A Future We'd Like To See 1.32 - Profit and Tradition By Twoflower (Copyright 1993) Port Hades isn't that bad of a place to live. Heck, I've lived there and worked there for most of my life. I have quite a few friends there, and a share in the Port, like the rest of us honest businessmen there. Of course, there is the small factor that we're not technically in Terran space. This is actually very good, because it makes life easier on us... it's tariff-exempt, tax-free commerce at its best. Yes, there is the other side effect of a sort of lawlessness, but if you look at it my way, there are no laws here -- QED, you can't have lawlessness without laws. Sure, occasionally people are killed or turn up missing and cargo can be hijacked and taken lord knows where, but that's just part of everyday business life here. It's a bit harder, but yields a higher profit. I'm a Saren, so profit is always on my mind... I suppose its bred in the blood, but I try to avoid profitable situations if they also conflict with my morals. It's not hard to have morals out here, you just need a different kind of morals. Ripping someone off is not cool at all, since it's not nice and they can come back to blast you if they find out. I don't need to worry about the killing bits, because I operate a bar; the worst that can happen is failure to pay bar tab, and if the situation gets too serious, I just consult Edward. Edward runs the Mercenaries Local right next door. There's also Nad Quayle and his family down one ring in the Port. MurfTech has a factory branch out here, where labor is cheaper... there's also Doc Holiday WAY down the Port, in the Infirmary. Injured? He'll patch you up good as new. Monk fixes up ships, not people, but provides an equally important service. There are also the freelance traders that frequent the port... Ookie Panookie, Rap Scallion, Johnny Trigger, even that nice girl Samantha from Port Freedom a sector or two over. And lastly, me, Emerald, green-clad manager and bartender of the Emerald Saloon. We're one big happy family. Like all families, we have traditions. Breakfast, for instance. I pull out the talking toaster and we all have a light meal in the morning before going about daily commerce. We've got traditional table seating arrangements and everything, very ritualishishish. "Keep the waffles comin'," Edward murbled through forkfuls of frozen waffle. I popped a few into the toaster. "Fattening up, Eddie?" I asked. (He only allowed me to call him Eddie. Anybody else usually would end up with thier knees bending the wrong way.) "I've never seen you this hungry before." "Some guy hired me to hijack some tech shipment from the HAAFF," Edward replied. "Gotta tank up, in case I have to miss lunch. How come you're not eating, Nad?" "Oh, tish tosh, had a bit too much last night," Nad said, adjusting his traditional yellow tie. "The kids just showed up last night with some cockamamie excuse for being gone for a year. Kids today. One of the few things in my life that can't be controlled with dynamite other than my wife." "Yeah, how is Jane?" Monk asked, poking his usual breakfast of toast and eggs around the plate. It's funny, he usually plays with his food for 5.6 minutes before taking a bite. Maybe, when he was very young, toast and eggs killed his father. "She's fine," Nad said. "Still insists on going to that knife-throwing competition over at Port Wolf, even though we don't have enough money for public transit." "Quit rubbin' it in," Monk grumbled. "I told you I'd have your lousy ship fixed by next week. I've gotta back order, some big time franchise trader got his ass kicked and needs patchups." "If it's a matter of money, I can always send Fuse down to lean on you a little," Nad calmly suggested. Funny thing about Nad, his threats were so soothing that you'd have to hear them twice to catch thier real meanings. "No, just order-of-arrival. He arrived first," Monk clarified, running the gauntlet and finally having a bite of his toast. Doc Holiday just grunted. He's not a morning person, that that's usually all he contributes to the breakfast banter. "This seat taken?" said a skinny-sort of female human, approaching the breakfast table. This was very odd, because I thought the CLOSED sign was hung on the window. I keep the place closed for breakfast so we won't be disturbed. "I'm sorry, we're closed," I smiled to the business type person. "We'll open in about twenty minutes for breakfast, however, if you'd like to come back then." "I was told that most of the business operators in the port meet here, yes?" she said, opening her briefcase. "We're about 90% of the Port Hades Business Council, yes," I replied, letting the others continue eating. "We all have an equal share in the port. Are you here on official Port Hades business?" "Yes, I am. I've come to offer to buy Port Hades off of you.... I represent Macroware incorporated?" The sounds of eating stopped abruptly. "I'm prepared to