by Zen DiPietro
BLOOD MONEY
MERCENARY WARFARE BOOK 2
ZEN DIPIETRO
PARALLEL WORLDS PRESS
CONTENTS
Copyright
Dragonfire Station Universe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Message from the author
About the Author
Dragonfire Station Universe
COPYRIGHT
BLOOD MONEY (MERCENARY WARFARE BOOK 2, A DRAGONFIRE STATION SERIES)
COPYRIGHT © 2017 BY ZEN DIPIETRO
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without express written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations for the purpose of review.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
ISBN: 978-1-943931-12-5 (ebook)
Cover Art by Alexander Chau
Published in the United States of America by Parallel Worlds Press
DRAGONFIRE STATION UNIVERSE
Dragonfire Station Book 1: Translucid
Dragonfire Station Book 2:Fragments
Dragonfire Station Book 3:Coalescence
Intersections (Dragonfire Station Short Stories)
Selling Out (Mercenary Warfare Book 1)
Blood Money (Mercenary Warfare Book 2)
Hell to Pay (Mercenary Warfare Book 3)
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1
“Come on, Cabot. That’s a thirty percent markup over the last shipment.” Doony Kirk’s hand froze in midair above the infoboard Cabot held, as if he couldn’t bear to transfer the money.
Cabot remained placid. “Have you checked the ISO lists lately? Everyone wants food and medical supplies. That means all available cargo haulers are carrying them. With the PAC focusing all its trade on those markets, space on a trader’s cargo hauler is at a premium right now. Prices are going up, especially for luxury goods like these.”
Doony sighed. “I know, I know. It’s just crazy how much things have changed in such a short amount of time. The Barony Coalition has really screwed things up for everyone.”
“That is an understatement of epic proportions, my friend, but I do agree, wholeheartedly.” Cabot liked Doony. The old Rescan was the good sort. Always delivered on time and minded his own business. He only ever tried to cheat Cabot in the ways that were accepted and polite.
“Think we’ll get back to how things ought to be?” Doony asked.
“Not soon. But maybe. I hope so.”
Doony opened one of the shipping crates, which rested on the table in Cabot’s warehouse behind his store. Few people were permitted to go back there, but he’d been working with Doony for decades.
Doony held one of the jeweled implants to his cheek. “How stupid are people, anyway? Implanting tech is one thing, but decorative implants on your face? What’s next?”
“I have to admit, I don’t think much of the trend. Not only are they ridiculously costly, they have a ten percent risk of biological rejection.”
Doony counted the implants in the box before putting the lid back on. Cabot didn’t take offense. It would only be polite to short Doony a unit or two, just to keep him on his toes.
The old guy rested his hands on the top of the box. “These things are all the rage on Caravon, though. I guess rich people care more about social status than about the possibility of war coming their way.”
Cabot picked up a second crate and put it on the table. “Oh, I think they’re just as worried as everyone else. It’s just important for them to appear that they’re not.”
Doony lifted the lid and inspected its contents. “I guess that makes sense. It’s like when you have a cargohold full of fruit about to go bad, and you have to do everything you can to make it look like it isn’t.”
“Precisely.” Cabot hung there in that moment, poised perfectly for the upsell. He savored the feeling while Doony finished checking the crate. He set the last crate on the table and finally made his pitch. “On the other hand, a savvy business person might be able to take advantage of that situation.”
Doony looked up in mid-count. “Oh? How’s that?”
“It occurs to me that in a situation where people are under greater pressure to pretend everything is fine, it would be easy to lead them into an even more extravagant purchase. Something to really show off how little they’re concerned about the Barony war.”
A smile spread across Doony’s face. “And I bet you have just the thing.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled back at Doony, and they enjoyed a long moment of mutual avarice. It was a special feeling, shared between two professionals. Kind of like the anticipation of a birthday surprise, wrapped up with a marriage proposal. For a couple of old hands like them, it was the stuff of life.
Cabot walked down a long row, to the back corner of his warehouse. He plucked a small box from the top shelf and moseyed back to Doony, who was putting the lid back on the third box of implants.
Doony eyed the small container in Cabot’s hands. “That’s it?”
“Oh, it’s plenty.” Cabot set the box on the table and pushed it toward Doony.
Doony frowned at the perfectly aligned rows of tiny squares. “What are they?”
“What you’re looking at is the ultimate in conspicuous consumption. These are remnants of a stellar core that turned into a white dwarf so cold that it carbonized.”
