by Ginger Booth
“Early mentor of mine,” Cope explained. “My first patent is from Sex Toys.”
Abel and Jules looked suitably appalled, Sass and Clay amused.
Ben grinned. “I need this story!”
Cope shot him a quelling glower. “Not in a business meeting, you don’t.”
But Carver looked up the patent on his tablet. Ben reached for his own, but Cope slapped his hand away.
Expression partially masked by fingers to his brow, Carver noted evenly, “You have a great many patents, Mr. Copeland.”
“Call me Cope.”
“Cope. Family tradition, eh? Amanda van Beek?”
“My grandmother. Her patents are public domain.” She died before Cope was born. But he was proud of her, a groundbreaking engineer among Mahina’s first settlers.
“Not quite,” Carver stated, still following records. “I’m confused. Aren’t you her last surviving heir?”
“Assuming my uncle’s dead,” Cope agreed. “Safe bet.”
“Y-yes. He died when you were 16. Of…cancer complications.” This Carver was a tactful guy. Cope suspected his uncle died of cirrhosis. “But why didn’t you inherit the patent?” His fingers continued onward to answer his own question. “Ah.”
“I lived in Northwest Juvie then,” Cope admitted. “Carver, this isn’t relevant. Grandma put the ozone spire patents in the public domain for the good of all Mahina. The moon owns them, not me.”
“No,” Carver corrected him again. “Mahina is granted free use of the inventions in perpetuity, for the atmo spires. All other applications pay royalties.” He made a note of it. “We can follow up with a lawyer. I doubt you can recover back payments for twenty years. But you can recover it going forward. Ah, but does that income stream go to Spaceways? Personally, you’d be set for life.”
Cope snatched up the tablet on the table before them. “What else is that patent good for?” He didn’t care about the money. Which spoke volumes about why Spaceways needed a business guy at the helm.
Carver answered the question for the onlookers’ benefit, since Cope was reading for himself. “The first license leveraged it to decontaminate Phosphate Mine 1.”
That was the death trap that nearly killed Nico as a baby. If he’d had that money then, he never would have gone to Denali or…
Abel kept score. “Carver, you’ve already found over half a billion credits for Spaceways. Plus personal millions for Cope.”
“Ah, those weren’t my ideas,” Carver reminded him. “I just saw the patent – never mind. My proposals are on the income side. Your biggest income stream is Denali slavery –”
Cope nearly broke his tablet tossing it back on the end table. He sat bolt upright. “Not slavery!”
Carver countered firmly. “My proposal. First, the repayment rate, half their pay, is slavery, and destitution. You’ll destroy not only them, but the entire Mahina economy at that rate.”
Abel defended, “Denali chose the rate.”
“And they’re dead wrong.” Carver shook his head bitterly and met Abel’s eye. “You and I know business, and money. If those immigrants are to succeed here, they need a minimum income to get on their feet. They need to spend on consumer goods, not pay Spaceways’ fuel tab. This expands the Mahina economy, creates jobs for them, builds homes and farms and schools. And once they’re living a middle-class life, then you tax them.”
“Agreed,” said Abel.
“Unilaterally, I would set the maximum repayment rate at maybe twenty percent. But only on income above six hundred a month.”
“Rego hell yeah,” Ben breathed.
“That needs to happen,” Sass agreed. “The repayment rate destroyed the Sylvan expedition. The Denali immigrants are mad as hell, and I don’t blame them.”
Cope nodded. “But that cuts our income.”
Carver plowed onward. “I suggest you don’t hold those indentures. Spaceways cuts the repayment rates first – because we know they’re destroying Mahina’s economy and creating a new slave class. And we do not want that.”
Cope burst out, “Remi says you’re a slave-owner!”
Ben murmured, “Don’t attack the guy. I want to hear his idea.”
But Carver faced Cope. “Not anymore. Let’s stop and clear the air. My father bought me slaves when I was twelve. Fifty, scraped from the bottom of the barrel, the cheapest he could find. Plus a rotten tunnel barely big enough to house them, no room for crops. If I succeeded, I earned enough for college and entered the bureaucracy. If I failed, tough luck. Because Father couldn’t afford to educate me.”
