by Shea Oliver
Suddenly he felt a surge of current running through his body. He fell to the ground unable to control his muscles. It hurt, but it was over quickly. In the doorway was the guard with the scar on his forehead from the branding room. He looked down at Kadamba with a look of contempt on his face.
“This is going to be hell. Why didn’t you take the trial and death?” the man coldly inquired of Kadamba.
Kadamba just looked at him. He knew it was probably a rhetorical question, so he did not answer. The guard simply shook his head back and forth, and commanded Kadamba to get on his feet. The guard looked around the room and ordered the bed to retract. It dematerialized into the wall. He explained to Kadamba that this was an old prison. It had been upgraded to more modern cells, with bed, toilet, sink, and shower facilities that were voice-activated, but it wasn’t a truly “modern” facility. This was an actual room, built as part of the building. Newer facilities had mobile cells that were often stacked thirty to forty high. This building reached only three levels.
He ordered Kadamba to follow him. As he stepped out of the cell, Kadamba saw that he was on the second story of a long building. Prison cells lined each row of the building, with a walkway in front of the entrances of the second and third levels. It seemed there were about two hundred and fifty cells. Other prisoners were milling around. Some on the various walkways. Some in the open area below. On the bottom level were some benches, chairs, and tables. As the guard with the scar was showing him the cafeteria, a whistle blew.
“That’s the signal for you prisoners to go to the playpen,” the guard explained, chuckling again.
“What’s that?” asked Kadamba.
“Someone somewhere decided that all prisoners deserve a little time outside. The playpen is where you get it, but this isn’t going to be someplace you enjoy,” disclosed the guard, his scar on his forehead seeming to share the same evil grin as his teeth.
They walked outside into a large open area. Kadamba could see that a number of similar buildings were set in a pattern around a large, fenced-in, open area. The area had some sport fields set up, some weights, tables, chairs, and benches. It was all concrete without a single plant in view. It was a dismal place. Everything seemed to be the same color. The men from his building had fanned out. Some of them eagerly joined in games while some walked around, and others were grouped together talking.
The guard walked him to a corner of the yard, where three men were sitting on a couple of benches. “Okay, scumbag,” the guard declared, “this is my one favor for you. These are the scumbags you are going to end up with.” He looked at them and walked away.
Kadamba sat down silently with the men. They all seemed frightened and reserved. All of them were sitting with their arms crossed. Kadamba had noticed that some, but not all the prisoners throughout the facility, had been branded. He wondered if these three were or not.
“Name’s . . . name’s . . . Double-Up,” said one of the men, with an obvious stutter. His hair was red and wildly curly. “That’s . . . That’s . . . Greasy and Two-Finger.” Greasy had hair that stuck to his head. It was thin and just looked dirty. Two-Finger was missing two fingers on his left hand. “You . . . you . . . might not make . . . make . . . it here too . . . too . . . long.”
“Don’t be so negative,” piped Greasy, “This place a bitch without being scared shitless by the first people you talk too.”
Two-Fingers sat with his head rocking back and forth. Kadamba looked at him, expecting him to say something.
“He ain’t got no tongue no more,” Greasy explained, “Jackos the Giant ripped it out.” Greasy looked out into the yard, and Kadamba followed his eyes. A huge man in a prisoner’s uniform was walking in their direction. Kadamba knew at once that that this was Jackos the Giant. This man was massive. He had a cold, fierce look in his eyes and was staring directly at Kadamba.
“Nah . . . Nah . . . You . . . You . . . ain’t gonna make . . . make . . . it . . . it . . . here . . . ” stuttered Double-Up.
“He got a chance man. He just a kid,” Greasy offered.
“Nah . . . Nah . . . what . . . what . . . you done boy . . . ”
“Seriously. Shut up, Double-Up. What he’s saying is we can’t protect you. We’re the freaks. The scum. That guard throwed you with us, cause we’s the worst. In prison, the ones who hurt kids or done sex crimes, they be the lowest of the low. The only reason we alive cause the prison make money on each of us. As long as we alive, we profit to them, but it don’t matter how we live.”
Kadamba hadn’t even begun to think about the prison pecking order when he was choosing his fate, with his arms strapped to a table and Ocampo “processing” him through the “justice” system. But the closer that Jackos got to him, the more he realized that he was probably on the bottom, and this beast of a man was probably going to hurt him.
Jackos stopped about five feet from them. Kadamba could hear the air going in and out of the man’s sizable lungs. The man’s hands were gigantic. If he balled them into a fist, they would probably be about as big as Kadamba’s head. He was a terrifying sight, and it was more than apparent that Double-Up, Greasy, and Two-Fingers were frightened.
“I see you little runts got yourself a new freak friend,” Jackos announced, “Stand up! I need a look.”
Kadamba stood up. He realized that he was shaking a little, but he tried to look Jackos in the eyes. If there is such a thing as a man without a soul, Jackos was it. Beyond being huge, the man exuded hate, cruelty, and perhaps pure evil. In those eyes, Kadamba saw a void, and it was truly terrifying. A slow, cruel smile began to spread across Jackos’ face. A deep, low rumbling laugh began to emanate from him.
