Rex led them to the container, a plasteel box the size of a car. “Be my guest,” he said, gesturing at the container.
Salmon Beret pulled the latch and opened the container. Inside were stacks of cardboard boxes. He grabbed one of them and put it on the ground. He pulled a knife from a sheath, sliced the tape on the top of the box, and then opened the flaps. Inside this were several dozen snub-nosed lazepistols wrapped in foam padding. Salmon Beret pulled one out and inspected it. He looked at Moustache and nodded.
“Five thousand, just like we agreed,” said Rex. “These babies are perfect for assassination, executing a cou…” Moustache and Salmon Beret were giving him disapproving looks. “Elk hunting…” Rex continued.
“Alright,” said Moustache. “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Nillyhoo.” He held out his hand and Rex shook it.
“Where’s my money?” asked Rex.
Moustache nodded to Salmon Beret. “This way,” Salmon Beret said, beckoning for us to follow him. I soon realized we were walking to another container, just like the one with the guns in it. Salmon tapped a combination on the lock and opened the door. Piles of paper bills in huge stacks tumbled out of the container onto the floor.
Rex stared dumbfounded into the container. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with bills. “Is this some kind of a joke?” he asked.
Moustache frowned. “837 quintillion Chicolinian hexapennies,” he said. “As agreed.”
“You couldn’t have gotten larger denominations?” asked Rex.
“There aren’t any larger denominations,” said Moustache. “Those are ten trillion Chicolinian hexapenny notes.”
Rex shook his head in disbelief. He reached down and picked up a stack of bills, holding it to his nose. “Why do they smell like fish?”
Moustache shrugged. “The government ran out of paper a few days ago. They’ve been confiscating paper wherever they can find it. You want them or not?”
“I suppose so,” said Rex doubtfully.
“Good,” said Moustache. He turned to Salmon Beret. “Let’s go get the truck and load up those guns.”
Salmon Beret nodded and the two of them walked off.
“Nice doing business with you, Nillyhoo,” yelled Moustache.
We watched them leave. When they were gone, I turned to Rex. “Sir,” I said. “Shall I have the spaceport crane load our money into the cargo ship?”
Rex shook his head.
“You’re not still thinking of keeping the guns, are you?” I asked.
“We have to,” said Rex. “If we don’t sell them a couple more times, we can’t pay the rent on the ship.”
“A couple more times?” I asked.
“Four, max,” said Rex. “Maybe five. Come on, let’s get those labels switched.” He started walking back toward the other containers.
“Sir!” I said, following him. “What about the money?”
“We’ll have to come back for it.”
“Come back?” I asked. “After we’ve screwed those paramilitary nuts out of their guns?”
Rex stopped, rubbing his chin. “We’ll put the label from the gun container on the empty container, put the label from the empty container on the money container, and put the label from the money container on the gun container. When those guys realize we scammed them, they’ll come back and think the money container is gone. They’ll never expect us to come back. Why would we?”
I wanted to object, but that was actually the most sensible thing Rex had said in quite some time. Ever, maybe. I still thought it was insanely complicated and dangerous, but it was probably our best option, given our circumstances. Part of me wanted to tap into the local Hypernet node to check the current conversion rate of Chicolinian Hexapennies to Malarchian Standard Credits, but we were in a bit of a hurry, so I made a mental note to do it later.
We switched the labels and got the gun container re-loaded just as Moustache and Salmon Beret showed up with a truck to pick up the empty container. He waved at them as I worked on the pre-takeoff checklist.
“Suckers,” said Rex through his teeth.
“Indeed,” I said, watching a crate lifting the container onto the truck. “Sir, won’t they notice the empty container is too light?”
“Nah,” said Rex.
“Are you sure?” I said. “Those plasteel containers don’t weigh much when they’re empty. If they happen to bump it while they’re securing it to the truck…”
Rex mumbled something I didn’t catch.
“Excuse me, sir?” I said.
