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Gandalf made a hole-in-one putt, a two-banker, once off the angled support of a four-foot-tall Space Needle, and once off the miniature Dick's Drive-In sign. His ball vanished through the Astroturf before the burger restaurant, appearing again below it at the precipice of the diorama of Snoqualmie Falls. It skittered down the plastic water, dropping onto the bridge deck of the I-90 bridge. Along this, it scuttled back and forth, bouncing off guide walls until it broke out onto the green surrounding the hole, a reproduction of Husky Stadium, complete with working scoreboard.
His golf ball circled the hole twice, then dropped into the collective cheers of everyone gathered on the Kalakala's car deck.
The representatives of Arrowsoft were duly impressed.
They were three young men, pasty-skinned computer types, dressed in slacks. Their youth stood in stark contrast to the other putt-putt golfers, the rest of the Gray Beard council. Everyone cheered, everyone was having a good time. The business meeting was going well. Better than Gandalf could have imagined.
“Well putt,” the Gray Beard called Orac said, stepping up to tee off. The Space Needle hole of Gandalf's Seattle-themed nine-hole putt-putt course was the second hardest, but through practice, Gandalf had learned its tricks. The course, after all, filled a sizable chunk of Kalakala's car deck, and he could come down from his quarters above and play whenever he chose. The only hole he couldn't reliably ace was the ninth hole, the J.P. Patches clown head trap. It always stumped him and required at least three or four swings.
Orac chipped at his ball. He made the bank off the Space Needle, but missed the ricochet off the Dick's sign. His putt floundered, missing the opening to the Falls. He'd have to take a deuce at least.
The car deck let out a collective groan.
The Arrowsoft boys were suitably entertained. Dressed in their company shirts with the Arrowsoft Robin Hood logo on the breast, they had originally looked uncomfortable stepping aboard. Admittedly, a restored Art Deco car ferry was a strange place for a business meeting, particularly for computer professionals.
The Arrowsoft boys were typical geeks, with the requisite lack of social graces. But as Gandalf had shown them around, given them a tour of the engine room, the restored Horseshoe Café - converted to his living quarters - and finally brought them to his nine-hole golf course, they'd warmed to their surroundings. When Gandalf had suggested a quick game... well, the Arrowsoft boys couldn't resist.
“You see, it all comes down to a trade surplus for the Raft,” Gandalf continued.
Six holes in, and he'd been pitching the Raft to the Arrowsoft representatives the whole game. Gandalf wasn't entirely sure they were paying attention. It was possible that the putt-putt golf had been too good of an idea. They were focused on the complexities of Gandalf's Seattle course and not on the idea of opening a software development center aboard the Raft. Gandalf needed their full attention, but he didn't want to lecture them. He hoped that at least some of what he was saying was sinking in, because he'd practiced his Raft sales pitch over and over. He knew his numbers back to front, the cost-to-risk benefit of the whole enterprise. If only he could get the Arrowsoft boys to listen for ten minutes, he was sure he could blow their boots off. Both literally and figuratively.
“If we were the US Government, we'd be thinking that everything was wonderful. Trade surplus, did you say?” Gandalf laughed at his own joke. Orac was squaring up to take his second swing. “That sounds great! Give us more of that. But that's just the stupidity of it all: those that run the country. They have such a poor understanding of wealth. The government, like so many people, foolishly confuses money with wealth. But it isn't. Money and wealth have very little to do with one other. After all, you can't eat money, you can't drive money around. Money in itself is worthless. Less than worthless, because in all probability, you exchanged something of great worth, as in your time and effort, to get it. And time and effort, my friends, is something that you can never get back.”
Orac took his swing. His ball dropped through the opening to the Falls, down the plastic waterfall, across the floating bridge and rolled to a halt in the end zone of Husky Stadium, an inch from the hole. A second sympathetic groan rose up from the other players. Absentmindedly, Orac crossed the course and tapped the ball in its last inch.
One of the Arrowsoft boys stepped up to the tee to take his putt.
Gandalf continued. “And there you have the fallacy of trade deficits. The government thinks they're bad because money flows out of the country. But that thinking ignores what's flowing back in. It is trade after all, an exchange of goods and services. Something must be flowing back in, something of at least equal value to the money that's flowing out; otherwise, why would the trades be taking place? And what's flowing back into the country is real wealth, something that you can eat or drive or play Xbox games on. Something of value. Unlike money.”
The Arrowsoft boy putted. He made the Space Needle bank, he made the Dick's Drive-In bank, he made the opening to the Falls, but his ball lacked the momentum to cross the bridge. It rolled back, coming to rest up against the plastic waterfall.
“And there lies the bind that the Raft is in.” Everyone was concentrating on the golf, but Gandalf kept on with his pitch. “We're, for all intents and purposes, a trading partner to the US. Perhaps you might consider us still part of America – that point I will not belabor – but the very fact that our two populations are forbidden to intermingle – for fear of stiff tax penalizations – marks us apart.
