Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering

by Gibson Michaels

  The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

  October, 3860

  J.P. Aneke, Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer of Starquest Aerospace and Chairman of the Executive Board of the Consortium of Industrial Management had just flown into Waston on his ostentatious 20-passenger corporate spaceliner from Nork on business. Starquest Aerospace business this time, oddly enough. Usually when he came to Waston, it was on Consortium business to give instructions to one member of Congress or another.

  Unlike all of his other trips here, this trip was a bit of a mystery to him. A week ago, an official communiqué from the embassy of the Imperial Germanic government in Nork City arrived at his office, requesting he make himself available to meet personally with a member of the imperial royal family at the Germanic embassy in Waston tomorrow morning. The message contained no specific details as to the reasons the German government was requesting his presence here — only that it was of paramount importance to Starquest Aerospace that he do so.

  Aneke sipped a glass of $500-a-bottle wine as he relaxed in the limousine taking him to the Regis Hotel, where he always stayed in the Presidential Suite whenever he was in Waston. Except this time, Aneke thought grumpily. The Presidential Suite was already booked and the hotel management certainly couldn’t be expected to boot out the richest man on Sextus, just to convenience Aneke at the last minute. Aneke wondered what the infamous Wild Bill Custis was doing in Waston? Nork was the financial center of the country. Waston was for politicians. If Custis needed a politician, he’d best talk to Aneke, as he owned almost all of them — at least all the ones who mattered.

  Aneke grunted at his own wit, and returned to pondering this mysterious invitation from the German government. He’d had some few business dealings with the Germans in the past, but never with any governmental agency and certainly never with any of their royal family. Cold, efficient, ruthless... that described every German he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter. Absolutely humorless, yet known for sausage, kraut and beer. Aneke appreciated the exquisite irony in that. It was no wonder they’d invaded France so often throughout history — there was no other way they could get a decent meal.

  Whatever this damned meeting is about, it better include at least a billion-dollar contract for Starquest, if I’m going to be forced to endure the Queen’s Suite for a night, thought Aneke. The stock market had taken a hit recently. A major player had sold short and evidently cleaned up when the market suddenly sagged. Aneke didn’t mind a person who manipulated the market like that… that was just how the game was played, but to do so without any prior warning to the big dogs just wasn’t kosher. Aneke’s agents still hadn’t identified the culprit.

  Aneke made a mental note to have Senator Fitzwater meet him tomorrow afternoon, after he finished this whatever the hell it is with the Germans. If Fitzwater’s Armed Services Committee investigation could pry something… anything out of Admiral Kalis that was even the slightest bit incriminating to the president, he’d have that bastard Buchwald impeached, and strung up by his balls!

  Aneke smiled to himself with that comforting thought. Refocusing, Aneke thought, Maybe I’d better spend a little time at least trying to memorize this royal fop’s unpronounceable name. It was beyond him how any civilization that shoved entire sentences into a single word had ever managed to develop past swords and catapults... and what they did to verbs was absolutely criminal.

  Aneke pulled out the communiqué and winced as he again looked at the name of the man he would be meeting on the morrow: Baron Dietrich von und zu Fürt.

  The pilots and fight crews of the hundreds of space fighters which had been assigned to all the carriers that went into mothballs at President Buchwald’s orders had initially been reassigned to various orbital forts and other space-based Fleet installations. Some received reassignment orders and moved on to other duty stations, while being replaced with others coming in on seemingly normal rotations. No one seemed to take particular notice of the fact that the pilots and crews rotating out were of Northern origins, while those replacing them were Southern in theirs.

  The older Lightnings and Mustangs were gradually replaced by newer Raptors and Demons. Units were shifted from one duty station to another, always a temporary assignment, as if no one quite knew what to do with all of the suddenly orphaned fighter wings. Wherever they were assigned, people bitched about overcrowded facilities, but before too long they were ordered out yet again.

  The constant reshuffling became commonplace and no one took particular notice of exactly where these units had gone off to, nor had many cared... just glad to be rid of them. Eventually, they loaded up onto transports and departed from their last duty station, with no one having been notified to expect their arrival… then, seemingly, just vanished into the depths of space without notice.

