by John Ringo
"Not worth a hundred weight of circuitry," Drath said, taking a sniff. It was the same reaction as before. Light sniff, heavy sniff, nose dive. "Whoooooooo!"
"Guys," Tyler said, filling cups. "This stuff really is expensive. Slow down!"
"Here," Wathaet said, reaching into a pocket. "You guys like this crap. It's trash but' is better than your trash." He rolled a handful of atacirc onto the table and waved. "Keep it. Go' anymore?"
Tyler carefully scooped up the fortune in circuitry and poured some more 'Dragon's Tears' in the captain's cup.
"Goorbol computers on this planet," Fabet slurred. He'd had about three ounces total. "Total trash. Go' tha' stuff for scrap! Is scrap! Hah! Is, like, hundred years old! Hah! Is good stuff, this."
"Shhhhhh . . ." Drath whispered, waving a hand around. "Shhhhh . . . Humans can' know that! Think i's . . . kala stones or something." He appeared to sneeze several times.
"So . . . Drath," Tyler said, neutrally. "This appears to have some trade value. It is, as I said, a very rare and costly viand on this planet. I think a hundred weight to one is perfectly reasonable."
"Me too!" the engineer said. "Stuff will sell for bazillion credits on Glalkod station!"
"Shhhh!" Drath said. "Shhhhh! Well, Mr. Vernon," he continued, straightening his harness, "this does seem to have some merit as you shay. But not gr . . . great and atacirc is, also, very rare and costly . . ."
"Your engineer just said you bought it for scrap," Tyler said.
"Scrap! And we're gonna get rich!"
"He exaggerates. I think that a rate of fifty weight of this . . . Dragon's Tears to one weight of molycirc would be more in order . . ."
"So . . . two weight of atomic level circuitry to one weight of Dragon's Tears," Tyler said. "We have a deal?"
"I dunno," Fabet said. "You got anymore?"
"I think that is a fair trade," Drath said, slowly and distinctly. His head twitched several times rapidly.
"How do your people finalize such things under your laws and are they considered binding?" Tyler asked.
"Tha's a little complicated . . ." Wathaet said.
"Binding contract shall be established by verbal confirmation of all parties in the presence of a Federally authorized contracting hypernode system," Drath quoted clearly. "All trade ships as well as banks and public places of consumption are required by law to have such locked systems present for the closure of contracts and such contracts are considered both proprietary and binding reference Federal Code One-One-Four-Seven-Nine-Eight-Three-L-Q-Five. Something like that."
"So, you guys agree verbally and you're bound?" Tyler asked.
"Try to get a judge out here," Fabet said. "Or, and this is an important point, a commercial authorities seizure party."
"Shhhh . . ." Drath said. "Are you in agreement or not?"
"I dunno," Tyler said, woefully. "I'm feeling like you guys are going to screw me somehow. You've got the ship and all."
"We're not going to screw you, man," Wathaet said, waving a cup. "We're buddies."
"Okay," Tyler said, mournfully. "I'm practically giving this stuff away but if that's as much as you'll go . . . I agree to two weights of atacirc for one weight of the substance designated Product One-Five-Six, nickname Dragon's Tears."
"Hah!" Drath crowed. "You're bound now, baby!"
"Agreed!" Wathaet said. "Feeling screwed?"
"Very," Tyler said, his shoulders slumping.
"You should," Drath said, taking a sip of the now watered down Dragon's Tears. "We're going to get rich with this stuff. How much can you get."
"It is actually fairly rare," Tyler said. "And the real problem is the Horvath."
"They're not going to interfere with our trade," Wathaet said. "They know better than to mess with a Glatun ship."
"No, they won't," Tyler said. "But I can't get my hands on a full cargo of this right away. And if they find out what you're trading, they'll come and take it. If they can because it's a lot harder to obtain than mining for stuff. War. Destruction. No Dragon's Tears."
"Point," Wathaet said, his crest fluttering. "So we smuggle it out."
"Good thing you're dealing with us, then," Fabet said.
"Look, it was only once, okay?" Drath said. "People act like I made a career out of it!"
"The Horvath own our communications," Tyler said. "And even if you can hack them . . . They're going to be paying attention to anyone who meets with you guys."
"Point," Wathaet said. "But we can disappear easily enough."
"You can?" Tyler said.
"To them, yeah," Drath said. "There's an open field which doesn't have much observation near your home. Meet us there . . . When can you get more of this."
"Tell you what," Tyler said, thinking rapidly. "I'll bring as much Dragon's Tears as I can fit in the back of my truck. I can trade this atacirc for . . . I should be able to afford that much. The stuff really is expensive. You guys fill the back with atacirc and we're golden. You sure you can spoof the Horvath."
"Yeah," Wathaet said, more clearly. "Even if they're paying attention to you, they won't see you leave you leave your house. We'll try to make sure they don't know what you're picking up."
"And you'll forgive me if I point out I'm going to try to keep you from finding out," Tyler said. "I can probably get it by Tuesday night."
"Tuesday night at nine PM," Drath said. "It's called Homer's Farm. But there's no farm there."