“Slaves. As your college savings,” Sass murmured in disbelief.
Carver spread his hands in entreaty. “Father was gullible. I learned from his mistakes. So, by age seventeen, I have healthy slaves, working decent jobs. The tunnel doesn’t leak. I’m in a relationship with my now-wife – one of my slaves. I spend my free time with her. Along comes Lavelle to ‘liberate’ them. My future. The girl I want to marry. And I’m seventeen and, well, my father’s son. Stupid.” He laughed.
“So I go with them to Hell’s Bells! And I watch out for my ex-slaves. Still. Now they’re my workforce, my wife, my kids. Family. They want to strike out on their own, I give them severance pay and throw a party. But most, they’re like the stretches you see in the streets of Schuyler. They weren’t educated to succeed in this new world. Noblesse oblige. It’s the cornerstone of Sagamore’s social order. I’ve kept my obligation to the souls I once owned. Until they choose to release me. Or die of old age.”
Carver waited, face open, for Cope to respond.
Cope checked the faces around him. Remi bought this story wholesale. Sass and Clay looked thoughtful. Abel and Jules got stuck on a teenager bedding his slave girl. Cope considered that part predictable.
Ben met his eye straight on. “Cope, he’s taking responsibility. Same as Josiah, same as you. Or me with Dad’s damned tenants in Poldark.”
Cope wasn’t ready to accept a slaver. “Moving on.”
Carver sighed, but nodded. “The indentures. After resetting the terms, I would package the obligations and sell them. Sort of like small-value bonds. Anyone can buy them. They receive the ongoing income instead of Spaceways.” He quirked a lip. “Good investment for college savings.”
“You can do that?” Abel blurted.
“Yes. And I sent out my usual feelers to test the market. Many settlers wish they could do more to help Denali, but they don’t know what. When I called your biggest creditor – Mahina Actual – I even pitched a discount originally. Spaceways repay ten percent over what you borrowed. They refused. Insisted on one for one. You have goodwill. You just need to reformat the debt to spread it around.”
Cope nodded slowly. He could probably get more creditors to accept fuel in repayment instead of cash, too. Though Sex Toys would likely insist on cash, or possibly these new bonds.
“My second pitch,” Carver plowed on. “Aloha Fret comes with me. I have a strong ground game, and no ships. You have ships and a weak ground game. I’ve been trying for years to get a firm commitment from Spaceways, Lavelle, or Gorky to visit Hell’s Bells once a month. I know I can increase my freight tonnage by a factor of six. But HB only produces raw metals and industrial equipment. The real prize is full trade with Sagamore itself. The pharmaceuticals alone would revolutionize Mahina. And Sagamore has one hell of a time keeping its growing population fed. But Mahina has fields, open-air farming. We can put those slave tunnels out of business.”
Cope shook his head. “We looked at that –”
Wait. That assumed hostile relations with Sagamore, and three weeks travel each way to HB, or pay through the nose to fuel the warp gateway.
“Free fuel, Cope,” Ben murmured. “That changes everything.”
“Could I please, please, have one monthly ship?” Carver begged. “Six months. Let me prove it to you.”
Abel asked, “Are you still a Sagamore citizen, Carver?”
“In good standin
g,” Carver agreed. “I never rebelled. So far as Sagamore is concerned, I was kidnapped as a child by terrorists. Our age of majority is eighteen. I went home to visit once before I moved to Mahina. And I can go again. I wouldn’t bring my wife.”
“And you’d handle port-side for us?” Ben asked wistfully. “Manage fuel and supplies?”
Carver nodded. “I’m happy to expand my operations. But I’m not sure what all you need.”
“Decontamination? Reception?” Sass pressed. “We arrive with thousands of immigrants and hand them over? Without just kicking them out to die. That part really bothers me. Clay and I arrived that way.”
“I know what we need,” Ben complained. “But I couldn’t stop the evacuation to tool up.”
Jules nodded emphatically. “A real welcome. Reception tent pavilions, Denali healers for triage.”
Sass added, “Sunblock, food, water, clothes.”
“Training,” Ben added. “How to use the toilets and sunblock, air protocols, money. They have nothing. They need everything.”
