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Enterprise Asides Part 3 - The Problem-Solver
No one knew what his name was, and he liked it quite that way. At times, even he had trouble recalling his own name. People called him the problem-solver, the finder, the sneak. He existed as pure reputation untethered to any names or addresses. None could trace his actions back to any one person, and if they did, it was always the wrong person. The Federation prided itself on being a utopia, but he knew better. Utopias didn’t need problem-solvers, and yet here he was, cleaning out the dark crevices and holes the Federation didn’t want to talk about.
He never asked a lot of questions, but he did know that his next client was a doctor, a Starfleet officer, no less, which always made him chuckle. People associated him and his types with scoundrels and fringe elements, but it amazed him how often the Federation’s best and brightest came to him, burdened with issues their own precious laws created. In many ways, he was the true utopian, a servant of the people . . . for a price.
He sat down at a table, ordered an interesting-looking drink, and enjoyed the strange anonymity that came from being so out in the open in a bar. He took no efforts to disguise his appearance. His species had a unique look that the Problem-Solver utilized whenever possible, allowing people to take him for granted and make assumptions based on his nonstandard syntax. Evolved their ideals may be, but there were still those who looked down on certain alien species. He wondered whether his latest client would do the same. It always helped to give him an edge in conversation if the other individual regarded him as somewhat slow or odd.
As if on cue, the grizzled doctor slunk into the bar, casting about with the casualness of a long-time visitor taking in the familiar ambience. Clad in a brown leather jacket and affecting an easygoing air, the man seemed completely at home in the bar, moving between patrons like a leaf drifting down a stream, serene and unbothered, almost Vulcan-like. The Problem-Solver refrained from introducing himself to the Starfleet doctor, waiting to see how he’d react. If his clients were skittish or too obvious, he’d vanish off into the crowd, never to be seen again. But this officer looked like a man who understood caution, and that fit the bill nicely.
He waited until the man sat down and ordered a drink before he approached him.
“To your planet, welcome!” the Problem-Solver said, affecting a friendly air.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s my line, stranger.”
“Oh forgive,” he said, glad to have established a casual rapport. “I here am new. But you are known, being McCoy from Enterprise.” He waited to see how his client would react to being named. The man didn’t flinch.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“I name not important. You seek I. Message received. Available ship stands by.”
McCoy leaned forward. “How much and how soon?”
“How soon is now. How much is . . . where?” Now he’d see just what he was getting himself into.
The man’s voice quieted. “Somewhere in the...Mutara Sector.”
“Oh, Mutara restricted,” he replied, suddenly wary. “Take permits many. Money more.” He wasn’t opposed to navigating a little red tape, but McCoy’s eyes had suddenly grown a little crazed, and there was something in the man’s voice, a anic he hadn’t picked up on earlier.
McCoy’s voice became an angry hiss. “There aren’t going to be any damn permits! How can you get a permit to do a damn illegal thing? Look, price you name, money I got.”
This deal wasn’t going to work. His clients knew not to push him, especially in a public place. He decided to take a harder stance. “Place you name, money I name, otherwise bargain, no.”
“Alright, dammit. It’s Genesis. The name of the place we’re going is Genesis.”
“ Genesis?! ” He said it loudly, hoping to draw some unwanted attention. He wasn’t opposed to a little blockade running, but Genesis was the centre of the current news maelstrom. On top of that, this man’s composure was crumbling rapidly, He did not give out trust lightly, and this man suddenly appeared to be one who was not opposed to breaking promises..
“Yes, Genesis! How can you be deaf with ears like that?”
What was wrong with his ears?
“Genesis allowed is not! Is planet forbidden!” Inwardly, he thought that at least this little performance would serve as a reminder to any Starfleet security lurking about that he was an upstanding Federation citizen, never one to do anything illegal ever.
“Look, my backwards friend,” McCoy bit out, “Genesis may be planet forbidden, but I’m damn well--”
McCoy’s tirade was cut short by a hand landing on his shoulder with the finality of end punctuation. The dark-skinned human had an air of authority and calm about him. Any promises of profit evaporated away, but at least the Problem-Solver could get away with no losses.
“Sir,” the other human said, “I'm sorry, but your voice is carrying. I don't think you want to be discussing this subject in public.”
“I’ll discuss what I like,” McCoy said, “and who the hell are you?”
“Could I offer you a ride home, Doctor McCoy?”
Ah , he thought, delighted. This man knows McCoy. Good. It would be easier to slip away, now that the responsibility for the unstable doctor rested on another’s shoulders.
“Where's the logic in offering me a ride home, you idiot!” McCoy said, his eyes growing more crazed. “If I wanted a ride home, would I be trying to charter a space flight?”
“Arrgh!” The Problem-Solver growled, wishing he could have slunk off into the crowd without McCoy revealing why they had met. Why couldn’t he just have kept his mouth shut?
Before either McCoy or the other human could say another word, the Problem-Solver slipped away from the table back into the crowd. The waitress who had spoken to McCoy earlier approached him.
“What’s up with him?”
“Knowing I not,” he said with a shrug and then turned away.
He had no other contacts for the day, not that he was really in the mood to help anyone. This one had seemed so promising, a well-off Starfleet officer, level-headed and calm, ready to charter a simple flight. He gave an annoyed huff. So much for that .
He felt his encrypted communicator vibrate and he drew it out. It was a simple message.
Meet. Marina. Mudd .
He sighed. Harry Mudd was a name he had hoped to never encounter. He was too gregarious, too infamous. Not at all the sort of client the Problem-Solver cared to deal with. He sent back an even simpler reply ( unavailable ) and slipped back into comfortable anonymity, glad beyond glad that he wouldn’t have to deal with permits or Starfleet doctors or that idiotic Mutara Sector.
It was going to be a good day.