“I said it’s not completely empty.”
“How not completely empty is it?” I asked.
“Very not completely empty,” he said. “Full, even.”
“Do I dare ask what it’s full of, sir?”
Rex grinned that miscalibrated gyroscope grin. “You know how Chicolini is kind of a backwards planet, by the standards of Galactic Malarchy?” he said. “And you know how some of the more backwards planets in the Malarchy are still using nuclear fission reactors to generate power? And you know how, when uranium rods are depleted…”
“Please don’t tell me we tricked an illegal paramilitary organization into buying a container full of nuclear waste,” I said.
“Okay,” said Rex, giggling to himself.
I sighed and finished takeoff preparations. “So what planet are we headed to next?” I asked. “Who’s our next buyer?”
“Beats me,” said Rex. “Some gullible idiot who wants a truckload of guns. Maybe somewhere in the Ragulian Sector?”
It figured that Rex hadn’t thought even through his plan through to the second buyer.
“The Ragulian Sector is eight hundred light-years from here, sir,” I said. We’ll rack up more in rental fees on this ship than we’ll make on the guns. And don’t forget, we have to come back here to pick up our money.” Which is rapidly depreciating, I thought to myself.
“Alright, then find a planet closer. I’m not picky. Anywhere they need guns. Which is every planet.”
“There aren’t any other planets around here, sir,” I said. “The Chicolini System is one of the more isolated systems in the galaxy. The closest is Zarcon Prime, and they’re pacifists.”
“Blasted pacifists,” Rex growled. “I’d nuke the lot of them if I could. Are the Zarconians into skeet shooting?”
“With snub-nosed lazepistols?”
“Hmm,” replied Rex. “You’re sure there are no other planets around here? Check again.”
“Check what, sir? I’ve already double-checked the Galactic Hypernet and the Malarchian Registry of Planets.”
“I don’t know. Just look around.”
“Yes, sir.” I pretended to do something with the computer. “Nothing, sir.”
“You checked everywhere?”
“Yes, sir. I checked the nearest ten million sectors, to the best of my ability.” (Another thing I should mention is that my programming renders me congenitally incapable of lying. For that reason I sometimes find it necessary to make statements that are misleading, although technically true. As I had no way of searching a single sector – let alone ten million – while sitting on the ground at the Chicolini Spaceport, the statement that I had search the area “to the best of my ability” was true. Fortunately Rex isn’t big on nuance.)
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Then we stay here.”
“Here, sir?” I asked dubiously. “At the spaceport where we just unloaded a box of radioactive waste on a couple of paramilitary goons?”
“No, no,” he said. “Take off. Land at another spaceport. Surely this planet has more than one spaceport.”
Judging by the fact that the planet was named Chicolini and the spaceport was called Chicolini Spaceport, I doubted this conjecture very much. But I checked the local Hypernet node, and, lo and behold, there was a second spaceport on a small island called Trentino, nearly halfway around the planet. I entered the coordinates and we rocketed into the sky.
CHAPTER TWO
“Where i
s it?” asked Rex, looking out the cockpit window. We had landed on the coordinates we had found for the second spaceport.
“Where is what, sir?” I asked.
“The Trentino spaceport.”
I checked the coordinates. “We’re right on top of it, sir.”
I sympathized with Rex’s puzzlement. The “spaceport” appeared to be an abandoned parking lot. Faded lines were barely visible, and weeds sprouted through cracked asphalt. About a hundred yards away was a boarded up building with a sign that read EZ Mart. EZ Mart was the biggest retail chain in the galaxy; a couple decades ago they had gone on an galaxy-wide expansion rampage, building stores on hundreds of sparsely inhabited – and in at least one case, completely uninhabitable – worlds. EZ Mart fell on hard times and declared bankruptcy, leaving many of these new stores empty and unstaffed. Some of the properties were sold to local residents for pennies on the Malarchian Standard Credit. In this case, the store itself seemed to have been deserted while the parking lot was converted into a makeshift spaceport – “converted” in this case consisting of someone putting up a hand-painted sign reading:
TRENTENO SPACPORT
The island itself seemed pleasant enough, although it appeared to be barren of vegetation except for weeds and a few scraggly shrubs. At first I took the area to be deserted, but as our engines cooled, a band of maybe two dozen men in ragged clothing ran from one end of the parking lot to the other, disappearing into the weeds. A few seconds later, another band of similar size and sartorial inclination – but carrying sticks and clubs – followed. They too disappeared into the weeds.