“And as a US Trading partner, we suffer the indignity of running a trade surplus with the mainland. Our labor flows out, in the form of Rafters employed by dryfoot companies, and money flows in. US dollars, yes, but money all the same. And you see, that's our undoing – our Achilles Heel. What can we do with money? What good is money to the Raft? Money is something that should flow out of the Raft, and goods and services something that should flow in. We're depleting our resources to maintain our survival. For the Raft to grow, for the Raft to prosper, we need to reverse that flow. And that, my friends, is the reason that Arrowsoft should consider the Raft a viable site for a new development center.”
Was anyone listening? It was hard to say. They were having a good time, putting away. Was Gandalf talking only for his own benefit? Was the whole meeting a failure? He had to press on.
“You see, hiring a Rafter may be beneficial for a dryfoot company. Lots of them do it. It's no different that hiring a telecommuter on dryland. But even though the Rafters might not feel any special commitment to paying their income taxes, the dryfoot employer most certainly has to. There's no loophole that keeps Arrowsoft, for example, from paying FICA on each and every employee, Rafter or not. And this is where our mutual benefits collide.
“You see, the Raft is jam-packed with highly educated, skilled workers, many with degrees in exactly the fields that technology companies such as yours require. Should Arrowsoft open a development center wholly aboard the Raft – separate and apart from its dryland parent company – it would be to the benefit of both Arrowsoft and the Raft. Arrowsoft would get access to a skilled workforce, costing pennies on the dollar to their dryfoot counterparts. With no income tax, no Social Security, no OSHA, no thirty-two-hour workweek, no government overhead at all, you could double the take-home pay of every employee and see a reduction in the company's overall payroll.
“Think about that: think about the bottom line, and tell me what I'm saying doesn't make sense.”
Gandalf could see that his words were finally sinking in. The Arrowsoft boys had paused in their game to listen to what he had to say.
“And most of all, you'd be paying your workers in Sum, not dollars. The Raft's own currency. Backed by gold, backed by the labor of the Rafter's themselves. It's stable, a genuine store of value. There's no inflation aboard the Raft, my friends, no government constantly chiseling away at your company's coffers to erase the evidence of their own misappropriations. An hour of work you create a
board the Raft will be worth an hour tomorrow as well as today. That's stability you can count on. Build on.
“And for the Raft, I hardly need to explain the benefits to you. Employment, stability, prestige. But most of all, a reversal to that dreaded trade surplus of which I spoke before. A change in the tide. Rafter labor, wealth staying aboard the Raft. Money leaving for goods arriving. That is what the Raft needs to prosper. And in partnership with a company like Arrowsoft, the Raft might become something more than just a-”
“Oy! Get off!” a voice screamed at the far end of the car deck, derailing Gandalf's sales train as it was just about to pull into the station.
“Behave!” Maggie's voice echoed down the length of the car deck. “Or it'll be the frying pan again!”
“What the hell-?” Gandalf caught sight of the three figures walking the length of the Kalakala, approaching Gandalf and the miniature golf course. Well, two figures walking and one large man being dragged by the ear. Oh God, no! Gandalf panicked. Not here, not now! Just when he was about to cinch the deal – convince Arrowsoft that the Raft was the right place for it to do business. “No! No! No!” he started crying out, scampering in his bare feet towards Maggie, Chemial Ali G, and an attractive red-haired women he'd never met. “No! No!” he waved his putter at them.
“Maggie!” Gandalf shuffled up to the approaching disaster. “What are you doing?” he half screamed, half whispered.
“Chemical here resisted arrest,” Maggie said, and gave Chemical's ear a twist.
“Ouch!” the large man with a bloodied face screamed.
“No, what are you doing here, right now, with him... here?” Gandalf struck the metal car deck with his putter, punctuating his displeasure at Maggie's presence with an echoing clank.
Perhaps when Maggie had said “wizard,” Rachael had prepared herself with a mental image of Gandalf that was wholly impractical. She'd certainly expected Gandalf to project a more imposing presence, something more aged and all-powerful. What she got was a small, middle-aged man, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts, and a pith helmet. She'd expected a wizard and had gotten someone halfway between Hunter S. Thompson and an unkempt biker. His beard, however, was most definitely substantial. At least there was that.
He was furious, they'd obviously stumbled into the middle of something. Other middle-aged, bearded men watched from the greens of an elaborate miniature golf course, along with three well-dressed young men.
“You don't know either?” Maggie let go of Chemical. He collapsed down to the car deck, holding his injured ear.
“Know what?” Gandalf replied, confusion tempering his outrage. He looked down at the mess that was Chemical, realizing perhaps that the situation was serious. “What going on?”
“Meerkat, she's...” Maggie paused.
“She's what?” Gandalf prodded.
“She's dead.”