"Long story," Tyler said. "Okay, I'll be there. Two weights to one. I'm being screwed."
"Great," Fabet said. "You're gonna bring more, right?"
As Tyler drove out of the industrial park he carefully pulled his cellphone out and set it on the dash where it could easily pick up his voice.
"Well that was a bust! What the hell am I going to do for money now? Those stupid aliens! Damn Glatun! Laughing at me! Like they really liked the sketch. Bastards. What am I going to do now? Maybe Jeff Morris over at AT&T has got some consulting work? Since I'm in Boston, might as well check."
He felt like an idiot. But if he was going to get his hands on a truckload of Product 156 by tomorrow night he'd better hurry.
He kept a glare on his face as he fought his way through Boston traffic and tried very hard not to break out in gales of hysterical laughter.
* * *
"Hey, Tyler. Long time."
Tyler and Jeff Morris weren't exactly friends, they just knew each other. Both had started off in the industry about the same time. They'd worked together a couple of times in different companies. Sometimes they were competitors. A couple of times while working for the same company. IT was like that.
Right now, though, Jeff Morris wasn't looking exactly pleased to see his old acquaintance. Jeff had managed to not only survive when so many had fallen, he'd finally worked his way into an office, which in IT generally meant he could make hiring decisions. And he probably had every guy he'd ever sort of talked to at COMDEX begging for a slot. Any slot.
"Hey, Jeff. You mentioned that you had a project called Babylon you were working on and I might be interested," Tyler said, sitting down an picking up a yellow pad. He'd looked for cameras on the way in and the only one was on the monitor and it was pointed at Jeff.
"Babylon?" Jeff said, puzzled.
"Yeah," Tyler said, not looking up. "Had to do with a lass." He held up the pad which said in great big letters: SECURE ROOM! NOW!!!!
"Babylon!" Jeff said, slapping his forehead. "Sorry, we'd changed the project name. It's . . ." He paused and looked around for inspiration. "SeeFid! It's called SeeFid now. But it's really secure. We'd probably better talk in a shield room."
"SeeFid?" Tyler said as soon as he was sure the room was secure.
"C++ for Idiots," Jeff said. "It was a book on the wall. And you've got a lot of nerve making fun of that. A Lass Babylon? Jesus Christ. How did you even know I'd read that book?"
"Saw it on a shelf one time at a party at your house," Tyler said. "Only thing even close to SF so
it caught my eye. How's Mel?"
"Pregnant again," Jeff said. "Nice to see you and all as I said but why is my department being charged a thousand dollars an hour to use the shield room?"
"This," Tyler said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and rolling the handful of atacirc out on the table. "I need a million dollars. Quickly. And I need a hundred grand of that in cash."
"Is this from the Spinward Crossing?" Jeff asked, picking up one of the chips gingerly.
"Where else?"
"You found something they want to trade," Jeff said. "It's not worth a mil. A lot, yeah, not a mil. Among other things about one in ten of the stuff the Spinward Crossing has been selling doesn't work. And I can't authorize that sort of money."
"I'm going to have more. Quite a bit. I need AT&T to get some people in here to buy it from multiple companies. I'll cut AT&T in on one percent of whatever I make for being the house. And, obviously, we need to keep this quiet. Nothing electronic."
"Agreed," Jeff said. "But as I said, I can't authorize any of that."
"I know that, Jeff," Tyler said, sitting down. "Which means you need to shag your ass to the Thirty-Fifth floor."
"I also can't simply walk in on Weasley Rayl," Jeff said, nervously.
"You can if you're holding a million dollars in atacirc in your hand," Tyler said. "Weasel won't mind. Really. Especially since this deal ends on Wednesday."
"Call him Weasel to his face and it won't matter how much atacirc you're holding," Jeff said, sighing. "Okay, okay. I'll need to take . . ."
"Take as many as you'd like," Tyler said, waving expansively.
"Mr. Rayl is in a meeting," the executive secretary said, sternly.
"And if I'm wrong he'll fire me," Jeff said, breezing past her.
"I said stop!"
Jeff opened the door to the President of Northwestern Operations' offices and strode across the carpet to his desk. Mr. Rayl was, in fact, reading the Wall Street Journal. He looked up as the door opened, tilted his head to the side and set the paper down.
"This is either important or you've just pretty much killed your career," Rayl said, mildly.
Jeff walked up to the desk and held his finger to his lips. Then he held out his hands, cupped, so the executive could see the atacirc for just a moment.
"It's about the SeeFid project, sir," Jeff said. "The one we used to call Babylon. Tyler Vernon used to work with me over at Verizon and I thought he might have some ideas. As it turns out, he does."
"It's okay, Bernice," Rayl said, waving at his secretary. "This really is an emergency. I'll be in . . . ?"
"Shield Room Five."
"Mr. Tyler," Weasley Rayl said heartily as soon as the door was closed. "Pleasure to see you in the building again!"
"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Weasley," Tyler said as Jeff winced.
"It's . . . Damnit. It's Tyler Vernon, isn't it? Sorry."
