Omnigalactic Page 4

  They glanced at one another. No doubt, they could see through my tranquil facade. “We heard about Liberty Freight,” my dad said. “You can drop the act.”

  “So, that's why you're here,” I said, and sat up in my chair. “You came bearing gifts, but really, you just came to grill me again. Thanks, but I already have things under control.”

  “Oh, tadpole, why do you have to be so antagonistic?” my mother said. She caressed my hand. “Your father and I came because we worry about you.”

  “I'm not being antagonistic,” I countered. “I'm just tired of being reamed in the ass by Dad.”

  My dad scoffed. “I haven't said anything.”

  “Let's get this over with. I have about a thousand things I need to do today.”

  They looked at each other again. My parents possessed this ability to speak to one another telepathically. Scientists had longed studied their hidden talent, but to no avail. (I'm being hyperbolic, of course.)

  I felt like I was going crazy. In fact, I would have felt less crazy spending two weeks in Interspace right then.

  My sweet mother finally spoke up. “Little amoeba, your father and I have been talking about this for a long time now and…” She stopped to look at him one more time. “You're twenty-two now, and you haven't had much to show for it. Your brothers and sisters have all either started their own companies or have done superb financially. Your father and I think it's time for you to pursue an alternative career option.”

  I sat in silence, staring at my hands. My tools. They were what had made me the pilot I was. I looked up at her. “‘An alternative career option?’ What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Son, you need to get your act together,” my dad said. “I didn't send you to the Elaro Institute of Aeronautics just to fly cargo ships for a living, hauling shit around the galaxy.”

  “It's not ‘shit’. It's valuable commodities. People like me make it all work. We're the lifeblood of the galaxy.”

  “But you could be so much more, son. You graduated top of your class. You have talent! Get out there and use it!”

  “What am I supposed to do? Liberty went under; Reliant won't hire me; my landlord won't find me another power company or fix the air conditioning, so I've been sweating my gonads off; my best friend is heading offworld; and all this while there's a depression on. Please, enlighten me, O Great One.”

  “Entrepreneurship.”

  My insides burst with laughter. I fought back the urge to smirk. The old man was a bastard at times, but he could be funny when he wanted to be. “That's about the funniest thing you've ever said, Pops.”

  “I'm serious, son. The recovery from this crash is going to take at least a few years. Job markets are flooded with people out of work, and the jobs that are available are few and far between. You'll be better off going out on your own.”

  “Look, I know you think I have some kind of latent know-how, but I'm a screw-up. I can't run a business.” I thought back to my conversation with Jord the other day. All that talk about going after my dreams. How I’d been his impetus to doing that for himself. Yet, here I was, getting lectured by my parents about that very same subject. I really was a hypocrite.

  I sighed hard. “I can't even run my life.”

  My dad got up from the table and reached into his coat. He slapped one whole gold bar on the table. The thud reverberated throughout the walls of my apartment like a shockwave.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “That's four-hundred-thousand bitcreds’ worth of solid gold,” he said and tapped it. “Consider that an investment if you tell me you're going to cut the crap and become a real man. A real Cadel.”

  I stared at the shimmering block of precious metal, mouth agape, unable to look away. Staring at that much money was like staring into a golden supernova. “H-How a-am I supposed to pay that back if I fail? I'll be indebted to you 'til I die.”

  “No interest; no paying me back; nothing,” he said. “Consider the return-of-investment to be my son getting off his ass.”

  Next to the gold bar, he slapped a copy of Entrepreneur: The Book. A picture of a much younger version of my dad with his arms crossed was emblazoned on the cover.

  I looked at him, then at the gold, and then at the book. “What's the book for?”

  “A guideline, so you don't screw it up. There's a reason that book is a bestseller.”

  This was insane. I couldn't stop looking at the gold bar. I picked it up, and it felt like the weight of a giant boulder in my hands. No, it felt like the weight of the biggest decision of my lifetime. My green face gleamed in the gold bar's smooth, reflective surface.

  “So, what's it going to be?” he asked and held out his hand.

  I looked my dad straight in the eyes. “I'll do it.”

  I grasped his hand and shook it.

  “I knew you still had some smarts.”

  My mom clutched my hands and squeezed, shaking them in excitement. “Oh, my little Sai is going to finally be a proper businessman!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Entrepreneur

  After my parents left, for hours on end, I couldn't stop thinking: What have I gotten myself into? The more I thought about starting a business, the more my hands shook. Static built up in my feet as I paced around the living room. My heart did jumping-jacks in my chest, and my brain was trying to sprint a marathon.

  I stepped out onto my tiny balcony. I needed some fresh air, despite that it was no cooler outside than it was in the stagnant sauna inside my apartment. Hordes of Anurans marched through the streets on the endless hunt for work. They reminded me of the undead in a horror movie I saw once as a pollywog - stumbling around aimlessly, but when they smelled fresh Anuran meat, they'd descend upon it like a pack of ravenous razorfangs. Except in reality, a job was the meat.