Gandalf let his putter clatter to the car deck.
“No, she can't, I-”
Rachael spoke up. “Her body was found, washed up on the shore of Bainbridge Island this morning.” Rachael took the photocopy from her pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Gandalf. “There was ID, her real name was apparently Joanna Church.”
Gandalf took the photocopy, but didn't seem to really look at it. He was dumbstruck. In shock.
From behind him, Orac called out. “What's going on, Gandalf?”
“Nothing!” Gandalf snapped back to reality. He handed back Rachael's photocopy, uninspected.
Gandalf's gaze fell on Rachael, silently questioning.
“This is Rachael Hanks-” Maggie began to introduce Rachael.
“Bigallo,” Rachael interrupted.
“What?” Maggie was lost.
“Bigallo. I'm Rachael Bigallo.” Rachael held out a hand to Gandalf. “I'm an old friend of Maggie's. I'm with the Times.”
Maggie winced.
“A reporter?” Gandalf seemed to panic. He looked nervously over his shoulder at the collected golfers on the greens. “Good morning,” he continued nervously, taking Rachael's arm and leading her away from the miniature golf course. “The Times you say? They call me Gandalf... the Wizard,” he laughed uncomfortably. “This is my ship, the Kalakala...” he waved a sweeping hand.
“Yes, I-”
“I purchased her in 2024, from the foundation that was attempting to restore her to-” Gandalf was leading Rachael farther away from the golf course and the representatives of Arrowsoft.
Maggie took a few steps and caught him by the arm. “Gandalf, we're not here for the tour.”
“Maggie,” Gandalf whispered. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Everyone is going to know by lunch.”
“No, I have clients here. From dryland.”
“Clients?” Maggie was confused.
“Clients. Business interests. People looking to invest.” Gandalf shot a worried look at Rachael, and realized she was no one he wanted to be whispering in front of. He let go of Rachael's arm and took Maggie's, leading her away from both Rachael and the golf game.
When they were out of everyone's earshot, he said, “Maggie, what's going on?”
“Meerkat's dead.”
“Yes, you said. But what does Chemical have to – where's Horus?” Gandalf realized.
“Put his boots on.”
“Then Chemical?”
“No, he just showed up suddenly while I was aboard Horus's boat. He was as surprised as you to hear about Meerkat.”
Gandalf gave Rachael a look out of the corner of his eye. “And the reporter?”
“She's an old friend. She was worried.”
“But a reporter?”
“She's all right. She has connections on dryland. She's useful.”
Gandalf nodded. The weight of the situation hit him. “Oh God, Meerkat... what are we going to do?” he asked, his eyes pleading.
“We're going to get Horus and turn him over to the cops.”
“Yes, yes...” Gandalf nodded along.
“Before they get the urge to come out here.”
The idea shocked Gandalf to attention. “But if they do that...”
“Right, so I have to find Horus soon. It's just... Chemical there,” Maggie cocked her head at where Chemical still lay on the deck. “He has this crazy story... about Meerkat... and why she was killed. We need to keep it under wraps.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Gandalf agreed.
“Who's his Magistrate?”
“What?” Gandalf thought about it. “Does he have one?”
“He has to have a Magistrate,” Maggie countered. “How can he trade without a Magistrate?”
“He doesn't,” Gandalf exhaled. “As far as I know.”
“Then how does he eat?”
“Well, his business isn't exactly aboveboard, Maggie!” Gandalf exploded. “I assume he and Horus get everything they need from dryland in exchange for their product.”
“And you've allowed this?” Maggie said in shock.
“It's not against the law,” Gandalf was defensive. “At least no Raft law, if we actually had any.”
Maggie growled, rubbing at her eyes. “Then you've got to hold him. Here on the Kalakala.”
“I can't do that,” Gandalf protested.
“You've got to. If he starts shooting off his mouth...”
“No, if word got out that I was holding a Rafter against his will, I'd get lynched.”
“Gandalf, I need time. I need to move quickly. I can't haul Chemical along with me. If I can't get to Horus before the Feds get to us. Do you understand how people are going to react?”
“Yes, of course, but -”
“But nothing,” Maggie interrupted. “Think of something. I only need a day.”
Gandalf threw up his hands, tilting back his helmet. “Today of all days, Maggie. I have three executives from Arrowsoft right there. I was this close to convincing them to move a part of their company out here to the Raft!”
“Gandalf...”
“I'm sorry Meerkat's bloody murder is an inconvenience to you.”
“Alright, alright, a day. But that's it. You know tomorrow is the Freaky Kon-Tikis. I can't haul Chemical all the way up there. Word would get out.”
“I know, I know,” Maggie said gratefully. “Thank you. And I'm sure Chemical likes putt-putt golf. He can play with your Arrowsoft friends. Why don't you introduce them?”
“Thanks,” Gandalf rolled his eyes.
The Raft Page 13