Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (7 page)

“Yes, sir,” Tyler said. He'd heard that about Haselbauer as well. “Just rather not have
anyone listening in on our conversation. Some people can listen to them even if they're
turned off.”

“Ayup,” Haselbauer said, narrowing his eyes and adjusting his ballcap. “What have you
gotten yourself into, young man?”

“Simple trade, sir, simple trade,” Tyler said. “The thing is, I need to buy some barrels
of maple syrup. But I need it to look as if I'm
not
buying them. I don't need anyone knowing my business.”

“That's an odd request, young man,” Mr. Haselbauer said, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, sir,” Tyler said, shrugging. “It's got a bit to do with the Revenuers.”

“Ah!” Haselbauer said, his face going hard. “
Them.
You need not say more. When do you need it?”

“I'd like to do it like this...”

***

“There's a space-ship landing in Homer's Field,” Tyler whispered to himself in wonder as
the stars were occluded.

The sky was clear and bright with a thin crescent moon. What the locals still called a
smuggler's moon. New Hampshire had, back in the day, been a major supplier of corn whiskey
to the lowland folks. Back when people considered a tax of fifteen percent on their hard
work of running a still to be a slap in the face. There was more than one meaning to the
state's motto.

A shiner's moon was gibbous, half full, to full. That was when you could see well enough
by night to get the still running and the mules with corn up to the hollers. Up in the
hollows of the hills the smell of the distilling was caught and held, keeping the Revenue
Agents from finding you. Making shine.

To bring it down to the city folk with their silver you needed good dark to sneak past
those Revenuers. A smuggler's moon.

“Do you have the stuff?” Wathaet whispered as he stepped off the cargo ramp.

“Six barrels of first quality Dragon's Tears,” Tyler whispered back. There was no point to
it, nobody was moving this time of night and Homer's field was back off the road. But the
whole thing did have the feel of a drug deal. That was fine by Tyler. Granda had had a few
stories about slipping past Revenuers here and there. Family tradition was being upheld.

“Awesome!” Fabet said, dragging something that looked like a cross between a broom and a
forklift.

Tyler opened up the back of the truck and started to roll one of the barrels off onto the
ground.

“Got it,” Fabet said, sliding the device into place. He carried the six hundred pound
barrel away through the air.

“Anti-grav,” Tyler said with a sigh. “I want.”

“Might be able to do something about that if this stuff takes off,” Wathaet said. “By the
way when my head finally cleared I felt screwed.”

“Come on,” Tyler protested. “You're trading trash for something you're going to make a
fortune on. And on that subject, we need to talk.”

“What?” Wathaet asked. “You want my firstborn?”

“No,” Tyler said. “I want your corporations.”

“You want me to give this up?” Wathaet said. “No
way
!”

“Come back in about thirty of our days,” Tyler said. “I'll have two of our heavy trucks
loaded with Dragon's Tears. That's about enough to fill your cargo hold. But between now
and then you need to contact your corporations. I'm going to get as much of a control on
this market as I can. I am, hereby, willing to contract that the ship
Spinward Crossing
, crew thereof, will get five percent of any trade in Dragon's Tears in which I engage
with other parties. If
they
will, upon determining that there is an economic worth to Dragon's Tears, engage with
major Glatun corporate partners for further trade. Bottom-line, you get five percent of
all the Dragon's Tears I trade for the rest of your life. Well, split however you split
stuff. If I'm trading with multiple corporations I can get more than
you're
going to get me. Right?”

“Trade for
what
?” Wathaet said, thoughtfully. “I mean, you guys are trading for atacirc. Wow, I get five
percent of all the atacirc you guys buy? No way!”

“Think I'm just going to trade for atacirc?” Tyler said. “I'm not sure how to do it but
I'm going to trade for whatever you guys use as currency, and not cheap, and then
buy
atacirc. New stuff that's not
crap
!”

“You guys don't have a hypernode point on the whole damned planet,” Wathaet said.

“Then the first thing I'll trade for is a hypernode link!” Tyler said. “Wathaet, we've got
a Horvath ship sitting on our
necks
. We need your big guys to sit up and take notice. That's not going to happen, sorry,
because a small-time free-trader got lucky. It will if
they're
making the profits. Think about it. Especially since sooner or later the Horvath will
find out about this. And then they'll cut us
both
out. In my case, probably cut up. They'll take the m... Dragons Tears, trade it to your
big corporations and
you'll
be back to trading with primitive planets for coconut shells and 'folk art.'”

