Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (9 page)

However, if someone was an elite, and Gorku was certainly one such, 'suggesting' to the AI
that the
Spinward Crossing
would best be parked next to one's yacht was no big deal. The surprise was that Gorku
would take any direct interest at all.

“Yes, sir,” Wathaet said, aloud. “I'd be glad to have dinner with you. What time?”

“Twenty-three forty work for you?”

“Twenty-three forty it is, sir,” Wathaet said, pulling at his trans-collar, nervously.

“It's a deal,” Gorku commed, cutting the call.

“Your hair still isn't going down,” Fabet said.

“What's up?” Drast commed.

“I have to meet with... Niazgol Gorku,” Wathaet said.

“Oh,” Drast commed. “You poor doomed bastard. We are so screwed.”

***

“Are you enjoying the ndolul, Captain?”

Gorku was a short-nosed Glod like Wathaet. Wathaet wasn't prejudiced by any stretch of the
imagination but about the only snotty stuck-up long-nosed Koorko he got along with was
Drast so it was somewhat comforting.

The two very large waiters were less so. They looked as if they were suckled on asteroids.

“Great,” Wathaet said, taking another small bite. “Truly wonderful.”

“Well, when one is rich one can afford good chefs,” Gorku said. “And proper ingredients.
The blag has to be very fresh. I had a ship bring it in just this morning. The reason for
the query is that you don't seem to be enjoying it. Haven't eaten much. I assure you I do
not regularly descend to cannibalism and both the servers are quite gentle for Rangora.”

“No problem at all, sir,” Wathaet said, trying to take a larger bite. No chance. All four
stomachs were rejecting input.

“I am, of course, interested in the Dragon's Tears,” Gorku said, taking a sip of same.
“Lovely stuff. I assume you bought it on Earth.”

“Yes, sir,” Wathaet said, summoning just enough courage to defend never having to summon
courage again. “And the Terran we bought it from has a binding contract with us!”

“Five percent of all Dragon's Tears subsequently sold by him to any Glatun or Glatun
corporation,” Gorku said. “Would you like to hear the seven ways that I came up with to
get around such a contract? That was before my AIs became involved.”

“No, sir,” Wathaet said, his shoulders slumping.

“Dear, dear Captain Wathaet,” Gorku said, bobbing his head. “I am not trying to steal your
discovery. The same, however, cannot be said of my competitors. I am, rather, interested
in Terra. Of course, I am interested in many things, you understand. But Terra is one of
those. It has such potential and, of course, is quite close to Glalkod. Now that there is,
in fact, something of worth to trade the potentialities increase. I simply wish to ensure
that my companies are part of that potential. You understand?”

Most
of that potential
, Wathaet thought to himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“What are your near term arrangements?” Gorku asked. “In regards to further shipments of
Dragon's Tears. Not what you plan on doing tomorrow with your money. I was a spaceman
myself once.”

“I'm to meet with my contact on earth at a remote location on two-thirty-eight at
ten-forty,” Wathaet said, trying not to sigh. “He's to have most of a hold's worth of
Dragon's Tears.”

“Do you know how much of his world's supply that represents?” Gorku said. “We have
identified it as a plant product, probably a sap. A sap of what is the great question.
There are over nine dozen saps that are used for foods or industrial products on the
planet.”

“I do not, sir,” Wathaet said. “I will say that he asked me to involve people... such as
you in trade, sir. He wants our 'big boys' as he said involved so they might get the
government to intervene with the Horvath.”

“Over Dragon's Tears as a product, unlikely,” Gorku said, musingly. “But he's apparently
fairly smart. More likely if corporations are involved than, pardon, a small free trader.
Although you will get wealthy quickly you don't have the established contacts, the
methods... Hmmm.” Gorku wrinkled his snout in thought.

“If he's that smart, he's also not going to want to trade with a single corporation,” the
financier said. “And he'll want more than trash atacirc.”

“I think he wants to trade for credits and buy atacirc here on Glalkod,” Wathaet said.

“Not impossible to arrange,” Gorku said. “If we have regular trade with earth, going
around the Horvath of course, then establishing a commercial hypernode is a necessity.
Very well. Meet with your... contact. Make him aware that you have contacted corporations.
When you return we will have arrangements completed to establish regular trade. And as
contracted, you get five percent.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wathaet said.