  As requested in the mysterious communiqué, J.P. Aneke arrived at the Imperial Germanic embassy in Waston precisely at 9:00 AM. A corporal in the service dress field-gray uniform of the Germanic Fleet Marines opened the rear door of Aneke’s limousine as soon as it stopped in the drive, at the side entrance of the embassy building. A sergeant at the door spoke in passable English as soon as Aneke exited the vehicle:

  “If you would please follow me, Herr Aneke,” and opened the door for him. The sergeant led him to an ornate elevator, where he pushed the call button. When the elevator arrived, both men entered and the sergeant pressed the button for the top floor. When the doors opened again, the sergeant gestured to the left, then opened a door on the right, nodding for Aneke to enter.

  “If you will please wait here, Herr Aneke, I will inform the baron of your arrival.”

  As he stepped into the room, the sergeant closed the door behind him, leaving Aneke alone to admire the distinctly European flavor of the décor. Fancy scrollwork and gold gilding enhanced virtually everything that wasn’t marble. Genuine European blue bloods invariably had no choice but to overdo the living hell out of everything… it was in their genes. It looks like a damned museum. At least the fire crackling in the hearth added some semblance of warmth to the otherwise ominously formal room.

  Within about five minutes, the door opened and a man entered. He was dressed in full royal regalia — black tunic edged in gold, starburst medals and iron cross at his throat, with a gold sash running shoulder to hip, and a gold stripe running down the side of each pant leg, disappearing into a set of tall black boots… with gold spurs, for God’s sake! The man himself appeared to be in his mid-30’s, just at or slightly under six feet tall, with a meticulously groomed dark-brown short beard matching his military-styled hair.

  “Herr Aneke,” the man spoke confidently. “I am Baron Dietrich von und zu Fürt. Thank you for coming.” The baron gestured towards the two large chairs set before the fireplace. “Please, be seated.”

  Aneke sat down, but the baron grabbed a crystal bell from off the mantel and rang it before seating himself in the chair opposite. As if he were already standing outside the door waiting for the sound of that small bell, a servant immediately entered carrying a silver serving tray with two large cognac snifters and an unopened bottle between them. Aneke wasn’t surprised by this, as Europeans never dived directly into business, but religiously observed the social graces first. How much more so, their nobility?

  The servant set the tray down on the small, marble-topped table between them, and turned slightly towards Aneke as he began to open the incredibly ornate bottle that appeared half molten gold and half sparkling diamonds. Aneke’s eyes naturally drifted towards the unusual decanter for a better look — and his breath caught in his throat.

  My God, that’s an actual 140-year-old Henri VI Dudognon. $5 million per bottle! Aneke had never tasted the most costly cognac in the universe, nor did he know anyone who had. Of course, as a billionaire himself he could have certainly afforded it, but at that price, it seemed overly ostentatious, even for him. What kind of wealth must a man possess, to serve a bottle of $5 million cognac just to open
a business meeting?

  The servant poured a perfect portion of the incredibly expensive cognac into each of the two snifters, capped the bottle and left. Both men reached for their cognac, but neither drank right away. Both were sophisticated enough to know one held the glass in the hands for six to ten minutes, allowing the cognac to warm sufficiently before finally sipping. Aneke had never seen a cognac with such a deep, rich brown color, which flashed a brilliant red in the light of the fireplace. This experience was going to be extraordinary, however their business discussions turned out. Although he was loath to admit it, even to himself, Aneke was impressed.

  “One thing I must admit about the French,” said the baron. “While I’m not impressed with much of anything else about them, they do truly excel at producing exquisite things associated with one’s mouth. Food, wine, cognac — their women especially.”

  The young baron gave Aneke a knowing smile, and Aneke couldn’t suppress a soft chuckle — something he almost never did. I’ve seen it all now… a German with a sense of humor. Who could have ever guessed?

  The two men exchanged pleasantries as they awaited the perfect moment to savor the king of cognacs. Aneke normally detested small talk as a complete waste of valuable time, but right at this moment, somehow that instinct was muted... mellowed by the magic elixir he held between his hands.

