Firstworld

by Paul E. Horsman

  ‘Weeks,’ she said gloomily. ‘At least a month.’

  ‘Right. When you’re ready for inspectors, report it to Realmport, Flor 3. And our people will want a complete list of all still sellable stuff as soon as you can manage it.’

  The voice sighed deeply. ‘Yessir. You’re paying overtime, sir?’

  Kyrus grinned at the joke. ‘You must be kidding. And we’re not paying you for that thousand-year-vacation either. Be glad you still have a job; too many out there haven’t.’ He looked at Llithan. The boy wasn’t listening but wandered around the room. ‘A question, Gloria. You have a production hall?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Two hundred URU machines stand ready to serve our customers.’

  ‘They’re all operational? Is the area guarded?’

  ‘Yes to both, sir. The hall is well guarded with lethal beams, armed servors and mind bombs, with their own power and repair units. They stood the time well, sir.’

  ‘Report their status to Realmport, please.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They went out and after Kyrus had informed Thigor he was free to stay or go, S-Az ported them back to the ship.

  ‘Phew.’ Kyrus dropped down in his command chair.

  ‘While you were playing, we have been studying the Koopal world,’ Ginny said. ‘Odysson will be pleased with our conclusions. I hope your day was as interesting?’ She looked curiously at Llithan.

  ‘Very much so. Llithan of the Rhu joined us today; tell the others, will you?’

  ‘I will,’ she said, and offered the boy her hand.

  Llithan looked up at her, towering over him, and gingerly shook.

  Then the ship ported away.

  ‘There we are,’ Kyrus said. ‘Realmport. The planet overhead is our homeworld.’

  ‘It looks so different,’ Llithan said in a hushed voice, as they walked across the field. ‘It’s ordered. And all those people!’

  ‘A lot of them are Moi.’ Kyrus watched the boy’s reaction. ‘Survivors from the mana quake. They’re not much older than you, but born a thousand years ago.’

  ‘Moi,’ the boy said, and he swallowed.

  Kyrus saw Henor, the senior midshipman from NavBase who was now a corvette captain, and called him over.

  ‘Had a good trip, sir?’ Henor said.

  ‘Very good,’ Kyrus said. ‘We made contact with a Rhu trader house and brought one of them along as an emissary. Meet Llithan of House Thigor, Lieutenant Commander Henor.’

  ‘You’re Rhu?’ Henor said. ‘Amazing. I never met any of your people before.’ He held out his hand. ‘You were out trading?’

  Llithan nodded. ‘We had our camp at Koopal 3, for our triennial visit.’

  They chatted for a moment longer before Henor had to go to his ship.

  ‘He is a Moi?’ Llithan said, and he sounded confused. ‘He sounds just like one of us.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Kyrus said. ‘I didn’t notice any difference either.’

  They walked into the main building and went to the mess. Here they found Kambisha, and Kyrus plumped down in a chair beside her, but the boy remained standing.

  ‘Sit down,’ Kyrus said. ‘She’s my sister Kambisha, who is our boss and the High Admiral of the Realmfleet. Gunild, you listen in too, ma’am operator. This is Llithan, who is a Rhu.’

  A servor came buzzing, and he ordered a cawah. ‘And you? We got very nice lemonades as well.’ As the boy looked uncertain, Kyrus ordered him six small glasses, one of each taste, and a plate of cakes. Then he sat back and told her his adventures of the day.

  ‘But you can’t keep a servant,’ Kambisha said when he was done.

  ‘Of course not. He’s a smart fellow, so it would be a waste of his abilities.’ Kyrus turned to Llithan, who sat tasting his fourth lemonade as if it were trade samples. ‘If you had a choice, what would you want to do with yourself?’

  ‘I’m a dependant, here to fetch and carry.’ The boy suddenly smiled. ‘But you asked me what I want to do. I want to be a High Trader and have my own house. It won’t happen, of course, but that is what I want.’

  ‘We can’t guarantee you the house,’ Kambisha said. ‘But becoming a High Trader isn’t impossible.’

  ‘You best join Odysson,’ Kyrus said. ‘We others leave all trading business to him. He ain’t back yet?’

  ‘No,’ Kambisha said. ‘I gather he got a building and is hunting for someone to run things. I’m sure he will love to have a Rhu trader on his team. What sort of things does House Thigor trade in?’