“You’re a cute little flower, and that’s going to work perfect for the business you and I gots to have,” declared Jackos.
“I don’t know you,” Kadamba stated, trying to sound tough, but his voice cracked and was unsteady. “We don’t have any business together. Leave me alone.”
The laugh that burst forth from Jackos’ lungs was enormous. Everyone in the playpen, and probably everybody in the buildings, could hear him. It was a cruel laugh, and Kadamba knew that this wasn’t going to end well.
“You new here, and don’t know shit. Don’t know nothing. You and I got business. You owe me lots of money,” Jackos responded.
“How can I owe you money if I don’t even know you?” questioned Kadamba, the fear making his voice sound weak.
“You owe me 2,160 Konnary,” Jackos informed him.
Kadamba just looked at him. The cruel smile on Jackos’ face got wider and wider.
“I don’t understand,” muttered Kadamba, the fear continuing to grow inside of him.
“Hmm . . . Heard you might be a little businessman,” began Jackos, with a smile. “Maybe you just a flower, but I told you, you owe me 2,160 Konnary. Didn’t you understand? Doc Z always gets his.”
“What are you talking about?” Kadamba felt a panic setting in. He had been taken into custody with the rath. It suddenly dawned on him that the thugs at the table in Warwon’s Deli, in the sub-city, had said the same thing: “Doctor Z always gets his.”
“Little Flower, since you seem so young and dumb, I’ll explain,” Jackos continued. “Doctor Z say you owe him 2,160 Konnery. Even though you in here and your supply be gone, you still owe. Since I am here, Doctor Z has me pay the 2,160 you owe. You good with Doctor Z now, but now you owe me.”
“No, no, no this can’t be. I don’t have any money. I can’t possibly pay you,” replied Kadamba, feeling trapped and completely out of control.
Jackos let out another terribly loud, roaring guffaw and then told Kadamba, “I know you don’t got no money, but we have business and you owe. We get five for every time you do a service. I keep four as my management and protection fee, and one Konnary goes towards your debt. You cute. You young. You fresh. You gonna get this paid off.”
Jackos turned and walked away, laughing to himself. Kadamba looked back at the three me
n. They still seemed to be shaking, and none would look at him.
“Lords of the Fourth System! There ain’t no fucking way that I am doing that. Screw this,” declared Kadamba once he understood what Jackos intended to do with him.
Rage boiled up in Kadamba, and he began marching towards the other side of the yard, where Jackos had headed. Part way there, another prisoner stepped directly in Kadamba’s path. Kadamba changed course, but the man shadowed his movement, cutting him off. Kadamba stopped. He really didn’t know what to do. The momentary flash of ire had totally evaporated, and now he realized how scared he really was. He turned around, and another man struck him hard in the stomach with his fist. Kadamba doubled over in pain, as a third man kicked him in the side, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Before he could react, all three men were kicking him. He balled up, as the blows landed. He heard the men hurling insults at him, calling him “baby killer,” “child murderer,” and a host of other names. They had only landed a few solid blows when Kadamba felt the surge of current through his uniform. His muscles contracted hard and began to spasm. The pain was intense, but the kicking had stopped.
When the current subsided, Kadamba could see that the three men who had attacked were on the ground, along with a few other prisoners nearby. All of them had obviously been shocked too. A guard stood nearby, shaking his head. Grabbing Kadamba’s arm, he forced him to walk back to Double-Up, Greasy, and Two-Fingers. The guard pushed him on the bench. For a few moments, Kadamba was able to sit, and then he fell to the ground.
Chapter 11
The First Move
Tomar Donovackia smiled. It was likely a very honest smile, as the board members sitting around his board table were still quite rattled from witnessing Greylorent Lamrainkia getting slaughtered in front of them the day before. Tomar had breakfast served before he had arrived although only a few of the board members seemed to have any appetite.
“My dear board members, let us proceed from where we were yesterday,” began Tomar, as he brought up a three-dimensional representation of the galaxy. He then tapped the podium, and all the pieces of the galaxy went dim, except for the known inhabitable planets. Each planet was color-coded according to the Corporation that held the license to “develop” it. The colors were scattered about, with some Corporations having a few more than others.
“As I began to explain yesterday, we have too long lived in a world dominated by assumptions put in place before our parents or even grandparents were born. We have long assumed that having Eleven Corporations was simply the right, proper, or blessed way to live. We have placed our view of the Eleven and how the Ministry regulates the Eleven, above common sense, and above business sense, and, my dear board members, we have even put it above the potential profits that could be reaped by looking at EVERYTHING rationally and logically.”
The entire board remained silent. A few of them began nodding their heads, either appreciating or, at least, understanding what he had said. There was some truth in it. On more than one occasion, the Ministry had financially bailed out Corporations that would have simply gone bankrupt or been liquated or sold in any other industry. The two worlds of Koranth and Zoranth simply assumed that the Eleven must exist. While there were no laws that mandated Eleven, or forbid discussing an alternative structure, the concept of the Eleven had become embedded in culture and society. In some ways, it was almost like heresy to talk or believe that something else was better. The worlds had simply become complacent that the Eleven simply would not be allowed to fail, and that the Ministry would simply continue with the status quo forever.