Rex’s eyes lit up. I thought he might actually shed a tear. In Rex’s eyes, there are few sights more beautiful than two groups of people trying to beat each other to death with sticks – particularly when he’s got a shipload of lazepistols to peddle.
“Let’s go meet the locals,” said Rex. “We’ve got an obligation to share with them the blessings of civilization.”
We exited the ship. Not wanting to get involved in the fracas (the beauty of two groups trying to kill each other with sticks is best observed from a distance), we set off in the direction from which the two groups had come. Another hand painted sign read:
TRENTENO CITY ↑
The pointed toward a barely discernible path through the weeds. We followed the path to the edge of a ravine that overlooked a village of squat huts. Chicolini as a whole was backward by galactic standards, but this settlement was positively primitive. It was hard to believe people still lived like this in the thirty-first century; whoever had named this settlement “Trentino City” did not suffer from a want of imagination. Probably some idealistic group had broken away from the main population center on Chicolini, hoping to establish a utopian community on the other side of the planet. Rex and I had seen this sort of thing before. High hopes give way to infighting and disillusionment as the settlers realize how hard it is just to survive without the fundaments of modern civilization. The only chance these settlers had was to exploit some natural resource and establish trade with the other half of Chicolini. Judging from the environment and general squalor – not to mention the fact that they were trying to beat each other to death with sticks – they had thus far failed to do this.
“Sir,” I said, as we made our way into the valley, “what makes you think these people have anything of value to trade for the guns?”
“Wherever there are people trying to kill each other,” Rex said, “there’s something of value.”
I supposed he was right, in a sense. But if you’re starving, a sack of potatoes is worth fighting for. I didn’t see Rex wanting to trade his guns for potatoes.
“In any case,” said Rex, “whatever we get from these people is a net gain, since we aren’t actually going to sell them the guns.”
“Sir,” I said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but ours is the only ship at the Trentino spaceport. There are no other containers to pull your label-switching trick with.”
Rex shook his head and sighed. “You have no imagination, Sasha. Obviously we can’t pull the exact same trick with these beetle-eating stick-thumpers. We’re going to have to improvise. If anything, it’ll be easier to fool them, because they’ll assume that it will be nearly impossible for us to fool them under the circumstances.”
Welcome to Rex Nihilo Logic 101.
“Sir, do you ever feel guilty for pulling these scams on people?” I asked.
“Guilty?” asked Rex, as if I’d asked him whether he thought strawberries were too salty. “Of course not. It would be irresponsible to sell guns to these people. You saw them chasing each other around with sticks. You really think guns are going to improve the situation? No, Sasha. We’re not going to sell these people guns. We’re going to sell them something much more valuable.”
“Potatoes?” I ventured.
“What? No, we’re going to provide them with a valuable life lesson.”
“Don’t trust strangers?” I suggested.
“Violence is not the answer,” replied Rex. “These people need to figure out how to work out their problems without killing each other. If it takes bilking them into buying a bill of goods to do that, then I owe it to them to overcome my petty moral compunctions and give them the shaft.”
“Your sacrifice is to be commended, sir,” I said.
We were met near the edge of the village by a small contingent of harried-looking men and women in ragged clothes. They carried clubs and sharpened sticks.
“Greetings, harried villagers!” said Rex. “I come from far across the galaxy, bearing the gifts of civilization. Check this out.”