  ‘What we can pick up,’ the boy said. ‘We mine the old places and sell the good stuff, and of course we buy produces to sell them elsewhere.’

  ‘Ah. so they buy what you offer. Then if we were to go and sell those other worlds what they actually want, there would be a market?’

  ‘Of course.’ Llithan’s eyes shone. ‘If you have the resources to do that, you would have a huge market.’

  Kambisha nodded. ‘Tell me about those worlds.’

  An hour later, the boy fell silent. ‘That’s the ones on our route. The other Houses have their own lists, of course.’

  ‘Do you barter everything or would they use coins?’ Kyrus said.

  ‘Both,’ the boy said. ‘Many worlds still use the Moi nith, or their own gold coin of the same worth. That makes trading a lot easier.’

  ‘Good to know that,’ Kyrus said. He looked at the boy. ‘You will serve me best by becoming a great trader. But not today; you’re looking peaky. Gunild, have you got a spare room for our young friend? He’s been overdoing the excitement a bit lately.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some nice rooms in our senior staff barracks. I’ll send someone to show him the way.’

  Minutes later, one of the mindmages appeared. ‘I’m to guide someone to their room?’

  Kyrus introduced the boy, and the mindmage smiled. ‘Welcome. I’ll show you where you can wash and sleep. I’m sure Gunild will have one of our uniforms ready for you.’

  ‘On the bed,’ Gunild said. ‘And a spare set. Boots, belt and all, in trader white.’

  ‘There you have it,’ the mindmage said, and still talking cheerfully, he led the boy away.

  ‘Kid is all right,’ Kyrus said. He leaned back in his chair and yawned. ‘That Realmstore place was shocking. They got two hundred of those Diner things, guarded by the gods know what lethal weaponry. Gunild, you got the reports.’

  ‘I did, and I was just as shocked, sir. The number was far greater than I expected. I propose we remove most of the URUs and find a more secure place for them.’

  ‘Build a production hall next door,’ Kyrus said. ‘We’ll want to start making things; toolbelts, and whatnot to sell ourselves.’

  ‘Mindvision machines,’ Kambisha said. ‘I’ll discuss it with Ody.’

  ‘It was a profitable day,’ Kyrus said. ‘Did the other ships’ first run bring in anything?’

  ‘They did well,’ Kambisha said. ‘All but one managed to visit their objective in one day. Only the crew for Son 4 reported reactivating those yardships isn’t all that easy. We call them ships, but they seem to be more like floating docks, and they’re very much not movable. Every one of them is deeply integrated with the others and with the local astro-mining business for rare ores and minerals. The captain expects to be back tonight or tomorrow.’

  ‘And the others? Anything interesting?’

  ‘They brought in two more outposts and two bases. One is the 4th Fleet base, whose vice-admiral was on maneuvers while the quake came. Remember us mentioning that possibility? We may have their approximate locations, so I’ll go there myself tomorrow and start a search for those ships.

  ‘The other is a moon base; Search and Rescue 13. It’s only a small affair with an AI and two frigates. Gunild will send two crews with some staff and put the Fleet Base on hold.’

  ‘We need more hands,’ Kyrus said. ‘I hope Ody gets us some soon.’

  CHAPTER 14 – FIRSTWORLD HQ

 
‘An office building...’ the gentleman at the Sunny Homes Estate Agency repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ Odysson said. ‘Big, in a central location.’

  ‘Sir,’ the estate agent’s round face became solemn. ‘I have what you are looking for. It’s on Whale Street. Some renovation will be needed, but it is the finest office building in the city. And what is more, you buy, not lease.’

  ‘Show me this wonder,’ Odysson said.

  The building was big indeed; an eight-story colossus built forty years earlier to house an overly ambitious furniture store, with offices and apartments for their staff. The furniture man went broke and several other hopefuls followed until the whole building stood empty and desolate.

  Odysson stood in the echoing store, listening as the agent told him the building’s history and gazing at the stray cartons, the litter and the sun coming in through the dirty windows. A full view on three sides, he thought. It certainly is large enough. ‘Gunild?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Would you be able to redo this place?’

