Hugh Howey - Molly Fyde and the Parsona Rescue

“This is obviously your first time in the Darrin system for business. Not many regulars jump into the middle of old Darrin The First, you see. Crazy business, that. Trying to sneak up behind us or get yourselves killed. But hey, I like your style, and the customer is always right!

“As you can see, if you look outside, my ship is taking us back to Albert’s Arms. There, we will be able to set you right up with whatever you need. Provided you can pay for it, of course. But before we go over that, I need you to sign these sales representation agreements. I’ve already worked hard to win you over as a client, and I sure don’t want you to make the mistake of working with my competition. Not a one of them would look after you the way that I will. I give you my guarantee.”

The smile returned. Molly looked from it to the view out the cockpit windows and saw that they were turning slowly back to that string of distant lairs.

Albert cleared his throat. “Now then, the contracts…” He held them out to Molly.

Even a decade of military jargon and naval technical manuals did not prepare Molly for the convoluted abuse of the English language she held in her hands. She gave Edison’s immeasurable IQ a chance, but it was even worse for him. His need for absolutes in communication recoiled from the lawyerly phrasings. Each sentence could mean three or four things when read individually; taken together, they had all the potential of a chess game prior to the first move. His advice was to burn them, not sign them.

She considered giving Walter a chance, he hailed from a planet of devious barterers, but the boy was too distracted by their new guest. He kept sizing Albert up like a direct competitor, but he also wore something of a leer, an expression Molly often saw him direct toward her. Other than his video game and loot, she’d never known anything to fascinate him so.

Albert must’ve noticed the way Molly was staring off into space. “You seem confused by the contracts,” he said, “but I assure you they’re standard fare. We use them all the time. It just means you and I will do all of our business together. If you need something I don’t have, I’ll ask around—no need for you to go elsewhere. It’s all about making this process easy on the customer.”

Molly laid the contracts in her lap and leaned back against the bulkhead. “Easy on the customer? Are we even customers ? I’ll tell you what’s confusing me, and it isn’t these contracts: it’s you. And this place. What in hyperspace just happened? We jumped into an L3, found a ring of rock instead, got pounced on by a fleet of suitors, then you practically mated with my ship without even buying her flowers.” She picked up the contracts and waved them at Albert. “And now you wanna get married?”

Cole covered his mouth and stifled a laugh.

Albert beamed. “Well that explains your odd behavior! And quite nicely, as well. Your charts are a tad out of date, I must say. Not very safe, as you’ve just learned. No worries, I also have the latest star charts, several versions in fact, from the survey efforts of three major races. For a special price, we can load the trio into your ship’s computer! My goodness, you sure are lucky to have found me. One of the first things you’ll learn about Darrin from the Bel Tra charts and reports—and I’m giving this information to you at no charge, even without those contracts signed, just to show you what sort of man I am—is that the war between Darrin the First and Darrin the Second in the year 2402, a very somber year for us, did not go well for either side. The belt you flew into is all that remains of Darrin the First, and they didn’t get the worst of it. Darrin the Second is in smaller pieces. Not to brag, but much smaller. They lie scattered beyond our far more sensible orbit.” He wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered for effect.

“I kid, of course. We’ve set those differences aside and now all the people of Darrin get along famously. We’ve had peace for seven years straight! Not a shot fired. Well, pretty much. Besides, the few of us that deserve to make a profit have found it more lucrative if we compete on an individual level, rather than banding together and squeezing as a unit. Things get out of control that other way. It’s really a shame we didn’t think of it earlier, but what’s done is done and business is finally getting back to some of the pre-war levels.” He frowned, then added in a somber voice, “After accounting for changes in population and per-capita GDP.”

“You people blew each other’s planets to bits ?!” Cole had gone from covering his mirth to controlling his outrage.

Albert recoiled from the outburst and looked sad, but only for a moment. He beamed once again and boasted to all four of them, “You want the best starship armaments in the galaxy? You obviously came to the right place!” He gestured toward the contracts, still smiling. “Now, please sign away before we arrive at my store. We must do these things properly or my impeccable reputation for fair-dealing could suffer. Nothing you sign there mandates a minimum purchase amount, and frankly if your budget is reflected by the ship’s condition—well, please understand that I’m used to dealing with a more demanding clientele and will consider our transactions over the next several days as a favor to you in the hopes you’ll always return to me when you need a good deal.”

Albert spread his arms and gazed hungrily at the papers. “But of course you will. It’s all there in the contracts, after all.” He smiled at each of them as if they were the only people in the universe.

Signing the contracts put Molly in a bad mood. She despised being forced to do anything. Even if it was something she’d been planning on doing already. They’d come to Darrin to make illicit improvements on a starship, so they expected to put up with shady arms dealers on back-moon shipyards. But having someone force her to do the exact same thing made her want to resist. The urge was as infuriating as it was nonsensical. She would’ve been happier if the escape from the asteroid belt had been met with laser-fire. At least then she’d be dealing with a threat she understood.

Albert pitched products while the two mated ships cruised back to his shop, seemingly on autopilot. These “feeding frenzies” were reserved for new clients, he assured them. Brutal markets meant each customer had to be “won over.” The little scuffle between Darrin I and Darrin II had decreased supply somewhat, but the demand had shot down even faster. The word was not completely out that the system had returned to business-as-usual, and Parsona’s unwise entry demonstrated another unfortunate reality: the buyers of their astral charts were probably disappearing from the market altogether. Literally.

“Once we get my charts installed and register your ship as one of my exclusive clients, you’ll be able to come and go as you please,” Albert told Molly. She forced a smile and considered telling him how unlikely a return to Darrin would be.

A beeping sound interrupted the discussion and Albert pulled something from his belt, a small black device with just a single-line LCD display. He held the gadget up and squinted intently at the readout. “We’re about to land,” he announced to the room. He flapped back one side of his suit jacket and struggled to thrust his pelvis away from the seat before securing the device back to his belt. With a satisfied grunt, he pushed himself up, collected the contracts with a grin and a wink, and busied himself arranging them in his briefcase.

“Not many of these old GN-290s around, are there?” He smiled at Molly, his face completely innocent.