The Art of the Deal
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to give special thanks to those people who contributed to the development of this story, in ways they may not even be aware of: Stan Lee, Mark Gruenwald, Ralph Macchio, Greg Plonowski, Tom Brevoort, Bob Budiansky, Mark Bernardo, Tim Tuohy, and the gang at MacAndrews and Forbes.
I must also express a great deal of gratitude and appreciation to Keith R.A. DeCandido, for reasons he probably is aware of.
And a lot of love and affection for my wife Ginny and daughter Maddie, who were both very understanding and supportive when I got the chance to play in the Star Trek universe again.
Chapter
1
U.S.S. da Vinci, Captain’s Log, Stardate 54153.6:
The da Vinci has been assigned to the planet Vemlar in the Norvel system, where the Federation has entered into a partnership with business tycoon Rod Portlyn to transform the planet from a farm world into a major industrial complex and scientific research and development center. This partnership is expected to benefit both sides greatly. Portlyn will gain access to technology and resources normally beyond his reach, and the Federation will share exclusive proprietary interest in any and all scientific breakthroughs and inventions developed on Vemlar by some of the most brilliant minds in the galaxy. The role of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers is to assist in the construction of the new key facilities on Vemlar. I expect this to be a reasonably easy mission.
Captain David Gold finished recording his log entry into the ship’s library computer. Alone in his quarters, he leaned back in the chair situated at his work desk and sighed deeply. His ship and crew were now coming out of a relatively slow period, in between assignments. Of late, during these slower periods, Gold tended to look back on his long career and the choices he’d made.
Like any ambitious being, Gold was prone to wondering from time to time if he’d done as much as he could to go as far as he could in his career. Commanding the relatively small Saber-class da Vinci, with its crew of forty, was satisfying, to be sure, and he never felt any regrets. But of late, during his periods of downtime, Gold found himself reflecting on how things might have been different for him if he had been more ambitious, if he had tried harder, pushed harder.
If he were in command of a larger, more powerful ship, maybe a Sovereign-class vessel like Jean-Luc Picard’s Enterprise, perhaps he would not have had to endure the tragic loss of half his crew, which occurred during the da Vinci’s fateful mission at Galvan VI. Perhaps he would not have lost his hand, now replaced by a realistic but nonetheless artificial appendage.
Gold knew that even a ship like the Enterprise was not invulnerable. Hell, Picard was now on his second ship of that name, the previous one having crash-landed on Veridian III a while back. But that knowledge did little to change how Gold was feeling.
Exactly five months had passed since Galvan VI, and this anniversary served to remind the captain that while he had since come to terms with what had happened and was moving on, it would never be far from his thoughts. Losing people like Kieran Duffy and David McAllan and Stephen Drew and…
Enough, Gold finally told himself, shaking his head as if to wipe the slate clean in his mind. But he knew he would never completely be able to stop looking back and wondering about all the “what ifs.”
Looking at the chronometer on his desk, he realized he was about to get a reprieve from his downtime. He was due in the transporter room, to beam down to Vemlar with his senior officers for a meeting that would officially get this project started. That was good; keeping busy would help him get his
mind off the question that crept in and would not go away: Is this really how things were supposed to be?
Gold strode into the main transporter room to find the rest of his away team already there: Commander Sonya Gomez, first officer and head of the S.C.E. team; Dr. Elizabeth Lense, the ship’s chief medical officer; Lieutenant Commander Domenica Corsi, the ship’s security chief; Soloman, the Bynar computer specialist; and Fabian Stevens, tactical specialist and one of the most reliable and trusted engineers on board.
“So, what have you heard about this Rod Portlyn fellow we’re meeting with?” Lense asked him as he came up beside the group.
“Not much more than what’s in the official records,” Gold replied. “Self-styled, independent entrepreneur and real estate mogul, friends in pretty high places. That includes Starfleet Command, by the way. He’s known for buying up the majority of the real estate on various worlds, so that he essentially ends up owning the planets and adding them to his ever-growing business empire.”