“Less fees, of course,” Gorku said with another wrinkle of his nose. “And the government
will quickly designate it as a luxury good which means higher taxes. But I think we will
all make more than a bit of profit and that is to the good is it not?”

“Mr. Vernon,” Mr. Haselbauer said, folding himself into the seat across from Tyler.

“Mr. Haselbauer,” Tyler said, trying not to seem nervous.

“Weather's coming on fine, don't you think?” the farmer said as the waitress scurried up.
“Adele, I could do with a cup of your fine coffee if you please. And just a touch of maple
syrup.”

“It's getting hard to find, Mr. Haselbauer,” the waitress said, dimpling. “But I got some
in the back just for you.”

“The weather is indeed coming on fine,” Tyler said, scratching his head at the notes on
the pad.

One of the things he liked about Anna's was that there weren't any cameras in the
restaurant. So the Horvath, even if they'd noticed changes in one Tyler Vernon, couldn't
look over his shoulder at the notes he was making.

The problem was, trucks were tracked. Just about every tractor trailer in the US had a
tracker on it. And while the Horvath might not notice two trucks going to an open field in
the middle of the night,
might
didn't really cut it. He somehow had to get two trucks loaded, quietly, discreetly, then
to the pick-up point without any possibility of the Horvath noticing.

Then there was the product. He'd found it surprisingly hard to find two tractor trailer
loads of
barrels
of maple syrup. Much of the production was small farms and distilleries. The few large
distilleries sent most of their product out to distributors who then held it, in
individual sized packages, and doled it out through the year. That Mr. Haselbauer had had
six barrels was luck as much as anything.

It was driving him nuts.

“Strange doings in the area, though,” Mr. Haselbauer said as Adele brought him his coffee.
“Lots of land trading hands especially given that things are a bit hard off at the moment.
Didn't think that fine old lady Mrs. Cranshaw would ever sell her land. And she didn't get
near much for it, neither.”

Tyler tried not to chuckle. Turned out that most forensic departments, even going quite a
few decades back, tended to store 'questionable' samples from remains. And it was amazing
what modern forensic systems could tease out of samples from the fifties.
Natural causes my butt.

“And you aren't working near as much as you used to just a bit agone,” Mr. Haselbauer said.

“I've found some additional sources of income, Mr. Haselbauer,” Tyler said.

“Found a few in my time as well, young man,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “Known a few friends as
did as well. Some of them thought they could just stop workin', found such good additional
sources as they say. Thing about Revenuers, they look for such things. Know a few friends
didn't think on that. Don't get to talk much and I do sore miss the company. But Concord's
a long drive.”

Tyler looked up into blue eyes as innocent as a child.

“There are Revenuers and Revenuers, Mr. Haselbauer,” Tyler said, cautiously. “Some as have
people running about the hills looking for additional sources of income. Some as think
they can look for them from above. Waaay above.”

“
Them
Revenuers?” Haselbauer said, tilting back his John Deere cap.

“Could be, Mr. Haselbauer,” Tyler said, shrugging. “Because we are friends and have been
for some time, I shall give you my own piece of advice if you will take it from a young
man such as me. There may come some men from the city asking you what you would take for
your maple trees and distillery.”

“Have been,” Haselbauer said.

“Don't. Sell. And tell such as you may find appropriate the same, Mr. Haselbauer. I'd have
all such as you holding maple come spring. You will not
believe
what maple is about to be worth. Of course, this may involve some problems from...
Revenuers.”

“Them as you mentioned?” Haselbauer said.

“Them as I mentioned, Mr. Haselbauer,” Tyler replied. “May be some great trouble from
them.”

“They don't take part,” the farmer said, musingly. “They'll be wanting
all
.”

“Touch hard, that,” Tyler said. “Touch hard getting all if the
right
people are holding.”

“Hard in two ways young man,” the old man said. “Very hard.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyler said. “Very hard. Hard as granite. This may seem a touch uppity, Mr.
Haselbauer, coming from a newcomer such as I. But have you read your license plate lately?”

“Hmmm...” Haselbauer said. “This might be the most interesting winter since '56.”

“Fifty-six?” Tyler said.

“Don't make the history books,” Haselbauer said, smiling in fond remembrance. “But there's
some places up to the hollers do you dig down a bit you might find whole cars. Still
occupied. Don't care for Revenuers not a bit. Shall be making some calls.”