Doony’s forehead creased. “So they’re diamonds from a star?”
“Even better. These particular specimens were put through a process that changed them on a molecular level and combined them with other materials. What you’re looking at, believe it or not, are breath mints made from star diamonds.”
Doony’s belly laugh boomed through the warehouse. “That’s ridiculous. Who would make such a thing?”
“Someone who wanted to see if he could. But that’s not the point. What’s important is that because these things are utterly ludicrous, I took them off the hands of their previous owner for next to nothing. And here they’ve sat for five years, only to finally realize their perfect purpose.”
Doony shook his head. “You weren’t kidding when you said they’re conspicuous consumption. The question is, how much would someone pay to freshen their breath not only with a diamond, but with a star?”
“I’ll leave it to you to find out,” Cabot said. “Whatever you sell them for, you’ll get twenty-five percent commission.”
“Twenty-five?” Doony blinked at the size of the commission.
“The only place these could sell is Caravon. The only time that you could push people into wanting them is right now. And since I won’t be traveling to Caravon anytime soon, that means our window of opportunity is small.”
Doony nodded slowly. “An ideal market doesn’t last long.”
Doony blinked. “Yes. I’ll get my stuff and leave the station. I’ll be on my way in twenty minutes.” He slipped the box of diamond mints into an interior jacket pocket, and stacked the three crates of dermal implants on an anti-grav cart.
“Let me know how things are going once you get there. I’m very curious what price those will fetch.”
“Will do. Thanks, Cabot.” Doony grasped his arm at the elbow in the Rescan gesture that served as a hello or a goodbye. Or just appreciation. It was a multipurpose gesture, really, and Cabot admired the economy of versatility.
“Take care.” He frowned, and let his pleasant shopkeep persona slip for a moment. “I mean it. Things out there aren’t good. Watch out.”
“I will. You keep a look out for yourself, too. And that Arlen of yours. She’s a good sort.”
“She’s not ‘mine’ in any way, but yes, I’ll be watching out for us both. Along with the select few that I consider part of my tribe.”
“Good.” Doony now looked grim. It was an expression Cabot was seeing more and more of these days.
As soon as Doony left the shop, guiding the anti-grav cart, Security Chief Arin Triss entered.
“Good morning, Chief Triss. What can I help you with today?” Cabot doubted Arin was there to purchase anything. More likely, he wanted to touch base with Cabot about activity on the boardwalk in general. Arin’s job was getting harder, now that smuggling PAC goods to the Barony Coalition was a problem.
But Arin surprised him by saying, “I’m looking for a gift for Nix. Something nice. Her year-end presentation is tomorrow evening, marking the official end of the school year. I want to give her something to encourage her.”
“She’s done well at her security internship, hasn’t she?” Cabot had seen how hard she’d worked, and couldn’t imagine her doing less than excel.
“She’s a born PAC officer.”
Six months ago, Cabot would have been delighted on Nix’s behalf to hear such praise. Now, the PAC was a more dangerous place, and it promised to only get more so. He hated the idea of anything happening to the girl.
But he said only, “I think I know just the thing.”
He went behind the counter at the back of the shop, removed a conical cylinder on a sturdy stand, and placed it on the counter.
“A projector?” Arin looked unconvinced.
“Not just a projector,” Cabot scoffed. “It’s a memory keeper. You can program it with images as a keepsake. Look.”
He activated the device and it projected a stock image of Zerellus above the cylinder. The little planet glowed, looking remarkably realistic.
“I can program it with an image of Dragonfire Station. Over the next couple years, she can record events and people. When she leaves for the academy, she’ll have a trove of memories stored.” He had no doubt she’d be accepted into the academy. Fallon and Arin wouldn’t have taken such an interest in her if she didn’t have what it took.
Arin swiped a finger through the projection. “You’re right, it’s perfect. Though I hate the idea of her leaving.”
Cabot exchanged a look of knowing with him. “You, me, and most of the other people here. Even more than that, I worry about how much more dangerous things might be in two years.”
Arin’s shoulders, usually straight and strong, slumped. “That’s what keeps me up at night.”
Cabot had long been a connoisseur of people, and he sensed a vulnerability in Arin. A loose, raw edge, like chapped skin at risk of ripping loose. At one point in his life, Cabot might have capitalized on that.
Not today. Not with this person. Not on this station, which had somehow become a true home to him.