“All transferred,” Fabet said. “Hey, can I...”

“No!” Wathaet said. “That last point has merit I'll admit. I'll think about it.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Tyler said, going to his front seat and pulling out a jug. “Look, I
know we're not contracted on this, but... That primitive folk art? Could I, uh, buy it
back from you?”

“Hell, yeah,” Wathaet said, hefting the jug. “For this? Sure. I don't get the night
painting, anyway.”

“The painter was kind of cracked,” Tyler said. “It's the night sky the way he saw it.”

***

Tyler started at the tap on his window and sat up, rolling down the window.

“Were you here all night?” Jeff asked, looking around the secure garage.

“I had Ireland's worth of atacirc in the back,” Tyler said, wiping his eyes and yawning.
“What was I going to do, sit at
home
with a shotgun on my lap?” He set the shotgun on the floor.

“Not to mention what you had up front,” Jeff said, his eyes wide. “Is that... ?”

“Yeah,” Tyler said, getting out. “And two Goyas, a Matisse and some Italian guy from the
Renaissance. I couldn't fit the Venus. Wathaet said he'd store it for me off-planet. I'd
appreciate it if AT&T would do me the same service
on
planet. Lord knows I'm not going to keep them in my house. Maybe Starry Starry Night.
It'd look great in the kitchen.”

“Well, come on up to the conference room,” Jeff said. “We'll get some coffee in you.”

“A donut would be nice.”

***

“Gentlemen, welcome,” Rayl said, nodding at the executives gathered in the shield room.
“Sorry for the crowding but I think this is the appropriate venue. By arrangement with Mr.
Tyler Vernon we have a rather large quantity of atacirc available. AT&T will be taking a
ten percent cut on all trades. We will be bidding by lot which will be, pardon, a case by
case basis.”

“How many?” an Asian asked.

“Twenty-six cases,” Tyler said. “All the
Spinward Crossing
could fit in my pick-up. It was up to the roof. They're hauling them up here at the
moment. There was a problem of spoofing the internal cameras so the Horvath wouldn't
notice.”

“Twenty-six!” the man had a British accent. “Bloody hell! I don't suppose you'd like to
tell us what you're trading?”

“I'll let the term 'proprietary' hang in the air,” Tyler said, sipping his coffee.

“The atacirc we are getting is, of course, not consistent,” Rayl said. “As soon as it is
delivered you will be given an opportunity to examine each case and decide what it is
worth and then we'll get the bidding started.”

***

“I think they went a little crazy off that one case nobody could find any faults in,”
Tyler said, riffling through the checks. They were the big kind so people could fit all
the zeroes.

“Feeling a bit stunned?” Rayl asked in a contented tone. He was going to come out of this
smelling like a rare hybrid rose. He'd just made a fair bit of AT&T's profits for the
quarter in one day's work.

“It's not every day that a guy becomes an instant billionaire,” Tyler said. “Multi...
multi-billionaire. In fact, I don't think anyone has ever become a multi-billionaire in a
day.”

“So what are you going to do with it?” Jeff asked. “And is anyone else really in the mood
for a drink?”

“Champagne would be about right,” Weasley said. “Tyler's buying.”

“I am in a mood for a drink,” Tyler said. “But first I need to see a lawyer. Besides the
tax implications, which are going to be large, I've got some stuff to buy. I'll need to
take a rain-check.”

“Fabet!” Wathaet commed as they cleared the gate. “Fabet! Is he in the Dragon's Tears
again?”

“Don't think so,” Drast replied. “I locked it up.”

“Did you get the jug?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, hell,” Wathaet said as a customs cutter approached.

“Ship
Spinward Crossing
. Heave to and prepared to be boarded.”

“We're getting hit by the nosies,” Wathaet commed. “Just stay cool, man.”

“It's all good,” Drath replied. “There's no special import duty on this stuff.”

“There will be if they see Fabet.”

***

“You seem to be in compliance with all applicable regulations,” the customs bot said,
dubiously. “You are, however, officially notified of note of seizure by the Onderil
Banking Corporation for non-payment of mortgage on the
Spinward Crossing
. And you owe back payment for parking orbit charges of four hundred and eighty-four
credits on Glalkod Station.”

