“Petulant? I’ll...” She ground to a halt. “I am being petulant, aren’t I?”
“I would have to answer in the affirmative.”
She took a deep breath and let it out, blowing her black bangs briefly into the air. “Okay. Let’s reset. No harm done. I’ve gotten the Breakers accounts set up and started on the list of suppliers, supplies and prices for certain critical items. We’ve got a million-credit loan-line secured by a lien on the Redwolf. That’ll let us get started on buying the things we need most first thing tomorrow. Anything we can’t carry, we’ll arrange for delivery to Premdor.”
“Excellent. Very commendable.”
“You will be available tomorrow to inspect and buy? No more, uh, entertainments?”
“Of course, Carla Engels. I’m all business from now on. Well, at least during the duty day. What I do after hours is my own affair, don’t you think?”
“I guess it is... after hours.”
“You might be pleased to know I did do some work today. I hired a bonded guide and purchased its permanent silence. Tomorrow, it should provide me with enough information to begin establishing a rudimentary—and entirely legal, if clandestine—intelligence network here at Crossroads.”
“With what money?”
“My, my, how quickly money rears its ugly head.” Zaxby grinned to show he was joking. “Never fear, I have my own sources of portable funds. I was Grand Marshal of Ruxin, after all.”
“Good. Breakers money needs to go for Breakers needs.”
“Of course, though I would say that this intelligence network should greatly benefit the Breakers, and I hope that once the organization is solvent, I will be allocated a budget for these purposes.”
“As long as the money doesn’t go for your... indulgences.”
“I will scrupulously keep all private and public funds separated. May I say that you are adapting to the mercenary lifestyle quite well, Carla Engels?”
“Gee, thanks, I think. Whatever happened to money being the root of all evil?”
“I believe the actual quotation reads ‘love of money’ is the root of all evil, and that is demonstrably false. There is jealousy, hatred, vengefulness, laziness, selfishness, cruelty, among others—there are many sources of evil. Money makes a fine tool, but a poor master.”
Carla Engels grasped his tentacle. “How’d you get so wise, Zaxby?”
“I am more than two hundred years old, despite my svelte and sexy appearance.”
She snatched her hand away and stood. “Ick. Thanks for reminding me. I’m going to wash my hands and go to bed. Good night, Zaxby. See you at...” She checked her chrono in puzzlement.
“I suggest we use Crossroads time while we’re here. It’s based on a 30-hour day. Overnica can provide an app for your chrono. I will be at your door at 0800 local. Good night.”
Zaxby contracted an environmentally appropriate room for himself in the same hotel and soon stripped out of his water suit to lounge in a warm pool of perfect salinity. A robot cart delivered abundant Ruxin delicacies, alive and directly into his pool, which he harvested and consumed with great relish while listening to some excellent music and drinking fermented alkaloids appropriate to his species. These Crossroads businesses certainly did know how to provide luxury service.
He declined, however, to send for another sexual companion. That would simply be indulgent.
It was nice to be wealthy.
Chapter 14
Zaxby on Crossroads
The next day, Zaxby met Carla at the appointed time. He had already dined sumptuously in his own room, so he took her to breakfast in the hotel dining room. Watching her eat with great affection, he nibbled on a few Ruxin foods that didn’t distress her female squeamishness.
He had observed that human males were generally less fussy about what they ate. On the other hand, human males were generally boring creatures, unable to hold more than one thought in mind at a time.
Zaxby performed the Ruxin equivalent of a sigh, through his gills, muffled by his water-suit. Ruxins were in all ways superior—but humanoids seemed to be everywhere.
The universe was seldom fair.
Breakfast improved Carla Engels’ mood considerably, and the day’s shopping was reasonably successful. Zaxby introduced her to Yixnam, who guided the two to various sections of Crossroads, vast showrooms where goods were displayed for examination and sampling. Attentive sales representatives answered questions and took their orders for vital spare parts, ammunition, weaponry, shield upgrades, preserved foodstuffs, farming equipment and many more items.
“Our million’s going to go quick,” Engels grumbled as she checked her handtab. “We really need about a hundred million, just for this trip.”
“If you need large numbers of credits, you can always license or sell technology,” Yixnam said. He had recovered his composure since yesterday and seemed resigned to working for people with prices on their heads. After all, assassinations or kidnappings were extremely rare in Crossroads proper. “There’s nothing so profitable as a new, yet tested item that can be quickly manufactured and brought to market. I can connect you with a reliable tech broker for a reasonable fee.”
“We’ll definitely need to explore that possibility. Zaxby, do we have anything we can sell or license?”
“Indubitably, my dear Carla.” Zaxby tapped his large, soft head with the tip of a subtentacle. “It’s all up here. Every item, every spec.”
“I know you’re a brainiac, but I didn’t know you had a photographic memory.”
“I do now. Let’s discuss this further in private. Yixnam, lead us to a secure place that serves decent food and drink.”
“Of course, War Male.”
Within a private section of a superb restaurant, Yixnam set his anti-sensor device next to the food and turned it on while Zaxby locked the door and checked for anything amiss.