Carver nodded solemnly. “I hear you. But the situation has evolved. When our paddies arrive here now, the Sag community receives them. The Sanctuary community greeted their latest influx, yes? The Denali can and will do the same. It’s the money. We begin by fixing the money. You know who hires the most Sag immigrants? Other Sags. We must kick-start the Denali sub-economy.”
Jules nodded slowly. “Fix that, and I bet I can house them.”
Carver sat back, smile broadening. “What an exciting opportunity!”
To the engineer, it sounded boring as hell. “So Ben, can you hire people to do nothing but fly back and forth, back and forth, to Sagamore?”
“Zan,” Ben said instantly. “I don’t trust him here. Or on Denali. Sass has agreed to lead the evacuation next.” He gratefully bowed to her sitting down. “She shouldn’t have to put up with him again.”
“Thank you, Ben!” Sass crooned, heartfelt.
Abel sighed loudly and recrossed his legs. “We could just fire Zan.”
“Tempting.” Cope waived a hand. “Ben’s call. Clay? You’ve been quiet.”
“Your call,” Clay returned dryly. “But I like what I’m hearing. Carver plans to leverage the immigrant community. Which is all of us, old settlers and newcomers alike. On his resume, I especially liked his leadership role with the Sag chamber of commerce. As first mate, I’ve carried for Aloha Fret. An absolute joy to do business with, compared to the usual clown show.”
“Amen,” Ben breathed.
Cope sighed and considered Carver. “But you’re not ready to take over as president.”
Carver’s brow crumpled. “I don’t see how that could work. You need a transition period with anyone you bring on. I suggest we write a contract. Call it a trial merger, for our companies to become one for say, six months. Then we decide whether to make it permanent. I restructure your debt and Mahina-side reception. In return for monthly ships to Hell’s Bells, and later Sagamore. Gradually you’re freed to spend more time on R&D and less with me. And we go from there.”
“And your payment?”
“Reliable monthly freight service to Hell’s Bells,” Carver repeated doggedly. “And carry my mail to Denali.”
Cope gaped at him in disbelief. “People really bought that postage scheme?”
“Yes! I’m sitting on two million credits of Denali letters!”
Sass laughed musically. “I’ll carry your letters. Only to the ports, mind you. I won’t hire Denali mail carriers.”
“Exactly. That’s the point! I can arrange the ground game.” Carver spread his hands. “You people are amazing trailblazers. Adventurers! Inventors! I’m the reliable business guy who stays in Schuyler to raise the kids. A couple business trips to open doors for Abel on Sagamore and SO. I can help you!”
With that, at last Cope felt a connection to the guy. Cope had stayed home in Schuyler to raise his kids, Abel and Jules alongside him. While Ben and Sass sailed away, unwilling to give up the glory. Now the kids were grown, and the trio itched to ditch the mansion and rejoin Ben. He doubted Carver was ready to deliver all he promised. It wouldn’t be that simple. But he was sincere, smart, and he’d grow into the role. They all did.
Cope rose and extended his hand to shake. “Deal. Let’s make it work.”
49
Texan plastered hands and face against the dusty shopfront window to peer into what was Nathan Acosta’s dentist office, just like the tenant Tovik did on first meeting.
“That’s a bit rude,” Ben noted, knowing full well he’d have done the same at age 12.
Ben was nervous about this outing. He’d met Texan a couple times over the past few months, stilted affairs with all three dads – four with Nathan – plus the older kids and assorted Thrive-family, always in Mahina Actual. Amid the throng, the two of them didn’t get much chance to connect.
But the boy mentioned he’d never left the urb capital.
Ben couldn’t follow up at the time. He was leaving to test their third warp gateway, install it on Thrive One, and train Sass how to use it. Then he observed on her first evacuation run to Denali, straight through to their new Schuyler reception experience. With Jules, they put their hearts into training their new welcome crew once Carver lined up volunteers. Finally free today, Ben invited Texan to visit Poldark, just the two of them.
“No, it’s a yoga ashram,” Texan quipped.
“Smart-ass.” Ben smirked and glanced in, too. “Wonder if I should knock.”