  ‘I can renovate any construction, sir. I should have to inspect the property first, and it would help if you had the original building plans.’

  ‘How long would that take you?’

  ‘If the building itself is sound, give me forty-eight hours for the two ground floors. The offices and apartments will take longer. But as I said, I need to see it first.’

  Odysson smiled at the agent. ‘Your pardon; I was conferring with my partner. How much are you asking for this long dead whale?’

  The estate agent coughed. ‘Twenty thousand, sir.’

  Odysson looked at him. ‘Let us take a deep breath and start at eight thousand.’

  In the end he got it for twelve, including a thick sheaf of drawings.

  ‘Gunild,’ he said after the silently ecstatic agent had left. ‘It’s all yours.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ A stream of machines came porting in. ‘You have the plans? Show them to my eye, please.’

  A servor with a flexible eye on top bumped against his leg, and Odysson spread out the drawings.

  ‘Got them. Now you better get out, sir. When my little ones get going, I can’t guarantee your well-being.’

  Chuckling, Odysson hurried out. He had his HQ; now for someone to manage it. Who in the Family... His chuckle became a laugh as he thought of a name. In the Family, more or less.

  It was shortly past noon in Towne Harbor, and hot. The palm tree lined quay and the few ships in port lay simmering under the sun, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  He found the harbormaster sitting on the verandah of his white house-annex-office, staring out over his sleeping domain.

  ‘Mr. Harwans!’ The old man struggled creakingly to his feet. ‘It has been some years since we had the pleasure of seeing you in town.’ He was still the same official Ody’s mother had met, twenty-five years ago. In his eighties now, it was common knowledge he left most of the business of running the harbor to his assistant, but he still knew everything that happened in the lower town.

  ‘My studies at the Academy took all my time,’ Odysson said as they shook hands. ‘But I’m happily finished, so for a while, my days are my own. How do matters stand in Harbor?’

  ‘Very well,’ the old man said. ‘Business is booming under Overcaptain Varan.’

  ‘That is excellent,’ Odysson said. ‘Mother will be pleased to hear it.’ As if she didn’t know to the last penny how things stood in the Chorwaynie Archipelago. ‘Actually I was looking for Derris Farnarol. And as you with your enormous local knowledge are the go-to man in Harbor, I hoped you can tell me where he’s hanging out these days.’

  ‘Mr. Derris? Why, you are in luck, for he is in. He has been working as a roving trader the last three years. Ah, you know how it is between him and his...’

  Odysson smiled. ‘I know. It is an awkward situation for both him and the Overcaptain. So he has been sailing. We knew each other well when we were kids, but growing up, we lost contact. I would like to see him again. Where is he staying?’

  ‘He’s hung his hammock at Mrs. Luddok’s at 6 Gulfin Street. Not the best of places, but cheap. When you’re looking for a new berth, money is important.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Odysson said. ‘Well, I’ll see if I can find him there. My thanks for your help; Harbormaster.’

  A roving trader? he thought as he walked away. It doesn’t sound a successful position. Derris Farnarol was the bastard son of Overcaptain Varan Lomillor, who was one of his Trade Magnate mother’s earliest associates and the ruler of the Chorwaynie Archipelago. Lomillor had never married. He preferred male lovers, and he vehemently denied having fathered a son—even if half Towne knew of that wine-besotted party, twenty-one years ago. In his turn, Derris had never asked for anything from his father; not a job, not money, or even a recommendation.

  That was a sentiment Odysson understood. He walked away from the sea, into the poor quarter of Towne Harbor. Gulfin Street was a back alley, and Nr. 6 a poor wooden building with unwashed windows and a sharp-faced proprietress who eyed him with suspicion.

  ‘Mr. Farnarol ain’t here,’ she said. ‘Why shud he? I don’ serve meals an’ drinks, so he’ll be hangin’ out in the Rat or the Fouled Anchor. If you wanna room, one uni a night, week in advance.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Odysson said politely. ‘I only need to find Mr. Derris. But let me compensate you for your time, please.’ He handed her a silver uni, after which she tried an unaccustomed smile.

  The guy he sought wasn’t at the Fouled Anchor, a low, dimly lit and hot establishment smelling of cheap beer and sweat, but at the Rat he struck lucky.