  Standing there was a waste of time. I should have been out there amongst them. No you idiot! I thought. That's why you made the deal with the old man in the first place! I knew, deep down, my dad was right. Why fight it? Leaving Anura was my best bet at that point. But, what if I failed? I'd be the only Cadel that was a failure; a family pariah. They'd shun me, just like those poor bastards that got exiled to the wilderness to die. My crime would be not living up to the family name - the ultimate sin in a family full of millionaires.

  My anxiety had reached a precipice. I needed to build a barrier before it pushed me over the edge, so I went inside, grabbed a can of Wat's Master Brew, sat on the couch, and turned on the digivision. Ritan City Local News was on, and a pair of sexy anchors discussed the economic crash with a panel of “experts”. They rattled on and on in terms that I, quite honestly, did not understand. I heard the word “bubble” thrown around a lot. I understood that. Bubbles popped. Looking at charts with big, red, downward arrows wasn't helping my stress level, so I shut it off.

  I went to get another Brew. My dad's book sat on the dining table. Supposedly - according to the old man - it was a bestseller. It must have worked for anyone who had read it. Maybe all I needed was a little guidance, and the fear of embarking on a business venture would fade. I grabbed it and returned to the couch. The binding was thin, and it cracked and popped as handled it. The pages were crisp and had that new-book smell. I opened it to Chapter One: Identifying Your Product and began to read.

  Choosing what kind of business to start can be a mentally crippling task when confronted with an innumerable amount of business opportunities. It's important for you, the Entrepreneur, to discover where your passions lay. Do you want to help people by delivering a valuable service? Think of life before mass transportation companies. Poorer consumers could not afford a personal vehicle to get from place to place. But, one day, the Entrepreneur said, “You know what? I bet I could provide cheap, reliable transportation to those without personal vehicles.” Thus, a new industry was born, and the Entrepreneur saved the day.

  Or perhaps you desire to manufacture a much-needed product. In my previous example, the Entrepren
eur transports the masses around in large vehicles capable of bearing tremendous weight. But where did they get these vehicles? Another Entrepreneur designed and manufactured these vehicles and sold them to the transportation company. Is this beginning to make sense?

  I nodded and sipped my beer. “Hey, yeah. It kind of is.”

  Equally important are the skills you bring to the table and whether you are entering a dying industry or a fast-growing and emerging market. Are you a software engineer? Then, perhaps you may develop an operating system that's faster and easier to use. Are you a physician? Until immortality is discovered, people will eternally become ill and die. Open your own private practice.

  On the contrary, take my example of the mass transportation company. There are hundreds of these companies today, and the current market is saturated (especially in metropolitan areas). To start one of these companies may be financial suicide. It is up to you, the Entrepreneur, to navigate these uncharted waters and find your niche.

  I reflected on my dad's words. My scattered thoughts became puzzle pieces that slowly clicked into place and created a semi-finished picture. I was a pilot. A damn good one. It was about the only thing I was really good at, to be honest. I also knew trade routes and how to fly through Interspace. I needed to figure out what to do with those skills, and what market I could exploit.

  I continued reading and reached Chapter Two: Initial Costs.

  To start a business, you must invest in the business. There is a saying as old as time: “If one wishes to make money, one must first spend money.” It may sound paradoxical, but I assure you, it is true. If the Entrepreneur wishes to pursue an enterprise, they must first acquire the means to pursue it. These means are capital.

  How much capital does one need? This is all entirely dependent on what kind of enterprise the Entrepreneur wishes to pursue. Some companies, such as a fishing charter, require a few thousand to purchase a seaworthy vessel and sufficient advertising; whereas a small retail store could need a few hundred-thousand bitcreds or more.

  Where does one find capital? The journey of finding start-up funds will be different for each Entrepreneur. As stated above, it is entirely dependent on a set of variables. Does the Entrepreneur have investors who are interested in the success of their business? A promising ROI (Return-on-Investment) may lure potential investors. Perhaps the Entrepreneur is choosing to entirely self-fund. These are things the Entrepreneur must consider intensively.

  It must have been the holy book of capitalism; the knowledge my dad had used to build his company from the ground up. The picture became clearer, though it was still an unformed image, like a blob of clay waiting to be molded into a sculpture. It was rewiring parts of my brain I didn't even know I had! I may have been an idiot, but with that book, I felt like I could do this.

  But what did I do next? That question still needed answering. It clawed at my brain like a vanar to its prey. Dad's shiny gold bar investment was my capital; I just needed the idea.

  Then, it hit me. I leapt for my PCD and started an instachat with Jord.

  Me: I'll do it.

  I kept my eyes glued to the screen. Minutes passed by, but they felt like hours. I hoped Jord hadn't left Anura yet. He was probably pissed at me and would never come back. I’d let him down.