  The grand moment had passed. Aneke had to admit the most expensive cognac in the universe had indeed been exquisite. Not that he’d ever purchase a bottle himself. J.P. Aneke was much too practical a man to indulge himself to that extent. He’d content himself with the $75,000-a-bottle cognacs, or maybe even splurge on a $300,000 bottle when a significant enough victory seemed to warrant it, but he would certainly avail himself of the baron’s generosity while he had this one and only chance to quaff the very best-of-the-best.

  To not fully enjoy the baron’s incredible hospitality to its fullest would constitute a mortal insult, or so Aneke justified the pure delicious decadence of the event to himself. Aneke would remember this little ceremony to his dying day. Regardless of what “business” the he might have in mind, Aneke definitely owed the baron for the memory of a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience. Aneke smiled. That, and in the eternal game of one-upmanship he regularly played with his Consortium contemporaries, this experience would allow him to go nuclear on their ass!

  The baron himself refilled their snifters, saying, “Feel free to enjoy the cognac, Herr Aneke, I have more.”

  Aneke’s eyes widened slightly. I have more, he says! “Your hospitality is quite, um… startling, my lord Baron. I do hope you don’t mind if I use your title, but I would be utterly mortified if I attempted pronouncing your name and made a complete hash of it.”

  The baron smiled and answered, “The use of my title will be fine, Herr Aneke. In my country, none but my intimate family addresses me by name, anyway. I am quite used to it. To everyone else, I and my title are one.”

  Aneke suddenly felt ill at ease. “I and my title are one.” This simple statement triggered a revelation within him. J.P. Aneke was a giant of finance, a manipulator of government, a man who got whatever he wanted, undisputed master of his domain, and yet something... something foreign to Aneke’s experience confronted him. This man knew something — possessed some weapon, had some advantage that Aneke didn’t understand. It was disconcerting.

  Aneke tried to shake away his sudden unease and regain control. This was ridiculous! The baron had done nothing more than offer him a cognac… but more than just a cognac. “I have more.” His cavalier attitude towards the most expensive cognac in existence, as though it were inconsequential — as if a $5 million bottle of 140-year-old Henri VI Dudognon was no different than the lowliest bourbon swilled by the human refuse who slept in doorways. This man... this baron, lived and thrived on a plane of existence Aneke had never dreamed existed.

  Aneke was a master of manipulation, but this baron “manipulated” no one... he needn’t stoop to such plebeian methods. This baron simply spoke, and it happened. The universe seemed to lurch sideways and Aneke staggered inside. He felt himself as the fly, deep within the spider’s lair, and for the first time in many, many years, J.P. Aneke felt fear.

  “I suppose you’re wondering,” said the baron, “why it is that I have invited you here today.”

  The baron’s innocent observation offered Aneke the lifeline he needed — a point of focus to reestablish control from these ridiculous feelings of impending doom.

  “Er, yes... that thought had crossed my mind,” Aneke replied. “I assumed it must have something to so with Starquest Aerospace, as the company was mentioned in your communiqué.”

  “Yes,” replied the baron. “It has come to my attention that some recent expansions by some of Starquest’s subsidiaries have not prospered quite as envisioned, before they were built. No doubt President Buchwald’s decision to mothball so much of the Alliance Fleet, effectively killing the envisioned Fleet expansion and renovation projects, has proven quite a disappointment to you and your stockholders.”

  Aneke pursed his lips. So, it’s the defense plants, foundries and space-docks we built down South that he’s interested in.

  “Admittedly, the president’s little surprise was a disappointment to some, but that’s business and we’ve dealt with over-capacity issues in the past,” Aneke replied.

  “Yes, but rarely have such over-capacity issues existed coincident to an economic boom environment, such as that occurring throughout the Alliance’s Northern worlds at the moment,” replied the baron. “I would think having so many resources tied up in unprofitable venues would inhibit potential exploitation of more profitable opportunities elsewhere.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Aneke. “What might your interest be in these ‘unprofitable venues,’ as you called them?”