  ‘Aye,’ the serving girl said. ‘Mr. Derris was ‘ere. We made him ‘is lunch an’ he took it outside. ‘E’s not an indoor man, see.’

  Looking round the tavern, just as slovenly as the first one, Odysson could imagine the guy wouldn’t want to eat anything in here. So he got out his purse and turned the girl speechless with his largesse, while he hurried out into the fresh air.

  Now what? Where the heck would the guy go with his lunch? He got his broom out and drifted slowly along the quay while he let his mind wander around.

  After another ten minutes, just as he was about to yell Derris’ name, he caught the mind he remembered. It wasn’t on the quay, but somewhere below it.

  Then he grinned. ‘Shade and water.’ He steered his broom away over the harbor and there the guy was, stretched out in a little jolly boat underneath the wooden jetty that ran alongside the stone quay. He was fast asleep, his lunch eaten, and one unopened bottle of beer waiting in a rusty half-filled bucket of water.

  ‘Derris,’ Odysson said. ‘Wakey-wakey!’

  ‘Go away,’ the other muttered. ‘I’m not on duty.’ Then he opened an eye, cursed and sat up. ‘Odysson Harwans!’

  ‘Derris, to this son of Shaw the Pirate-Killer you look darned much like a Brisan, old chap.’

  The guy in the boat was a tall Chorwaynie; handsome, smooth brown skin, with shoulder length hair and a small mustache. He seemed built for elegant suits, and out of place in his well-worn sailor’s togs and makeshift shoes.

  ‘I need a shave, whelp,’ he said with a hand to his chin. ‘That’s something you youngsters don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course, you’re all of two years older.’ Odysson lowered his broom until he was almost across from the other. ‘You’ve been seeing the world, I heard?’

  ‘Tramp sailing,’ Derris said bitterly. ‘Total waste of time if you want to stay honest. Your mother’s PTC has every single hole plugged. There’s no serious tramping possible unless it’s dealing in things I refuse to deal in.’

  ‘There is a hole,’ Odysson said. ‘A big one she can’t plug, and squeakily honest. No PTC, no MCTC, no Weal; just the Kalbakar kids and me, and a mighty lot of trade partners that are all ours. Now I was wondering whether you might be interested?’

  ‘You and the twins?’ Derris said, his eyes brightening. ‘That must
be high-level; you wouldn’t settle for something small. Tell me more.’

  ‘Better; I’ll show you,’ Odysson said. ‘First, we’ll go to Seatome, so mind the cold.’

  Derris shrugged. ‘No matter.’

  They came out at the Liberator statue. It wasn’t really cold in Seatome, just fifteen degrees less hot, and they both shivered.

  ‘Darn,’ Odysson muttered. ‘I should have added the new coordinate to my handportal.’ He looked around and waved at a passing cab.

  ‘The Realm Headquarters at Whale Street, driver,’ he said as they got in.

  The elderly man looked puzzled, but then his face cleared. ‘That’s what was the furniture store, sir? I heard builders had started renovatin’ this morning.’

  Odysson grinned; his shot in the dark struck an observant cabbie. ‘That’s the one. Remember the address; it’s going to be as important as Broomer House or Navy HQ.’

  The man smiled in the inside mirror. ‘Indeed, sir? I’ll keep it in mind then.’

  ‘What is the Realm?’ Derris said. ‘A country?’

  ‘That new big thing I mentioned. I’ll tell you all when we’re there.’

  The driver was fearless and experienced, and in spite of the traffic brought them to the big building in less than ten minutes.

  ‘Realm HQ,’ sir,’ the driver said. He frowned. ‘They sure working hard in there; you almost see the changes pop out.’

  ‘Grand Opening in two more days.’ Odysson paid their fare. ‘So they’re in a hurry.’

  They got out and walked to the door. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered, watching the busy servors hammering and painting with a speed no human builder could match.

  ‘The Realm?’ a boy muttered to his friend, waving at the new big sign over the door. ‘What the heck is that?’

  ‘The Moon and the stars,’ Odysson said.

  Both boys turned around. ‘Like in the comics?’

  ‘But they’re fantasy,’ his friend added.

  ‘The comics are fantasy, but the Moon and the stars aren’t. Watch this place; we’ll open in two days.’

  ‘Yech, it’s a store!’