“You own the place.” Texan quit peering and hauled open the door, eyes dancing in challenge. A handful of yogis within uncoiled from their cobras and other contortions as the door cowbell clanged. Their teacher bowed with prayer fingers.
“Uh, looking for Tovik,” Ben said sheepishly. “Ben Acosta. My son Texan.” He glanced anxiously at the boy as he claimed the relation. Their other Denali boy, Socrates, was an intense introvert. Ben feared Texan would display the same wince-worthy diffidence. But Texan waved, then bounded upstairs to the next level.
Literally. Today Ben gifted him his first adjustable grav generator. About the only setting the kid hadn’t tried was Earth-normal, the one he was supposed to use all the time.
Tovik’s voice boomed from above. “Ben! Be right down!”
The dentist waiting area sure looked different, swathed in busy fabrics above a rubbery floor. The decor reminded him of his daughter’s funky harem flop in town. Dad’s treatment room now served as someone’s bedroom. Where Benjy once played receptionist while he studied, a pseudo-pewter samovar offered tea, wafting exotic spices.
Three months had passed since Carver Cartwright joined the Spaceways team. His immediate slashing of indenture repayments impacted happiness levels moon-wide. The immigrants now disposed their income on pursuits like these, readily adapting to a cash economy once they had money to play along.
“Ben! You look great!” Tovik trotted down the stairs from the household above. “He’s your son?”
Ben nodded and called upstairs. “Texan? We’re in the back yard. Don’t annoy people.”
The men exited the building. Ben made quick work of repairing the leak in the greenhouse that occasioned the tenant visit. Texan bounced in, all eyes, to study the hydroponic setup and crops. But he’d spent his first creche years in a Denali farm tunnel. Within minutes, he ran ahead to check out the school playground.
“An academic,” Tovik noted. “I guess you don’t honor Denali ways? We wouldn’t know our parents at that age.”
“We introduced ourselves,” Ben returned. “We’re willing to be his family as much or as little as he chooses. Today he jumped at the chance to see the real Mahina, outside the creche. I don’t know that he’s interested in me.”
“I’m sure he is. Famous father. You were right, Ben. I took your suggestion, volunteered to lead in town instead of complain. They like that.” His brow crumpled in puzzlement, why the townies would accept a newcomer throwing his weight around.<
br />
“You saw,” Ben assured him. “Dad and I haven’t lived here in decades. We come visit, and they flock for our opinion. You want some more advice?”
Tovik nodded, lips pressed guardedly.
“Recruit a healer instead of yoga for the storefront. Poldark is small, but so are the neighboring villes. Dad visited each once a month, twice for the bigger two. We kept a balloon-tire van for a traveling dentist office. But he was the only medic around, so he handled whatever he could. It’s a good income, not a great one.”
And with Carver’s Sagtown Chamber of Commerce actively teaching Denali to organize, they now had a clearinghouse database to match newcomers to posted needs.
A smile leaked around Tovik’s grimace. “I’ll look into it. Thanks.” He thrust out his hand to shake, Mahina-fashion. “Did I do that right?”
Ben adjusted his grip and squeezed. “It’s a man thing. Firm pressure, but don’t break his hand. There, you got it.”
With a parting wave, he jogged down the back street to the school, mostly abandoned these days. Poldark children attended a satellite creche in one of the neighboring villes. Though a high school class might still lurk in the building.
Texan dangled from the monkey-bars, working his way across the dry moat. “This place is great! You built this?”
“Dad and me, yeah – Nathan, my dad. I hated going to school, because I didn’t fit in. Thought the other kids were dumb, and the teacher dumber still. Dad came up with this project to improve my attitude. ‘Life is what you bring to it, Benjy, not what you get out of it!’”
“You had a good dad!” The boy swung his legs for momentum, then launched himself to the far side. He easily landed in a crouch, bounced back up, and ran for the merry-go-round.
“Yeah. Still do.” Ben didn’t try to impart just how magical that was, that he’d reached age 40 and still had a living breathing father. The cosmetic changes to Mahina were plentiful. But that one difference, that settlers now lived to amass experience and pass on knowledge, felt like the crucial one to him. I still have Dad.
