corner, huddled there, behind an overturned table, looking terrified.

Kryn Endilev watches as the other Nausicaans disappear out the exit a heartbeat later; certainly not enough time to get another shot off. Once their gone, he doesn't go charging after them, brandishing either of his weapons. Instead, he spares a glance for the other shooter in his group, then looks down at the Vulcan. The hrisal gets sheathed once again and then he climbs off of T'Pral. One hand is still held on her back with the intention of keeping her down, though there's no force behind it now. She could easily shrug it off. "Clear?" he calls, both reporting his assessment of the situation and asking for a response from the others.

Matael casucally chuckles at Melec's comment in the middle of a firefight, whispering back, "If one of them hadn't done it I might have ended up--" He pauses as he watches Nausicaan's fall left and right, some with holes in them...like Ku'reh'ta. He blinks, "The Nausicaans dont need toxic air to kill them...they have the Klingons here to do that." He mumbles, letting go of his phaser and allowing it to drop in its hoslter softly. He crawls out from under the table and brushes himself off, "Yes, I think you two have cleared enough..." He responds.

Kogh frowns - still seated -exactly- where he was when the first shot rang out and vaporized the Ferengi, arms still neatly folded across his chest. Deeply reproachful, he rumbles angrily, "You ought not to have taken a lethal shot, Sogh B'lor." The frown develops into a scowl. Dismissively, he turns his gaze from the other Klingon, directing a particuarly disdainful glare at the Ferengi hiding in the corner.

. o O Kogh thinks, "There is no honour in slaying one who did not see the face of his killer. No honour at all."

. o O Kogh feels furious. Just... furious.

Melec shakes his head slowly as he sees Ku'reh'ta go down, and then smoke rise from the Nausicaan's body. Muttering, "Trigger happy Klingons. That's how you make a martyr out of a criminal." He shakes his head, glancing to Kogh and is about to say something when the Ambassador calls out his escort instead. Nodding his head towards the Klingon in agreement.

Jatila groans softly, watching Ku'reh'ta drop. "Oh, lovely," she mutters. After a moment, she's satisfied that the firing has ceased for the nonce, and carefully crawls out from beneath the table to rise, brushing at her robes. Glancing around, she calls, "T'Pral-osu? Are you alright?" Then to Kryn, "Lieutenant, would you please take that," a chin jerk toward the stunned Nausicaan, "Into custody before it wakes up? Nice shot," she adds.

T'Pral lays there, as the pressure dissipates, curling her limbs in, toward her body. "Please remove your hand," she says. "I am grateful for your protection, but please... don't touch me."

B'lor smiles at the successful shot that landed the nausican on the floor. His victory is short lived however, and he turns to Kogh as he speaks, "Perhaps next time you can do it your way." he scowls, then turns to Melec, "I am a Klingon with honor. I will not have my honor questioned. If you doubt it, a demonstration CAN be arranged."

And that's when the door slides open. Four Ferengi who wear the uniforms of what passes for their Revenue Cutter Service -- the official military/customs arm of the Ferengi Commerce Authority -- are standing with weapons drawn, very much unlike your average whimpering Ferengi wheeler-dealer. No, these fellows seem deadly serious, the kind of men who, confident in their numbers and their weapons, might actually throw-down when necessary. The fact that two large Nausicaans with the polearms and the elite look stand behind them doesn't hurt, either. One of the Ferengi speaks up, "We heard weapons fire. What's going on here?" Total time elapsed since the vaporization of Nagus Zerobel ... less than 60 seconds.

. o O T'Pral thinks, "Were they waiting outside??"

"I'm sorry, Madam Consul, but it was for your own protection." Satisfied that no other threats have presented themselves or been identified, Endilev removes his hand from T'Pral's back. When the local authorities arrive, the Andorian quickly puts his phaser away and holds up both hands. Not above his though; rather, just open palmed in front of him to show that he's no threat. "I am a Starfleet security officer assigned to the Consul here," he announces to explain why he had a weapon. The unconscious Nausicaan at your feet needs to be be searched and secured."

Matael stands up after crawling out from under the table. He puts a hand down to offer it to Melec, so that he may rise easier. As his hand is offered he looks to the security services, "This Nagus...or what is left of him.." He nudges his head to any ashes or parts that are left in the seat, "...seemed to have made some determined enemies while on this planet. Though they are no doubt long gone by now."

Kogh turns his scowl on B'lor, and it is one of similar temperature to ice. "-Sogh-," he growls, in a controlled low voice, at B'lor. "Now is -not- the time." Turning his gaze to the Ferengi newcomers, the ambassador sucks in a slow, deep breath. Somehow it becomes a low rumble in his chest that terminates when he exhales. Calmly (no doubt at significant cost to his cardiovascular well-being), he states flatly, "I suspect the Nagus is beyond medical attention."

Since everyone else seems to be giving their own accounts, Melec speaks up, completely ignoring B'lor's challenge, "Ku'reh'ta," he points to the smoking corpse, "Disintigrated the Nagus. Both Ku'reh'ta and the stunned Nausicaan attempted to flee along with several others. The actions were clearly premeditated."

Jatila's gaze goes round slightly toward the Ferengi/Nausicaan security personnel, as she dusts her hands against each other. A brief nod signals confirmation of the others' words, though she remarks, "Actually, I'm not sure who the specific shooter was." She shrugs.

GAME: Kogh calls Social Advantage over B'lor for a Presence-based contest. See 'news social' for more information.

B'lor grits his teeth as the Klingon Ambassador speaks. He holsters his disruptor, and looks at the group huddled by the door with pistols drawn, "The nagus, it was stated earlier was destroyed by this Nausican" raising a chin at the body lying on the floor. He looks at the speaking Ferengi again, and continues, "I felt my principle was in danger, and I took action. You see the result." he huffs. Not saying any more, he awaits the reaction of the others.

As the recap and recriminations ebb and flow, the Ferengi immediately begin work -- two of them taking up the unconscious one, and the other two kicking over the dead one. The two larger guards behind them tap their polearm butts on the ground. "We were perhaps in time, then. Hrm," says one of those. He clearly does not mean to save either of the two dead men, and continues, mandibles a-clackin'. "The ceremonial honors are done. Warlord Ku'vrik'zah, Ambassador Doga, Ambassador Rhane, and the Romulan Ambassador are ready to proceed and request your return to the chamber as soon as you are able. We will advise them of the delay." The one not speaking continues to look around, suspiciously, appraisingly, but then steps back into a more passive stance.

And then, leaving the Ferengi to drag the corpses, the Nausicaans lead the diplomatic retinue away from the little rooftop cantina, against the background of the haze of the filthy and polluted Nausicaan sky at dusk, where the Richest Man on The Planet has already discorporated completely, fading away to ashes and smoke, to nothing more than a memory.