Robert Asprin: The Cold Cash War

"Oh! No! I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea about why we're here. You see, Mr. Weaver and myself are here representing the United Board of Corporations."

Mausier suddenly thought of his gun. It was at home, hanging in the bedroom closet. He hadn't worn it in weeks.

"I don't understand, gentlemen. Is there some kind of complaint..."

"No, no. Quite the contrary." Stills's smile was pleasant and reassuring. "There's a matter we'd like to discuss with you that we feel is of mutual benefit. We were hoping you'd let us buy you lunch and we could talk at leisure."

Mausier didn't return his smile.

"I'm in the habit of working through lunch. One of the disadvantages of working for yourself is that, unlike the corporations, there is such a thing as an indispensable man. In this business it's me. Now if you could state your business, I am rather a busy man."

The two men exchanged glances and shrugged without moving their shoulders.

"Very well. We are authorized by the Board to speak to you about selling out-that is, the corporations are interested in acquiring your business."

Mausier was stunned. For a moment he was unable to speak.

"Frankly, I think the first way you phrased it was more accurate," he blurted out at last.

Weaver smiled, but Stills held up a restraining hand.

"Seriously, I phrased that rather poorly. Let me try again. You see, the Board has been investigating your operation for some time. The more they find, the more impressed they are."

Mausier inclined his head slightly at the compliment.

"Originally, the plan was to build a similar operation for the Board's use. As it turned out, the more they looked into it, the more they realized the difficulties of duplicating your setup. Just building the network of agents you have would take time, and during that time, important things could happen."

He paused to light a cigarette. Mausier glanced at his equipment but said nothing.

"So anyway, they decided the most efficient way to approach the problem was. to simply acquire your setup and put it to work for them."

"There's one major drawback to that plan," Mausier interrupted. "I'm not interested in selling."

Again Stills held up his hand.

"Now, don't jump to conclusions, Mr. Mausier. I don't think you completely understand what we're proposing. You'd still be in control of the operation. You'd still be carried on the payroll at a hefty salary in addition, of course, to the acquisitions price, which I'll admit I feel is exorbitant. We wouldn't be taking anything away from you; in fact, we're anticipating-we're expecting the operation will expand. With proper pressure, all the corporations will deal through you for information. The way it's looking, you could end up as one of the most powerful men in the corporate world."

This time it was Mausier who interrupted, rising to his feet and leaning across his desk.

"And I don't think you understand, gentlemen. I don't want to be one of the most powerful men in the corporate world. I don't want to expand my operation. And I don't want to sell my business!"

He was getting excited and losing control, but for once he didn't care.

"I spent enough time in your corporate world to know the one thing I wanted from it was out. I don't like brown-nosing, I don't like operating plans, I don't like performance reviews, I don't like benefits packages, I don't like pointless meetings, I don't like employee newspapers, I don't like office gossip, and I don't like being expendable. In short, gentlemen, I don't like corporations. That's why I started this business. To run it, I work harder than both of you put together and probably make less. But there's one thing I am that I'll bet neither of you has the vaguest conception of-I'm happy. You can't tax it, but it means a lot to me. Do I make myself quite clear?"

The two men languished in their chairs, apparently unmoved by his tirade.

"I don't think you understand, Mausier," said Stills softly. "We weren't asking you!"

Mausier suddenly felt cold. He sank slowly back into his chair as Stills continued.

"Now, we're being nice and giving you an honest deal, but don't kid yourself about having a choice. In case you haven't been following the news, the corporations are running things now. When they say 'jump,' you don't say 'how high?' You say 'Can I come down now?' That's the way it is whether you like it or not."

Mausier felt weak.

"And if I don't jump?" he asked quietly.

Stills grimaced.

"Now that would be unpleasant for everybody."

Mausier raised his eyes to look at them.

"Are you saying they'd actually kill me?"

Stills actually looked surprised.

"Kill you? Hell, man, you read too many spy novels!"

Weaver spoke for the first time.

"Look around you, Mr. Mausier. You're running a very delicate operation here. What happens to it if the phone company refused you service? Or if the people who manufacture all the gadgetry either recall it or refuse to service it? The Zaibatsu have been monitoring your scramblers for years. Suppose they publish a notice in all newspapers that in one week they'll publish a list of names of all agents still on your list of clients? Now, I don't like threats, Mr. Mausier, but if we wanted to we could shut you down overnight."

Mausier sagged in his chair. The two corporate men waited in respectful silence for him to recover his composure.

"Where do we go from here?"

Stills stood up.

"I've got to report in. Weaver here will stay with you as your new assistant to start learning the ropes. Policy says that all key personnel are supposed to have understudies."

He started for the door.

"Stills!"

Mausier's voice stopped him with his hand on the knob.

"Is this the way it's going to be?"

Stills shrugged and smiled and left without answering.

The room lapsed into silence as Mausier sat staring into space. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Weaver.

"Cheer up, Mr. Mausier." His voice was sympathetic. "It could be worse. You're a valuable man. Just play ball and they'll take care of you. You know, 'go along, get along.'"

Mausier didn't respond. He just kept thinking about the gun in his bedroom closet.