  The PCD vibrated. I'd never picked it up faster before.

  Jord: Ur serious? Don't play with me.

  Me: Yeah. Didn't leave yet, did you?

  Jord: Sum timin. I was leavin tomorrow.

  Me: Let's do it. But we need to discuss it.

  Jord: Meet me at Tilu's in 1 hour.

  Me: You got it.

  ****

  Tilu's was a dive bar Jord and I frequented. It was dimly-lit, cold, and the walls were painted matte black. Some might have considered the place a dump filled with shady people of ill-repute, but Jord and I enjoyed the place for its lax ambiance. No upscale, haughty, rich bastards. Only us little guys. Who was I kidding? The place was a shithole, but the drinks were cheap. And they had Wat's Master Brew on draught. We sat at the bar and ordered the “usual.” As regulars, the bartenders knew that meant Wat’s Master Brew.

  “I have to ask,” Jord said before taking a gulp. “What made you change your mind? I didn't think I'd gotten through that big head of yours.”

  “I got to thinking about what you said the other day,” I answered and took a swig myself. No way I was going to tell him how much of a nervous wreck I was, or that it had really been my parents' relentless onslaught that had urged me on. “I thought, Jord's right. No more slaving away for somebody else. I called up my dad about your business idea. He liked it and decided to invest. He gave me a solid gold brick worth four-hundred-thousand bitcreds.”

  Jord's real eye widened, and his cybernetic eye glowed. “You're screwing with me. He gave you that much?”

  I looked around to see if anyone was listening to us. Looked clear - except for the one Human in the corner. He got up from his booth and walked out. Couldn't be too sure he wouldn't rob me of my newfound capital. Not in the current economic climate. I knew that from personal experience. “It's at my apartment. I'll even show it to you.”

  “This is great. I'm glad you changed your mind, Sai.”

  “It's my turn,” I said. “What exactly did you have in mind for this whole partnership thing?”

  Jord finished his beer and ordered another before he replied, “Remember what I said about freelance work?”

  I nodded and tried to keep up with him. My belly started to feel bloated, so I burped.

  “Nice one. Anyway, there's an ‘odd jobs’ board on the Underweb. Companies and people post special jobs on it all the time. I figured we can look there for work. Contracts and whatnot.”

  “The Underweb? I thought that was made up.”

  “Oh, it's real.”

  “It sounds shady, Jord-o. Can't we do something more… Upperweb?”

  Jord chuckled. “You're an idiot. If you want to make serious money - and I mean serious money - the Underweb's the place to go. People will pay big to get things done quickly and efficiently by specialists.”

  “Okay, now this really sounds shady. Are you talking about murder and stuff?”

  “Relax. I wasn't planning on becoming a hitman. I'm a killer, but even I have standards.”

  I sighed and took a big gulp of my beer. This was unfamiliar territory. I wasn’t afraid of anything after flying through Interspace for a decade. But, the sinking feeling in my gut told me I was about to get into something of questionable legality. “I'll do it. On one condition: No murder; no stealing.”

  “Sai, look at who you're talking to. I thought you knew me better.”

  I pressed him. “I'm serious. Do we have a deal?”

  He smirked. “Deal.”

  “Great,” I said, relieved. “I guess the next question is: When do we start?”

  Jord slapped me on the back with his cybernetic hand. It hurt. He got up from his stool and paid our tab. “I'll call you in the morning. We have a long day tomorrow… partner. Sounds good, doesn't it?”

  I hopped down from my barstool and looked up at him. “Sure does.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Omnigalactic, LLC

  A pair of wide, automated, glasteel doors provided the only entrance into the Ritan City Chamber of Commerce. It was wider than it was tall, and compared to the other buildings in the market district, it was quite underwhelming. Jord was a tall bastard, so he had to duck and stay hunched over as we walked in.

  The temperature changed from the humid heat outside into a welcoming, air-conditioned chill. A musky mix of colognes and perfumes strangled my windpipe. My boots clicked against the polished marble floors as we strolled toward the check-in desk. We were directed to sit in the waiting area’s padded leather seats. I won't lie; I had no idea that place existed, let alone what purpose it served. Something to do with commerce, I guessed.

  “What are we doing here?” I
asked and paused to take a deep breath. “I can't breathe.”

  “We're applying for a galactic business license,” he answered. “A GBL.”

  “And what is that?”

  “If you want to do any sort of business offworld, you need a GBL. Think of it as a permission slip.”

  I shook my head. “Why would we need permission? From whom?”

  “Probably some kind of galactic trade commission. I dunno. Bunch of people that sit around and make up rules for everybody to follow. Kind of like a government.”

  Finally, something familiar. “I've heard of those. Never liked the idea of somebody arbitrarily coming up with rules.”

  “I forget Anura has no government,” Jord whispered, rubbing his organic eye.