He walked to the table in the center of the store and pulled out a chair. “I was just about to have a cup of tea. Please join me.”
Arin arched an eyebrow. “I need to finish my rounds.”
“They’ll still be there in ten minutes.”
They stared each other down for a long moment, then Arin shrugged. “All right. A cup of tea can’t hurt.”
“I’ll pop over to the Tea Leaf and get a pot. Alturian, right?”
“How did you know that?”
Cabot felt a twinge of smug self-satisfaction. It always paid to know the preferences of one’s customers. A variety of Alturian tea also happened to be his own favorite. But he only said, “Just a guess.”
It paid to be enigmatic.
The tea shop was only a few steps down the concourse. The boardwalk wasn’t very busy this time of day, and Cabot was able to snag a ready-made pot of Alturian tea and return to his own shop in two minutes.
“That was quick.” Arin had been looking down at his hands, but looked up as Cabot approached the table with the tray.
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get tea in a hurry. My mother says a good cup of tea can cure just about anything.” He set out the cups and filled them with steaming tea before sitting.
“Is she on Rescissitan?”
“Yes, she and my father retired on the homeworld. Though they only scaled back their work rather than quitting altogether. They still do consulting when they find the job interesting. They always had a passion for their work, and I don’t think they could ever quit entirely.”
Arin wrapped his hands around the teacup, but didn’t lift it. “You take after them, then. Are they traders?”
“No, academics. Experts in intercultural relations.”
Arin took a careful sip of his steaming tea. “I would not have guessed that in a thousand years. I also wouldn’t have guessed that you’d suddenly be so eager to share such personal details. We’ve never had a single conversation that wasn’t centered on business, be it mine or yours. Why the personal touch today?”
Cabot had to smile. Arin was no fool. He was an excellent, observant security officer. The two of them had more in common than most people would expect. Both paid attention for a living. Both knew of things the majority of people did not.
“I have these little business rules that I follow. I call them rules of sales. One of the most important ones says that adaptation is key to survival. The more change, the more one needs to adapt. And we’re going through some very big changes, aren’t we?”
Arin nodded, looking into his teacup.
Cabot continued, “When a large entity like the Barony Coalition decides to forge a new path, it takes everyone along with them, whether we like it or not. We all must adapt.”
“And you’re adapting by joining up with Fallon. And now, by extension, me?” Arin gave Cabot an appraising look.
“I wouldn’t call it joining up. You’re never going to see me in a PAC uniform. But I’m serving in my own way, because what Barony’s doing is…” he paused, searching for the right word.
Cabot didn’t care for swearing, but sometimes, it was the only thing to do. “Well, it’s shit. For everyone. Even if they get control of the PAC zone, their short-sightedness will have them cannibalizing themselves immediately. There would never be any stability under their rule. That means tremendous suffering for all the people on PAC planets, in both the short term and the foreseeable future.”
He took a sip of his tea, then continued. “All the big events in history are, truly, only a detail. An arrow on a timeline to mark a significant event. Maybe a pivot point that changed the course of things. The big story, and what really matters, is what happens to the millions and billions who never show up in history. The people who never even show up in their own present, in any prominent way. People who just want to live a life before they die. Get enough to eat. Find someone to love. Work an honest job for honest pay and go home and not be scared for their lives or the lives of their children. These people are the many, and yet they have no choice in whether they get that life. It’s all decided by the people who create those blips on the timeline. Those few people get to decide the massive fallout that everyone
else has to suffer.”
Arin was looking at him in a way he never had. Cabot wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“So,” Arin said. “You want to fight for those people, against the ones that make the blips.”
A self-deprecating smile twisted Cabot’s lips. “As unlikely as it may seem, yes. If I’m in a position to do something, how could I possibly not?”
Cabot recognized the look in Arin’s eyes. Understanding, mixed with respect. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it being directed at him. He preferred it when people looked at him with suspicion and distrust.
Arin blew lightly on his tea. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”
“Please don’t be. I have a reputation to live up to.”
Arin smiled. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I should hope not.” Cabot gave him a deep frown, for the sake of appearances.
“So why lay all this on me right now? I know you’ve been working with Fallon for months, at the very least. I also know you wouldn’t reach out to me like this without a reason.”
He had several reasons, but he wasn’t one to give more information than necessary. “I want you to know that, of all the things you need to worry about, my participating in any smuggling isn’t one of them. And if I find out about anything potentially hazardous to the PAC, I will bring it to you and Fallon.”