Carla Engels sipped caff appreciatively, and then said, “What’s all this about having the specs?”
“Brainlink hard storage,” Zaxby said, tapping his head again. “I added many improvements to my cyberware over the last five years.”
“And made yourself the target of anyone who wants to rip it out of your head if they want to. Now, someone could steal your information—our information—all at once,” Engels said, frowning. “That’s why operational military personnel don’t carry around big databases of secret data—it makes them vulnerable. Leave that for the intel specialists in the rear, like Sinden.”
“I’m aware of the risks, and I have many countermeasures in place. Also, you have realized by now that I’ll do whatever I please at any time, don’t you?”
“Yes, actually, I do know that, though you’ve never stated it so baldly.” She sighed. “Fine, whatever. Now let’s figure out what we can sell or license in good conscience.”
They spent the next few hours comparing tech available to the Breakers with items widely available on the open market. Of course, only a few things might be truly unknown—things like the subquantum viral Mindspark technology that even then they only partly understood. That and its derivatives such as Murdock’s rejuvenation pod were quickly put off-limits.
However, there were lesser technologies, or twists on technologies, that were undoubtedly known, but which no other species had yet released, sold or licensed. There were also technologies that replicated known effects in completely different ways, avoiding patent-infringement problems, and were cheaper.
Carla Engels’ astonishment at the potential profits of such licensing amused Zaxby. As Grand Marshal of Ruxin, he was used to shuffling billions of credits for government or industrial programs. A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon it wasn’t money anymore, not in any real sense. It was just fuel for industry. A being, a person, could understand thousands of credits, perhaps millions, for the luxuries they could buy and the things they could own, but at the higher levels, such numbers became comprehensible only in terms of trade, influence, power—and high-
ticket items, like ships and mechsuits.
For the wealthy who could have any luxury imaginable, money wasn’t money anymore either. It was merely a way of keeping score or outdoing their fellow beings who traveled in the same rarified circles. Zaxby had been there for the last five years, and it had become tiresome. He was having much more fun down here in the muddy fighting pit—metaphorically speaking.
Still, it was good to be rich. Being rich was like having the best weaponry in reserve.
A way to win.
A way of keeping score... with the added incentive of securing his existence and the existences of those he cared about.
Nothing made a fellow feel so alive as risking death, after all.
They settled on several minor technologies, such as those used in the polymeric musculatures of mechsuits and battlesuits, that seemed to be more advanced than anything commercially available in the Crossroads markets, and spent the rest of the day meeting with Yixnam’s technology broker.
By the end of the week, they had their hundred million credits up front and ongoing contracts that would yield at least as much or more in royalties every year for the next ten years.
“Cosmos! I can see why people come here,” Carla Engels said as they ate yet another sumptuous meal celebrating their windfall. “Only a week past, and we’ve made a fortune!”
“Yes, we have,” Zaxby said, “but remember, we did that by unlawful means—at least, according to Earthan Republic law. We mutinied, stole proprietary technology, and have now resold it on the open market.”
“Gods and monsters, I never thought of that.”
“That’s why you keep me around—to remind you of reality. And, in for a cent, in for a credit, as they say.”
Carla’s expression soured. “You mean ‘as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,’ I think. We’ve already mutinied against an illegitimate regime. Selling some tech can’t make it any worse, I guess. And we need the money. Damn, that’s a lame excuse, but it’s true.”
“You’d feel much better if you let go of your contradictory scruples and simply did what needed doing.”
“I can’t abandon all my principles.”
“I’m not suggesting you do, merely that you abandon your guilt when you must violate them.”
Carla sighed. “I wish I could rationalize everything as easily as a Ruxin.”
“Yes, it is unfortunate all other species aren’t as sensible and competent as we.”
“Or as humble.”
Zaxby created a smile. “I do admit humans have the edge in humor. You need it to shield yourselves against the despair of your lesser existence, eternally falling short of the ideal. Fortunately, we Ruxins are happy to help.”
“I’m not happy,” Yixnam muttered. “I’m under contract.”
“So you are,” Zaxby said. “But what would make you happy, friend Yixnam?”
“Friend?” The neuter seemed astonished, even gratified.
“Of course. As long as you are faithful and of good will, you are a friend.”
“I’ve never had a friend.”
“That’s another way humans are better than Ruxins,” Carla said, after sipping loudly and waving her glass of wine. “We make friends easier.”
“And enemies,” Zaxby said archly. “But to be fair, I do admit that humans have a knack for binding people to themselves with their generosity and openhandedness. Or perhaps it’s their naive innocence—like cute, furry infant pets.”
“It’s called loyalty, Zaxby,” Carla said, pouring herself more wine. Zaxby thought she was becoming somewhat inebriated. She pointed at him with her glass, slopping a bit of the drink over the side. “Listen, Yixnam, if you ever want to be more than just a contracted employee, you could always join the Breakers.”
“That would merely be another kind of contract.”
“We don’t view it that way.”
“You’re a mercenary organization. How could it possibly be otherwise?”