“
Discreet
calls,” Tyler said, desperately.

“Young man,” Haselbauer said, sternly. “You are quite a smart young feller and for being a
damned Rebel born you are a decent young man. Hard worker for a Reb. But when it comes to
dealing with Revenuers you
shall
accept that I am neither stupid nor senile.”

“Yes, Mr. Haselbauer. I apologize.” Tyler paused and thought for a moment then sighed. The
old man was about to grab his cojones and squeeze, he just knew it. But experience was
where you found it. “About them Revenuers, Mr. Haselbauer...”

***

“Wathaet,” Tyler said as the captain came down the cargo ramp. At least he was pretty sure
it was Wathaet. He was dressed differently and his Mohawk like hair was cut differently.

“My good friend Tyler,” Wathaet said, waving. “I hope that these friends of yours are very
closed mouth. We have the Horvath thinking we're still in Boston at the moment but they
are listening.”

“Don't talk much,” Mr. Haselbauer said, coming up out of the darkness.

“Captain Wathaet,” Tyler said. “This is Mr. Haselbauer. Few of his friends are driving the
trucks. We need to get started unloading.”

“Fabet! Grab the lift,” Wathaet said, stepping off the pad then looking up at Haselbauer.
“You're nearly the size of a
Rangora
.”

“Bigger,” Mr. Haselbauer said. Fabet squeaked from the darkness then Tom Haselbauer, who
was simply a younger version of his grandfather, came by dragging the grav-lift loaded
with three pallets of maple syrup.

“He couldn't hardly pull it,” Tom said. “Where you want it? And how do you get this thing
to lift higher?”

“Is all well?” Wathaet asked, nervously.

“Very well,” Tyler said. “Mr. Haselbauer has me feeling very screwed but other than that
it's great.”

“Twenty percent is cheap,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “I should have charged you more.”

“Did you talk to your big boys?” Tyler asked.

“I didn't have to ask,” Wathaet said. “I was more or less told they were taking over. But
we get our cut. They want to meet.”

“I guess that same warehouse you were at in Boston would do,” Tyler said. “We'll make all
this stuff official then.”

“What about the Horvath?” Wathaet asked.

“When the corporate reps arrive I'll explain why trying to steal this from us will work...
poorly if at all,” Tyler said.

“Don't give naught to Revenuers can I avoid it,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “So they got cannon
and machine guns and, I guess, rocks from up there? Don't give naught. Don't care for them
a bit. And they'll be hard done getting this... Dragon's Tears is it?”

“I've managed to get pretty close to a monopoly on all held stocks,” Tyler said. “That's
what I'll be trading for. There's about as much as can fill four ships your size. There
won't be
any
more until next spring. So the Horvath won't have anything to take. And taking it will
be... hard even then. Getting it is hard and the people that collect it... don't respond
well to threats. That's what I'll tell your corporate people. What they then do about that
is up to them. But if the Horvath think we're just going to cough it up... They're wrong.”

“They'll bomb your cities if you don't,” Wathaet pointed out.

“Don't care for cities, neither,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “Where do you think Revenuers come
from?”

***

“We are encountering some resistance to sale of lands, Mr. Vernon,” Lyle said. He still
had a very satisfied look. The charges for arranging the transactions had been...
astronomical.

“Good,” Tyler said. “Then stop the purchases. I think we went in fast enough that most of
the land and distilleries didn't get run up in cost that much. And anyone who is holding
out for what we've been offering it's because they like what they're doing. I'd like you
to arrange a discreet surveillance of Mrs. Cranshaw, by the way. When she realizes what
happened to her I'm going to have one very nasty and devious old lady with, apparently,
access to exotic poisons, after my butt.”

“Yes, sir,” Lyle said, making a note.

“If worse comes to worse we can slide the information your consultants found to an ME and
let things take their course,” Tyler said. “So what percentage of the total crop do I
have?”

“About sixty percent of land currently in maple sugar production,” Lyle said. “In addition
there is land currently in white pine and other timber farms which comprises an additional
twenty percent of the total land area where sugar maple is harvestable. This comprises...
well, a goodly bit of Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and the rural areas of
Ontario. It is, I checked, the largest land purchases in recent history. I am still,
obviously, curious as to your obsession with maple sugar. Not to mention where the money
came from. Frankly, it's too much to be absolutely illegal and given the companies who
wrote the checks...”