make you an offer," she continued, handing over a paper. I cut through the legalese and moved to the price tag. My, that's a lot of zeroes. * Now, whenever something big like this comes up (although nothing this big has ever come up before), we traditionally gather the Council together for a meeting. Naturally, I provide the Emerald Saloon as a meeting point. Why not make some money on the side? Plus, it's more homey than any other shop or business in the Port. "Why would anybody want to buy us out?" Doc shouted over the running argument. I pulled some more buggls off the taps and listened in. "We're out in the middle of nowhere. The only kind people that deal with us are either scum or crooks or both." "I prefer the term Legitimate Businessmen," Edward suggested in an only partially threatening way. "Whatever," Doc waved off. "Why would Macroware, some bigwig gazillion credit corp want to buy us out?" "I'll tell you why," Max said, chomping down on his cigar. "MurfTech. We're one of Macroware's biggest competitors, and Port Hades is one of our best factory plants and office blocks 'cuz of the lack of taxes and crud like that. Why not get rid of one of your competition's gold nuggets and take it for yourself, getting back twice the money you put into it originally? Hey, I'D jump at an opportunity like that." "Actually, selling wouldn't be so bad," Nad commented, assuming his usual Calm, Cool and Deadly pose, flipping a credittoken in the air. "Jane's been pushing for us to move out of this seedy port. It's not good for the kids. I say they're teenagers now, I don't think they're terribly impressionable, but she's insisting they need a healthier view of life." "Where does she want to move to?" "Oh, downside Yttia, urban sector." "Gee, THERE'S an improvement," Doc grumbled. "Whatever. Let's sell and leave this dump behind us." "Forget you, MurfTech will NOT withdraw its holdings--" "I can always move the Union somewhere else, but you see, it's all a matter of location, location, location--" "If everybody else splits, I'm gonna have to, 'cuz nobody'll bring thier ships here in the first place, much less busted up ones--" "AHEM!" I shouted. Everybody piped down, except Doc, but he's new. Nad bapped him one, and he shut up. "I've run this business for about four-fifths of my life," I related. "I've had some downtimes, yeah, but I've stuck it out, and I feel there isn't a better place to be right now. The Port has a rep, that of being a useful haven for the enterprising trader or indie. We're on a gold mine, no matter how big MacroWare's check is, no matter how sluggish business may be at the moment. We'd be idiots to give the place up. I certainly will NOT be leaving." Silence hung over the room, which is good, because that's usually what its supposed to do. Then Doc stood up. "Forget it," he said, putting out his cigarette. "I've been here two months and had worse business than any other colony I've been. You guys are just too efficient at killing. There's nothing left to patch up. I've had it, this place is worthless as far as I'm concerned. I'm packing it in and going home. Mark my words, if you wanna keep what's left of your holdings, you'll pack up too. This place is sold as far as I care." "You can't sell without a joint Council vote," Max said, getting back into the argument. "And you can't have one of those until two days after the proposition is put forward. Port Hades Business Council Doctrine, page four, section B, paragraph two." "Well, we know the purple Smurf can memorize," Doc said, shrugging and loping out of the bar. "SMURF?" Max yelled at him, starting to get up on the table and pounce on his back. Nad and Monk knew an enraged Murfle when they saw one, and cautiously grabbed an arm each. "COME BACK HERE AND CALL ME A 'SMURF' AGAIN, WHY DON'T YOU?!?" "Max, please, you're scuffing up the table," Nad commented in distaste. Max scowled and slumped back into his seat, grumbling. "Now I'd suggest that we all head back to work for now and mull it over. We can't reject it or sell until two days time. And please, let's not resort to petty bickering! We're proud residents of the Anarchy Zones. Resort to backstabbing and treachery instead. Sheesh, some people have no ethics." * I couldn't sleep that night. I even tried the traditional Saren Sleep Chant, ("Early to bed makes for alert morning salesmen and higher afternoon profits") but it didn't work very well. I tried some of that red stuff with the Q on the bottle, but it just made me kinda woozy, and I had to take a Soh-BER-U-Yp pill to keep from throwing up. At first I thought that the whole idea of selling the Port was a joke. I mean, Port Hades had been in business for two decades, and had served to the elite in the underground. Heck, I had signed black-and-white holos on the walls of the Saloon to prove it. "Try the apple pie, it's the best! -- Nick S." "Whenever I get a chance to sneak out, I always visit the Emerald