Carla set her glass down and pondered visibly. “We didn’t start out that way, Yix. We’re a band of brothers and sisters, a family. We’ve been through thick and thin together. We don’t think in terms of contracts. Contracts are all well and good, but loyalty always trumps contracts. Don’t you have anything you want to be loyal to—and have people be loyal to you in return?”
“That would seem like a paradise. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I was spawned here on Crossroads, where everything is a matter of regulation and contract. There is no higher loyalty than a contract... so the Conglomerate says. But most of us freelancers know there must be something more.”
“There is something more,” Carla said, taking Yixnam’s tentacle under her palm. “You can have it if you want it.”
Zaxby widened his eyes in order to communicate surprise. “Carla Engels, is that wise? Yixnam is competent, but it is a neuter.”
“You were a neuter when you joined us, Zaxby. How did you feel then?”
“I felt liberated,” Zaxby admitted. “Yes, you are right, Carla. It is wise to allow Yixnam to join the Breakers—as long as it knows that loyalty runs both ways. The price of treason is much higher than that of contract default.”
“Quit threatening him, Zaxby! It’s cruel.”
“It’s an it, Carla. In our society, what you would call a second-class citizen.”
“We’re not in your society, Zaxby,” Carla said harshly, glaring and almost knocking over her half-empty wineglass. “We’re Breakers. We don’t have second-class citizens.”
“What about our enlisted personnel? Are they not of second class to officers?”
“Only in their military roles, not in their value as people. Any enlisted person can become an officer if they qualify and pass the training.”
“And any neuter may become gendered—but until they are, they remain what they are.”
“I would like very much to be gendered,” Yixnam mumbled.
“Neuters don’t remain ‘what they are’ in the Breakers,” Carla said, still glaring. “Now who’s being speciesist?”
“Neuters are not a separate species.”
Carla stood, visibly angry, and tossed off the rest of her wine. “Quit splitting hairs. I don’t care what you call it. We’ve worked with Yixnam for a week here. I can tell when someone’s a good guy.”
“As with Karst?”
“Argh! Zaxby, you’re worse than Loco sometimes, with your smartass answers for everything. Sometimes you have to go with your gut, and your heart.” She slapped her upper chest and swayed. “I say Yixnam can join the Breakers, and I’m in charge here—right?”
“You are definitely in charge here, Carla Engels.”
Carla turned to Yixnam. “You want to join the Breakers?”
“I would like that very much.”
“Then raise your right hand—your right tentacle—well, any tentacle, and repeat after me. I, Yixnam—”
“I, Yixnam—”
“Do solemnly pledge—”
“Do solemnly pledge—”
Zaxby didn’t allow his pleasure to show as she administered the oath of enlistment to Yixnam. Let Carla think she had won her point, rather than being manipulated into doing exactly what Zaxby wanted her to do.
What did the humans call the technique? Ah, yes—good cop, bad cop. Frighten the weak personality into dependency on the sympathetic authority figure, and one could safely control it indefinitely. After all, it was much cheaper to pay Yixnam a salary than to pay its contracted fees—and by taking an oath to the Breakers, Yixnam was in technical violation of its contract. The neuter was now legally and morally bonded to the Breakers—and to Zaxby—like cyanoacrylate glue.
One other advantage occurred to Zaxby: he wouldn’t need to include Yixnam in any procreative trium in order to influence it. That had been his backup plan, to bond Yixnam by mating, along with some as-yet-unchosen Ruxin female, but poor Yixnam was a singularly unattractive specimen, and boring as well.
And
Zaxby was far too old and rich to be bored.
* * *
By the time Zaxby, Carla and Yixnam left Crossroads three weeks later, they had spent most of their liquid credit, loaded the Redwolf’s tiny cargo bays full of high-value items and her data storage with encrypted copies of the information Yixnam had gathered in the process of setting up Zaxby’s unofficial intelligence network. Contracts and payments to information agents trickled downward through nonbonded, unofficial contacts. They eventually exchanged hands in the unofficial currencies of Crossroads—small amounts of the valuable substances that passed for cash in the underground economy.
The conglomerate was practical enough to recognize that crime and violation of regulations could never be stamped out. As long as it remained suppressed, statistically under control, the organization was completely phlegmatic about it—a recognition that some activities are not worth the trouble of prohibition, especially when those activities represented relatively harmless outlets for vice and criminality.
Better to keep an eye on such things than to try to eliminate them entirely, Zaxby knew. That way, when some greater crime reared its ugly head, one could always shake down “the usual suspects,” using their lesser offenses as leverage.
All this and more Zaxby thought about during the sidespace voyage back to Premdor. By now, Straker and Gray would have finished their military operation, presumably successfully. They would be in possession of Breaker Island and in much need of the thousands of tons of vital supplies even now also heading for Premdor on the capacious cargo ships of the reputable firm of Headleigh Transport and Transshipping, Incorporated.
All in all, he had experienced a wonderful month.
Zaxby sincerely hoped there would be some fighting left for him. He dearly loved a good, violent opportunity to detonate multiple explosive devices, resulting in the death or dismemberment of properly designated enemies.
It was, after all, one of the top perquisites of being a War Male.
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