“Which the Federation is now getting involved in,” Corsi chimed in with a tone that could only be interpreted as skeptical. Apparently, the blond security chief was not in complete support of this new business arrangement.
“I guess he made us an offer we couldn’t refuse,” Stevens said with a grin. Turning serious, he added, “On paper, it seems like a good situation for us. Who knows what kind of great stuff they’ll come up with here once this place is up and running? And the Federation will own a piece of all of it.”
Gomez said matter-of-factly, “It also brings the Federation into an area of space we’ve never really gone to before.”
Soloman, apparently in agreement with Stevens, then spoke up. “It is not as if the Federation has never before involved itself in civilian projects. The late twenty-third-century Genesis Project was partially funded by the Federation, and even involved the participation of that era’s Starfleet Corps of Engineers.”
Corsi responded, “It’s not exactly the same situation. The Genesis scientists were Federation citizens. Portlyn is a nonaligned, independent tycoon who mostly operates outside of Federation space—like this solar system, for example. He’s been pretty much a law unto himself, not having to answer to anyone—”
Gold finally cut off the conversation with a wave of his hand. “What say we stop talking about the man and start talking to him? We’re due at his headquarters right about now.”
The group fell silent and followed Gold up to the transporter platform, where they took their places on the pads.
Gold nodded to the transporter chief, Laura Poynter. “Energize.”
Poynter activated the console, and seconds later, Gold felt a brief, familiar wave of dizziness. He knew that he and the rest of the away team had just been transformed into shimmering columns of energy. But from his point of view, the transporter chamber faded away, to be replaced by a huge indoor reception area on the surface of the planet Vemlar.
The away team materialized on the ground floor of a sprawling, partially completed, five-story building complex. This was to be Rod Portlyn’s headquarters on Vemlar, and as such, it was the first structure on which work had begun. Construction workers—a hardy-looking bunch of men and women—were scattered all around the chamber, engaged in heavy lifting, laser-drilling, and energy-sawing. Some were taking coffee breaks. All were dressed in dark blue uniforms bearing the Portlyn name in large, stylized letters emblazoned on the backs. Before long, the S.C.E. would be working with these people.
Suddenly, a thin, tall, young human man with flat dark hair, dressed in an expensive-looking business suit, approached the da Vinci team.
“Captain Gold?” the young man inquired. When Gold nodded, the young man continued, “I’m Wellim Belvis, Mr. Portlyn’s assistant. He asked me to escort you to his office.”
“After you, Mr. Belvis,” Gold replied with a smile.
Belvis guided the away team to the building’s sole working turbolift, which he noted was reserved exclusively for transport to and from Portlyn’s office suite. The lift deposited them on the top floor, which looked almost totally completed. The floors were newly carpeted—that distinctive “new carpet smell” was the first thing that Gold noticed when the elevator doors slid open. The suite’s waiting area was furnished with several new, comfortable-looking chairs and a matching sofa. At the far end of the room was a plain-looking metallic desk occupied by a pretty young Andorian whom Gold assumed was Rod Portlyn’s secretary. She was unpacking some of her belongings and getting her cluttered desk into some semblance of order, but she paused long enough to smile at the new visitors. Behind her were two tall, massive doors, which presumably opened into Portlyn’s private office.
“Mr. Portlyn is wrapping up another meeting,” Belvis said. “He’ll be with you shortly.”
Gold and his team headed over to the sofa and chairs to sit as they waited. But the two massive doors suddenly opened, and a beautiful, regal-looking, older human woman walked out, headed directly for the elevator. She carried a briefcase and wore a somewhat conservative red dress that began at her neck and ended at her ankles, although her shoulders were exposed. Her hair, jet-black with streaks of silver, was long and lustrous, but pinned up in a manner befitting a serious, businesslike atmosphere. Gold initially gave her no more than a passing glance, until something clicked inside his head and, almost involuntarily, he blurted out, “Patrice? Patrice Bennett?”