He pulled a lazepistol from his belt and fired it at a small lizard crouched on a nearby rock. The rock exploded into pieces and the lizard landed on the ground, stunned. It scurried away into the underbrush.
“You’d better run!” Rex shouted at the lizard. He turned back to the villagers. “If I were a better shot, that lizard would never bother you again,” he said. “As it is, he’s probably going to need some pretty extensive counseling.”
“Are you threatening us?” demanded a bearded man at the head of the group.
“Not at all,” said Rex. “I’m offering to help you. As we landed, we couldn’t help but noticed a group of ne’er-do-wells fleeing from a brave citizen militia armed as you are, with pointed sticks and clubs. It might interest you to know that I’ve got five thousand more of these little babies in a cargo container in our ship.”
The bearded man regarded Rex for a moment. “Come with me,” he said. “Our leader may want to talk to you.”
Rex grinned at me, and we followed the group into the village. So far, so good.
One of the younger members of the group ran ahead to alert the villagers, and by the time we arrived in the center of the huts, the village council had assembled. The leader was a matronly woman with pendulous breasts tucked into her waistband and a great mass of frizzy gray hair on her head. Around her neck she wore a pendant of azure stone. “Greetings, offworlders!” exclaimed the woman. “I am Svetlana Kvarcher, the Mayor of Trentino City.”
“Hi there,” said Rex. “Name’s Rex Nihilo. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. The legendary space merchant?”
Svetlana stared blankly at him.
“Well, your village is a bit remote,” said Rex. “I come bearing goods from the beyond the stars. Behold!” He held out the lazepistol.
“Who’s your friend?” asked Svetlana. I was trying to get a better look at that pendant. It almost looked like –
“Friend?” asked Rex, momentarily confused. “Oh, Sasha. She’s my robot. Bought her at an auction of assorted machine parts a few weeks back. Pain in the ass, but she’s cheaper than a human pilot. Pay no attention to her. Sasha!”
“Sorry, sir,” I said. I had been staring at the pendant.
“What brings you to our fine city, Mr. Nihilo?” asked Svetlana.
“Serendipity,” said Rex. “Funny name for a ship, but it’s a rental,
so what are you going to do?”
Svetlana frowned. “I mean, why are you here?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Rex. “I have a nose for opportunity. I just had a feeling that the people of Trentino City would appreciate a delivery of high quality lazepistols.”
“How many of these guns do you have?” Svetlana asked.
“Five thousand,” said Rex.
Svetlana’s mouth dropped open. “There are only two hundred people in our village.”
“Great!” said Rex. “You’ll have some spares.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nihilo,” said Svetlana. “It’s true that we’ve had some trouble lately with some separatists who have set up another community in the hills east of here, but we couldn’t possibly make use of that many guns. In any case, we’re a very poor people. We have nothing to pay you with.”
“Actually…” I started.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Rex interrupted, glaring at me. “So tell me about these separatists.”
Svetlana sighed. “A few weeks ago, a group within the village attempted a coup to oust me from power. The revolt was put down and the rebels were exiled from the city. Since then they’ve set up another settlement in the hills east of the spaceport. We’d be happy to let them go their own way, but they don’t have the resources to survive on their own, so they keep raiding Trentino City for supplies. We barely have enough food to survive ourselves, so the raids are a real problem.”
“I have been moved by your plight,” announced Rex, when he noticed Svetlana had stopped talking. “I’d like to supply you with lazepistols so that you can defend yourself against these vile separatists.”
“But we have no money,” said Svetlana.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Rex. “As I say, I’m sure we can work something out. Wow, that is a lovely pendant.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Svetlana, regarding the azure stone. “One of the children found it in the hills not far from the separatist camp.”
“Really?” said Rex. “It’s beautiful. What kind of stone is that?”
Out of the Soylent Planet (A Rex Nihilo Adventure) (Starship Grifters Book 0) Page 21