“I don't have that on me,” Wathaet said. “I've got two and a half pounds of gold...”

“Checking. That is acceptable to prevent immediate lock-down. Full payment is required
before leaving parking orbit. Your ship is... required to go to holding area Z-A-Four
pending further determination.”

“I have thirty days to challenge the seizure order,” Wathaet said. He knew that one like
the back of his hand.

“Correct. Your ship cannot be seized for thirty days. However, it will be held in orbit
until full payment is made of back charges on mortgage including any appropriate penalties
and unpaid parking including levied fines.”

“Fine, fine,” Wathaet said. “But I've got thirty days, right?”

“That is correct,” the robot said, spitting out some forms and handing them over. “You are
free to move to... Holding Area Z-A-Four. Have a nice day.”

***

Wathaet didn't even want to open up his hypernode link. He knew what it was going to look
like. But he had to call a cab to get to the station since they wouldn't even let them
dock
!

“Captain Wathaet, this is Agent Girinthir representing the Onderil Banking Corporation...”

As soon as his hypernode link was open
everybody
he owed money to knew it and their bots went to work.

“I've got to make trade before you can get paid,” Wathaet commed back. “As soon as I can
move my cargo you'll get paid. I confirm that I have been contacted. Any contact in less
than one week's time will be defined as harassment.”

“Very well, Captain Wathaet,” Agent Girinthir replied. “I see that you have officially
accepted note of seizure. Your ship will not be...”

“Got it,” Wathaet commed. “We're done. Goodbye. Damnit.”

That was a lot of bots.

“Captain Wathaet, this is the Lrdrgl Company. You are three months behind on your...”

“Damn!” Wathaet said, closing the call. “Vauroror Taxi...”

“Captain Wathaet, this is the...”

“DAMN!”

***

Fortunately, the taxi-bot was programmed to take metals in trade. That was one of the
reasons he used Vauroror. They took any form of exchange and no questions asked.

On the other hand, he couldn't take the tubeway. He'd checked and all his bank accounts,
even the ones he thought nobody knew about, were levied and emptied. Any money going in
those was down a black hole never to return. So anything that required a hyperpay was out.

That meant walking. Fortunately they didn't charge for air for five days or the security
bots would see if he could breathe vacuum.

It took him about thirty minutes to reach Kolu's. When the door dilated he took a deep
whiff. What a fine perfume. And all the usual suspects were lined up at the bar.

“Wathaet!” they chorused. “Where's my money!” “You owe me a round, you welshing bastard!”
“That corbot you sold me was defective!”

“Glad to see you guys, as well!” Wathaet said. “Be with you in a minute!”

“You have a hell of a lot of nerve showing your face in here!” Kolu bellowed from behind
the bar. “Where's my fifty credits?!”

“I have something better,” Wathaet said cheerfully.

“This had
better
be good,” Kolu said, suspiciously. “Let's just say that the Gordont fire gems didn't
exactly take off. Especially since they all
went out
the day after you shipped out!”

“This is good,” Wathaet said, sitting down and setting a bulb on the bar. “Put some in
some water. Just a bit. I
should
let you try it straight.”

“Be a fine day when something can get
me
drunk,” Kolu said, pouring a bit of the syrup into a cup and sniffing.

“What
is
this stuff?” he commed a moment later. He couldn't talk because his snout was stuck in
the cup.

“Dragon's Tears,” Wathaet said. “It's a rare and precious viand from a previously
undiscovered planet.”

“Like you'd take the chance on going through an unchecked gate,” Kolu said, shaking his
head. “Damn, it's got a
kick
, don't it?”

He pulled out a bunch of shot glasses, put a drop of syrup in the bottom of each then
filled with water.

“Here,” Kolu said, sliding the shots down the bar. “Try this stuff and see what you think.”

“What is it?” Ingr asked, suspiciously.

“Dragon's Tears,” Wathaet said. “Try it. It'll put hair on your back. Sorry, Gurcaur.”

“Screw you, Wathaet,” the mangy Glatun said, taking a sip. “Holy Hell!” he added, dropping
the shot. “Another if you please, bartender. That is
fine
stuff.”