The woman turned abruptly, searched out the source of the voice that called out to her, and settled on Gold. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinized the captain’s face, locked on to his eyes, until she finally displayed a look of recognition, then surprise. This was followed by a smile that could melt the heart of a Vulcan.
“David,” she said in a voice that was both soft and captivating. She walked over to Gold and met him in a fond embrace that he happily returned.
She smells exactly the same, Gold thought as he felt the decades falling away.
After a long moment, they broke from their embrace and looked each other over.
“You look wonderful,” Gold told her. “Just as I remember.” And it was true, she was exactly as he remembered her, despite wrinkles and silver hairs that weren’t there when he last saw her. How else could he have recognized her so quickly, after all this time?
“You don’t look so bad yourself, old-timer,” she responded wryly. “The white hair makes you look very distinguished. And still in Starfleet, I see. What are you now, the commanding admiral or something?”
Gold was grateful for the fact that she apparently hadn’t been following his career. That meant there wouldn’t be any questions about things like Galvan VI, or his hand, or anything else he was trying not to dwell upon.
“No, just a humble starship captain,” he told her with a grin. “Here on business, a special project with Rod Portlyn.”
She chuckled. “Oh, you’ve got business with ol’ Roddy too, huh? That’s why I’m here, as you’ve probably guessed. I needed to go over some details of a new venture of his I’m investing in—a planetwide resort on Rando III, something he says will rival Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet and even Risa. I didn’t know he’d gone into business with the Federation. He sure does get around, doesn’t he?”
“I guess so,” Gold replied. “But the same can be said about you. You’ve come a long way since…the old days.” He couldn’t help but smirk at that phrase.
Turning to his crew, he said, “This is Patrice Bennett, one of the sharpest, shrewdest, most successful business leaders in the Alpha Quadrant.”
“Flatterer,” Patrice laughed.
“She’s an…old friend. Patrice, these are some of the senior members of my crew.” He introduced each of them.
“A pleasure to meet all of you,” Patrice said. She then turned her attention back to Gold. “I wish I could stay longer and talk, David, but I have to get back to Tau Ophiucus—that’s where I’m headquartered these days. Pending business meetings, contracts to read, inventory shipmen
t arrivals to oversee—”
“In other words, the usual,” Gold said with a chuckle.
“Precisely,” she replied, laughing. “Oh, David, it’s so good to see you.” She hugged him again.
“You too,” he told her softly, then gently kissed her cheek.
Patrice Bennett then walked toward the elevator again, but turned one last time and said to Gold, “Don’t be a stranger!”
Gold nodded. “I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I can. We should catch up with each other, reminisce about old times.”
With a final wave, Patrice entered the elevator and was gone.
Gold was disappointed that she had to leave so soon—seeing Patrice again gave him a nice, warm feeling inside, took him to another time and place, and he could not help but smile.
The smile was still lingering on his face when he turned back to his crew, all of whom had expectant looks on their faces. But if what they were expecting was a more complete explanation of his connection to Patrice Bennett, they were going to be disappointed.
“Always nice to bump into old friends, isn’t it?” was all Gold would say as he sat down.
“Especially if you don’t owe them any money,” Dr. Lense responded dryly.
After a few moments, Belvis reappeared to tell Gold and his crew that Rod Portlyn was ready to meet with them.
Portlyn’s office was enormous, at least twice as large as the bridge of the da Vinci. The windows extended from ceiling to floor and provided a breathtaking view of the terrain of Vemlar and the tall, majestic Kirtko Mountains in the distance. The chairs and couches were of the highest quality, even better than what was in the waiting area outside. The office was decorated with exotic paintings and sculptures from different worlds, including Earth, Betazed, Delta IV, and Argelius II.
Portlyn came out from behind his massive desk to meet his guests. The tycoon was humanoid, albeit with pale green skin and scarlet-colored eyes. He was balding on top of his head, and his slight potbelly betrayed the fact that he could do with some more frequent physical exercise. But he was impeccably dressed, in a dark brown suit made of the finest silk from Rigel IV. And he was smoking a long, thick Yridian cigar.