Saloon! -- President D." "The Emerald Saloon has too much satanic imagery. -- C. Larson." It's been a great business. Wait, that's past tense. It IS a great business. Sure, business itself has been slacking off a bit, but that's understandable, since the whole galaxy is in a bit of a recession. Less cargo convoys to blow up or loot, fewer black market goods, less information for sale. These things come and go. Really, the only person here diehard in selling is Doc. He's got every right to be bitter, though... the Infirmary doesn't get very much business. Either someone gets thier revenge, or they don't bother. Very efficient, somewhat admirable in a way. But if he convinces everybody else that the Port is a deathtrap... Well, that won't happen. It can't, really, I mean nobody'd SERIOUSLY sell the port, would they? Beepity beep, my door chimed. I shrugged, figuring since I couldn't sleep, a little chitchat would be nice, and pulled on a bathrobe. I tapped the keypad. "Hey," Max grunted in my general direction, wandering in and having a seat near the ashtray to light up. You've got to hand it to Murfles, they really can cut through the smalltalk. "I've been thinking about this selling thing," Max said, breaking the end off a cigar. "You know MurfTech wants me to do whatever it takes to keep from losing our branch office here." "I was thinking about it too," I said, grabbing a chair and turning it backwards to have a seat. (I'm too used to barstools.) "The only problem is that Doc is sort of sour grapes... if he convinces everybody that the Port isn't a good source of income, everybody will vote to sell. These are Anarchy Zone residents, after all, some of them Saren. We've got credits in our blood, unfortunately." "Don't you?" "Well, yeah, but I try not to go after profit if it means violation of ethics and all." "Ethics are dead," Max concluded, puffing away. "We wanna keep the port, we go about it by tradition. A-Zone tradition. Port Hades tradition. None of this lollygagging and bickering. We gotta go straight for overhandedness." (Normally that'd be underhandedness, but out here, underhandedness is so common that... well, you get the pun. No need to belabor it.) "I'm not sure... what did you have in mind?" "I think a little investigation is needed into Mr. Holiday's background. I figger that if he was revealed to be a Macroware plant, everybody'll feel they've been conned and autovote not to sell." "What if he isn't?" "Whether the evidence is there or not, my boys can find it," Max grinned. "I don't know if that's the right thing to do." "Come'n, Emerald, you've lived here since the Port was built. I've only been here for a few years and I know how things work. This is on the up and up as far as typical business concerns. If Doc's got a problem with it, he gets a few of his boys on ours, we tumble, someone gets revenge and that's the end." "It doesn't HAVE to be that way. Selling the Port's absurd, everybody knows that. Let's just see how the vote turns out, okay?" "I already know," Max said, putting out the cigar. "Doc riles up the locals. Heck, he's already started. Tells 'em that odds are the Port'll go under soon. Why not leap at a check and run instead of leaving without a dime?" "What's a dime?" "Old saying. Point is that if we don't cap this off, it'll burst and both of us'll be out of a job. You don't wanna lose your Saloon, do you?" "NO! No. But still..." "These're A-Zoners. You're one too, even if you have some sort of duty code. They follow the breadline. If the breadline leads somewhere else, well, you know the rest." I paused. Not really for effect, just for time to think. "What do I need to do?" I replied, in a sort of small voice. "You've got connections, 'cording to those blasted wall holos. I need a data cutter to poke around Doc's systems and plant some things we'll prep." "I can call him tonight," I said, looking away. "Primo. Gimmie a buzz when you've got him online, my boys'll wire him the stuff to plant. Should take 'em a quickie time, just enough 'till the vote. There is one other thing." "What?" "Well, nobody'll believe it comin' from me. Claim it's doctored, you know. But you, you've got a rep. They respect you. All you gotta to is play along, pretend that you were poking around some night and bumped into a disk we'll give you. It's all downhill from there." I nodded, trying to keep my neck from doing so. "Great. That's all I need, sister. Drop a line when you get your buddy on the link, okay? Oh, and green suits you," he commented, nodding to the bathrobe. He crunched the cigar down in the tray a final time, and plodded out. * I ignored the last minute chattering in the Saloon come vote day. Miss business suit was busy standing off to the side, soaking up the chatter to get advance wind of the results, papers and pens ready. I palmed the small floptical Max gave me an hour ago, hoping that sweat can't damage disks. The clock rang out a digitized chime, and the