“It is time for a change,” Tomar continued. “We are again at a point where the Ministry is facing a failing Corporation. The changes that are coming, and should be coming, are radical. We’ve grown fat and happy, sitting here on our laurels, blindly believing that things won’t really change. Stameyerson Corporation is on the brink of failing. The Stameyerson board of directors and the Stameyerson family have run that company into the ground.”
Tomar paused for a few moments. It had been many years since a Corporation had reached the brink. The fact that the Stameyerson Corporation was in trouble was not a secret. Every person in the room knew that it was struggling, but to what depths, of course, was not publically known.
“Every one of you sitting here, and every other so-called rational business person, believes the same thing. That is, if things get bad enough at Stameyerson Corporation, the Ministry will rescue it. Let me ask you, why would the board at Stameyerson Corporation bother to change things, to try to rescue their own company? And they aren’t trying. A huge infusion of cash and support is bound to come from the Ministry. They don’t believe they would be allowed to fail.”
Tomar pushed a few more buttons on the podium, and only the planets licensed to Donovackia and Stameyerson Corporations hovered above the table, with Donovackia’s in blue and Stameyerson’s in yellow. Tomar looked around the table. Every board member was waiting for his next statement. He pushed one more button, and the four yellow planets turned blue.
Wodoval Yipson, one of the newer board members, whom Tomar had put in place, asked, “Chairman, are you suggesting that the Donovackia Corporation purchase Stameyerson?”
“No, I am not suggesting that we purchase it,” Tomar responded and then pushed a few more buttons, so a small stack of documents appeared in front of each board member. Tomar paused, so that the members could quickly glance through the papers.
“Chairman, this can’t be, can it? Is this even possible?” asked Wodoval.
Tomar smiled widely again. “My excellent board members, we are in an amazingly fortunate position. The Ministry has within its charter, a unique power to intervene in the Eleven. The Donovackia Corporation is very favored by the Ministry. At the next meeting of the Ministry, everything is going to change. The Donovackia Corporation will simply absorb the assets, employees, military, and all licenses of the Stameyerson Corporation. And because we were willing to step up and, in some respects, save Stameyerson, the heavy debt load that Stameyerson carries will be distributed to multiple governments, via the Ministry’s authority.”
Wodoval Yipson, whom Tomar had brought on board partially because of his brilliant capability regarding corporate finance, was obviously mentally running the numbers. His face went from a studious, focused look to a large grin. He burst out, “Tomar, this will make Donovackia Corporation the largest of the Eleven—I mean—of the Ten! And unless the calculations and assumptions that I’m running through my head are wrong, we will have an unmatched, unheard of cash flow and profit level.”
Tomar smiled, and, as the shock of having their assumptions stripped from them faded, the rest of the board began to smile too. They all knew that Tomar was frighteningly ambitious, but this was even more than anyone had guessed. As Tomar looked around the room, he felt enormously satisfied. He knew every member of the board would now support whatever he wanted to do.
“This, my friends, is only one item on the Ministry’s agenda,” Tomar began again, “and it is only one of the items that will greatly expand the opportunity and profits for all of us.”
The board members looked at him with rapt attention. What else was up his sleeve? What could he do to top this?
“Before, I proceed, I should share one additional detail about Stameyerson Corporation. One of their licensed planets has not been visited in almost forty years. The last reconnaissance mission revealed a world that was moving in the direction of globalization. Sadly, they had finally harnessed the atom, but as is too often the case with our human nature, they used it in a global war. Fortunately, the war had just ended when we received the return ship from that last mission.”
He continued, “If the experience from other worlds holds true, then this planet’s scientific and technological capabilities would have vastly expanded over these last forty years. We need to get a mission underway within two years.”
Wodoval Yipson, unable to complete
ly restrain his obvious delight at how this meeting was unfolding, piped in again, “With the new combined cash flow, we may not even need any debt financing to fund a mission. This is all such wonderful news!”
Tomar bought up another set of five planets—all colored orange and interspersed with the now eleven blue-colored planets. All of the board members watched as the orange faded to blue.
“Mr. Wodoval Yipson, I hope I am not disappointing you,” remarked Tomar. “Your brilliance in finance will be needed, and we may need some debt financing for this next planetary exploration mission, and/or for the hostile takeover of the Kathor Corporation.”
The board members looked stunned again. They had just had their view of the world radically shifted, and now it was being wrenched even further. Kathor Corporation had not only portals and licenses for other planets, which had just changed from orange to blue, but also owned the Kathor side of the Moran-Kathor Portal. Donovackia owned the Moran side. No single Corporation had ever owned both sides of a portal between Koranth and Zoranth. They had been built by joint ventures between Corporations, with one Corporation based on each planet. There was probably some logic in those arrangements, hundreds of years ago, not to allow one Corporation to own both sides, but it was simply one more element of the assumptions that everyone believed about the Eleven and the Ministry.