"We've both got the same problem with our names, sir," Tyler said, smiling. "No offense intended."
"None taken," Rayl said. "What have you got?"
"I have to meet tomorrow night, clandestinely, with the Glatun," Tyler said, sitting down. "I need to pick up a pick-up's load of a certain product. Less than a pick-up's load, actually. They will trade me a full pick-up of atacirc."
"Christ," Jeff said. "Six petabyte's of variable use memory, infinite parallel processor and the size of a match head. You could buy . . . Name a third world country. Name a country. I don't think anyone's seen a case of it in one place."
"More than that," Tyler said. "As you said, nobody has seen a case in one place. You can replace a server farm with one chip. The value I saw someone calculate in Wired on a standard dry bushel of it is a hundred billion dollars. Which nobody can afford. A pick-up load is going to distort that price. I still need a million dollars, at least a hundred grand in cash. That's for those. AT&T gets some serious players that can pay for the rest. I'll take a check. We'll negotiate for it here. AT&T gets one percent as the house. And I need to do this quick because time's a wasting. Among other things, I'll need to get the money from a bank and they close soon."
"Bank's stay open to surprising hours when the right people call," Rayl said. "It's not worth a mil. Among other things . . ."
"Some of it's bad," Tyler said. "I also got the information that it's their scrap and about a hundred years old."
"More or less what we thought," Rayl said, narrowing his eyes. "But that sounds like you got more information out of the Glatun than most governments."
"They are, surprisingly, fans of my series," Tyler said, shrugging. "I just remembered I owe them a sketch. That's beside the point. One mil."
"Two hundred grand," Rayl said. "The hundred in cash is no problem. I'll call JP."
"Not going to just give this away," Tyler said. "Nine hundred and that's flat. Novell is just down the road. And I know people there, too."
"Two fifty and I'll make sure you can breeze in and out of the bank. And twenty percent on the trades. Wednesday morning work?"
"Wednesday morning works but if you think I'm giving you twenty percent you've been drinking. Two percent, eight seventy-five."
"Eighteen and three."
"I'll tell you truth. I'm not going lower than nine and I'm not going higher than four. Take it or leave it."
"I'll leave it. But I'll get closer. Twelve percent and five hundred grand. Seriously, that's a good deal."
"Totally sucks. Five and eight hundred."
Rayl considered his opponent and shrugged.
"I'd be doing a disservice to the shareholders if I went lower than ten percent as house, there's going to be costs involved, and eight hundred is highway robbery. Six hundred."
"Seven fifty."
"Seven."
"Done. I'll geek to ten."
"Then we have a deal," Rayl said, standing up. "I'll need to go get the check cut personally. Eight AM Wednesday morning?"
"Can you get the right people here by then?" Tyler asked. "We're talking cases of atacirc. And it has to be all sub-rosa."
"We've gotten used to working around the Horvath," Rayl said with a sigh. "They, fortunately, either don't pay as much attention as people think or can't count. We've simply had to sneak materials through the system beyond what they allow. We are, in other words, used to this sort of thing. I can get the right people here. With their checkbooks. Speaking of which, stay here. I'll go get the check."
Tyler tried not to bounce as he walked to his truck. He still had a lot of stuff to get done and if the Horvath were watching it still could get very sticky.
"Mr. Vernon! This is a surprise!"
"Uh, yeah," Tyler said, trying to remember the red-headed guy's name. No chance. "Good to, uh, see you again, uh . . ."
"Dan," the man said, holding out his hand as if to shake. In it was a badge. "Hey, could we talk?"
"Sure . . . Dan . . ." Tyler said, trying not to curse. "I'm sort of busy at the moment. Email me?"
"My van is right over here," Dan said, putting his hand on Tyler's arm. "Come on. Won't take a second."
Tyler, feeling both pissed and a tad nervous, got in the black-tinted van. It had been rigged as something of a mobile command post but what was interesting was that there were no electronics. There were some cameras that looked as if they were fifteen years old but super advanced at the time. Chemical photography cameras. And lots of paper.
"Mr. Vernon," a man in a suit said. Fifties and a bit chubby with an incongruous goatee. "My name is Senior Special Agent Aaron Spuler. Welcome to the command post of Project 4038."
"Which is spying on Tyler Vernon?" Tyler asked. "There are laws, you know."
"Which is spying on aliens who can . . . what was the phrase? Go through our most advanced firewalls so easily it's like 'looking through an open window,'" Spuler said. "And anyone who has interaction with them. Because every interaction with ETs is a potential national security problem as long as that God damned Horvath ship is in the sky."
"
Which is pretty indiscrete of you to say," Tyler said.
"Give us some credit, please," Agent Poore said. "This is a shield car and we made sure you were not carrying your cell."
"Maple syrup?" Spuler asked, incredulously. "They're addicted to maple syrup?"
"Shhhh!" Tyler said. "Christ, now everybody's going to know!"
"Our job is gathering information, Mr. Vernon," SSA Spuler said. "Not giving it out. And don't worry about Congressional investigations or something. Nobody wants to know we exist."