  The baron smiled and leaned forward, “I have always been interested in starships, Herr Aneke. I have studied them all my life. I’ve done almost everything a man can do with starships at one time or another, except one — I have never built them. I always intended to, but the opportunity just never manifested itself.

  “I have recently acquired contracts for building a number of starships, but unfortunately I don’t currently possess the manufacturing facilities that I need to build them. German shipyards are at capacity, which is primarily ‘why’ I was awarded the contracts, as no other German manufacturers could deliver within the desired timeframe. As I need manufacturing facilities I don’t have, and you have manufacturing facilities you don’t need, I thought perhaps I might buy yours.”

  Here was a situation Aneke knew well and avoided thoroughly. It appears that the baron is in a bind. He has signed contracts in hand and stands to lose a fortune when he can’t fulfill them. His estimation of the baron’s business acumen plummeted.

  “I’m sure that Starquest can fulfill your contracts in the role of sub-contractor, Baron.”

  “I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Herr Aneke. My contracts are finalized and do not contain sufficient profit margin to allow for sub-contracting. I would like to purchase all of your facilities now sitting virtually idle at Joja. We both know that, after President Buchwald’s recent ‘cost-cutting’ moves, these facilities have become toxic assets and you’re losing considerable amounts of money on them every day that goes by. It only makes good business sense for you to unload these expensive money-drains if you possibly can.”

  Just as it would have made good business sense for you to NOT sign contracts promising things that you do not have the means to deliver, my lord Baron, thought Aneke.

  “Not that I would abuse your hospitality, or ever consider doing such an unscrupulous thing,” said Aneke, “but just for the sake of argument, what would prevent me from merely ascertaining the identity of your customer and obtaining these contracts myself, after you default?”

  The baron surprised Aneke, by breaking into a boyish grin. “I’m afraid I have a bit of an advantage in that regard, Herr Aneke. I serio
usly doubt that my great-uncle, His Royal Majesty, Kaiser Wilhelm VII, Emperor of the Greater Germanic Empire, would look kindly upon conducting business dealings with the ethically-challenged.”

  Ah, so it’s a family deal then. Not used to dealing with families having more money than most corporations, and owning their own government. “I see,” said Aneke. “Well, in that case I suppose that we could discuss the sale of Starquest assets then. What do you propose, my lord Baron?”

  “My people have conducted a through investigation of these toxic assets of yours and I am prepared to offer you $6.7 billion for all Starquest Aerospace assets within the Jojan system.”

  Aneke swallowed. All in all, not a bad offer. A bit high for an opening bid, but that’s to my benefit, not his. “Oh, we could never let them all go for $6.7 billion. It cost us more than that just to build them.”

  The smile disappeared from the baron’s face and his eyebrows pinched together as he said, “I choose to believe you are misinformed, Herr Aneke.” The baron then reached into an inner pocket in his tunic and extracted a paper, that he handed to Aneke.

  “Here is a listing of the actual construction costs incurred by Starquest Aerospace and its subsidiaries for the purchase and construction of all of the facilities under discussion. I assure you, these figures are accurate down to the penny.”

  Aneke looked at the figures. How the hell did he get these? It had been a while since he’d reviewed the numbers on these assets, but they appeared right. “I choose to believe…” The baron knew he’d lied, and then went on as if the attempted deception was of no matter. Aneke’s balls tightened, as that feeling of unease returned.

  “As you can see, Herr Aneke,” the baron continued, “since completion, these facilities have produced a total of $693.4 million in gross income, while having expenditures totaling of $2,212.6 million over the same time period, totaling a loss of 1,159.2 million, or almost $200 million per month, including interest on the outstanding debt. Total expenditures for the purchase and construction of all of these facilities totaled to $6,097.3 million. Our offer of $6,700 million allows Starquest to instantly have this full amount available in new liquidity and immediately available for reinvestment into more profitable enterprises. Starquest would realize a profit of $602.7 million, over and above your total investment and the means to plug a $2.4 billion per year hole in your balance sheet.”