chattering gradually ceased as the shopkeepers took places at the Saloon's largest table. "Umm, before we vote, I think I really ought to bring something to light," I said, keeping a careful eye on Max. He nodded slowly. I noticed something next. It's somewhat like those moments when you're looking at some weird pattern of dots, and if you change your viewing angle, they form a 3-D image asking to register a shareware 3-D program. Namely, I noticed the other 40-odd people in the room. Of course, they were on the walls, and in black and white. Ah, what the hell. I accidentally dropped the disk down the disposal chute, smirking a bit as Max bit clean through his cigar. "I'd just like to make a few statements before everybody decides," I said, speaking up over frantic coughing up of ash. "This Port was founded on two things. The foremost, of course, was profit. If there wasn't any profit in it, the Port never would have been created. "However, there was another reason : because it wasn't there. This was one of the first major trading posts in the Anarchy Zones, a sort of trading middle finger at the Terran Confederation. It's got quite a history. Everybody in the A- Zones knows what Port Hades is, and they know where it is, and know that if you want quality goods and people that stand behind their word, you come here. See the faces on the wall? Famous people. People who have used the Port, liked it, and recommended it to thier friends. "So business is in a slump! We're still the most profitable Port in the sector. Our reputation speaks for itself. Now we've gotta decide if we'd like to demolish it for a quick buck. No, even worse : it won't be demolished, it'll become a huge CORPORATION outpost. Big business. The guys that love to drive us smalltime operators out of business. The people traders originally were FLEEING when the A-Zones were settled! "So Doc thinks we should leave. Well, his business has sucked majorly, but the A-Zone isn't the greatest place for medicine anyways. Everybody else has turned a profit, even if that has declined lately. If the recession crushes any ports, it'll be the others. We'll stand the test of time, not because we're good, or because we're better, but because we were FIRST. The one Port anybody can turn to." Silence jumped back into the fray and happily assumed its place, hanging over everything. "I'm finished," I said, embarrassed. "Come on, I'm new at spontaneous emotional speeches, bugger me if I don't have a closing." "Can we vote now?" Monk suggested. "I've got a backload of work downstairs." There was a consensus of nodding, and the little paper slips were distributed. * I had pumped in a bit of extra smoke. Not really to conceal anything, but because you had to tally votes in smoke-filled rooms. It's tradition. However, smoke tends to make me cough, so I wandered outside after voting my NO SELL to get some fresh recycled air. "Cute speech," Max said, wandering out to meet me. "I still say my way would have worked better." "You think it'll make any difference?" I asked him. "I mean, I'm no debater." "Coulda fooled me." "Think it'll turn the vote? It's sort of corny, that the last minute ditch speech will change everybody's minds." "Frankly?" Max asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm ready to pack my bags. I told you, they follow profit, and that check they're offering is more than a months profit each. I'd say we failed miserably. It was a good speech, though." "Vote's in," Monk said, poking his head around the corner. * "Okay, I've tallied it up," Edward said, pulling on his reading glasses. "I can say that I'm not surprised at the results." "Told you," Doc said, looking smug and leaning back in his chair. "It's for the best. This hole in the stars is a dump anyway. Nad, I need my stethoscope back before we pack." "We're not selling," Edward replied. "One vote for sell, the rest for not." "WHAT?" Doc exclaimed, chair tipping all the way backwards. "I'm not surprised," Edward said. "Come on, was anybody seriously expecting anything else?" "Yeah, I mean, come on. I think the fact that I have five more ships to get through shows we're not dead yet," Monk replied. "But I thought that Doc had everybody convinced!" I protested. (Why am I protesting this?) "What about going after the cash and profits?" "We are," Nad replied, all teeth. "Come on, we're going great here, recession or not. Nice speech, though, although it really takes more than reputation to make a pretty penny." "What's a penny?" "Just an old saying." "Terribly sorry, miss," Edward said to the businesslady, taking off his reading glasses. "But it looks like the decision is to not sell Port Hades." The lady nodded. "I'll inform my bosses at Macroware. They won't be happy." "I'd be surprised if they were. Hey, Emerald! How about some whackbuggls all around?" "In celebration of our victory?" "No, because I'm thirsty," Edward said, confused. A-Zone logic. Gotta love it.