Omnigalactic Page 6

  “Wait until we go out back and test these babies,” Jord said. He grabbed a bunch of accessories from a rotating display behind us and started attaching them to the plasma pistol. “Check this out - add a buttstock, a foregrip, an extended magazine, and switch the firing rate to fully-automatic. Now, you have yourself a submachine gun.”

  I aimed down the sights and tucked the buttstock into my shoulder. It felt right, like I could shoot up every vanar in the swamps. “I guess this is pretty badass.”

  “See? I wouldn't do my partner wrong. Hey, grab two more of those and follow me out back.”

  I grabbed two more of the plasma pistols and followed Jord to the narrow practice range behind the secret gun shop. We set up a series of holotargets at different ranges. Jord went first and chopped them up with the Mark V. The gun hummed like a hedge-trimmer as it fired rounds downrange. He opted not to fire the cryoflayer, though, claiming the coolant was extremely rare. He said we would save it for ‘special occasions’.

  Next up, I tested the plasma pistol. Like a knife against a wood cutting board, the gun popped with each toroid round. Although the holotargets remained in one piece, they were riddled with ring-shaped, thermal burns. I was starting to really like this weapon.

  Jord checked out the merchandise with Marshall. Our grand total was twenty-thousand bitcreds. Ouch. I could hear Jord's digiwallet crying from where I stood. But, Marshall said he’d give Jord a ‘loyal customer’ discount and throw in some free holsters. Great! We were saving money somehow, some way, I guessed.

  I took down his contact information and told him he was now Omnigalactic's official ordnance supplier. He gladly accepted. We left his shop and returned to the flooded alleyway.

  “Where to next?” I asked.

  “We need a ship, don't we?” Jord said.

  I couldn't believe it. My very own ship. My dream was about to come true.

  ****

  Once we passed through what I would now call the ‘shadow market’, I was beginning to worry the bio-waste smells were sticking to my clothing, especially my bomber jacket. It might take some convincing for Jord to let me use his drycleaner unit back at his apartment. He wasn't opposed to maintaining a certain level of cleanliness by any means; he was just very protective of his own things. A few years back, I’d borrowed his food-dehydrator for the rainy season. It was forecast to be a harsh one - lots of flooding, property damage, and power outages. Needless to say, it broke on me. Not my fault the thing was a faulty piece of equipment. Since then, he'd never let me borrow anything else.

  Strangled alleys and thick crowds gave way to a poorly-paved flat of asphalt. Up ahead was a hill of scrap and old, dinged-up vehicles surrounded by a rusty, sheet-metal barricade. What was the point of putting a wall around a bunch of junk? An uneasy feeling settled into my stomach. No way Jord was thinking about purchasing a rusted-out hunk of junk from this place.

  We approached what I assumed was the main entrance of the junkyard. A ten-foot-tall, wrought-iron gate opened via motion sensor, and we walked in.

  A wrinkled, sun-soaked Anuran junker dressed in greasy gym sweats greeted us. He was old. He must have been seventy; well past the average Anuran lifespan. He twirled a set of keys with one hand and smoked a vaporizer with the other.

  “Whaddaya want?” he asked and started hacking his lungs up. “And why do ya have all them guns? Plannin' on robbin' me?”

  “We're interested in purchasing a starship,” Jord said. “Have any sitting around?”

  “What's wrong with ya face?” the junker asked between coughs.

  “What's wrong with your lungs?” Jord countered. “We're here to do business, not kick your ass, old-timer.”

  The junker came close and eyed Jord up and down. “I don't do business with cyborgs. Get outta here before I shoot ya.”

  “What about with me?” I stepped in. The junker must not have seen me. His eyes were cloudy and opaque. That’s when I got it - he was one of those weird Naturalists. People who opposed cybernetics when they first became mainstream about a hundred years earlier.

  “A fellow Naturalist,” I added.

  Jord shot me a look. I winked to signal him to play along. Jord smirked and gave a subtle nod.

  The junker looked over and conducted an ocular pat-down on me, as well. When he looked content, he said, “Ya keep this walkin' computer as company? Ya not a Naturalist.”

  “Just because I conduct business with him doesn't mean I have to share meals with him,” I said. “My only friend is money.”

  “I hear that,” the junker said. “Money won't leave ya like my ex-wife did. That ol' slag took nearly everythin' I owned, except this place. Whaddaya want, er…”

  “Cadel. And you are?”

  “Name's Valo.”

  “Valo. I'm looking for a starship.”

  “Sure,” Valo said. He turned around and started hobbling toward the hill of scrap. “Follow me.”

  Jord leaned in close and whispered, “Nice one. I didn't know guys like him still existed.”

  I chuckled. “Just look at him. He probably shits dust.”

  We followed Valo into the junkyard. We passed countless vehicles, aircraft, and starships, all in various conditions. Most, if not all, did not look spaceworthy. Some even looked like they would never leave the ground again.

  I told Valo they were not what we were interested in and asked if he had anything in better condition. He harrumphed, mumbled something about being busy, and kept walking.

  Oh please, was a potential paying customer really that much of an inconvenience? My worries from earlier intensified. I didn't think we were going to find anything worth the money. But, then again, where else were we going to find a starship at a reduced price? If we went to a dealership downtown, we'd pay up the ass.

  “I don't show this one to too many folks,” Valo said as he led us around a wide, curved path dividing the hills of scrap. “But, I bought this old bird from a flash auction about… ten years back? Nivaran law enforcement seized it from a Black Nova smugglin' ring.”

  Nestled between two heaps of junk was a dusty, narrow, rectangular-shaped starship with axial, multi-finned, twin engines. A third, much larger engine was fixed on the rear of the ship, and at the top was a turret, sporting a single cannon. I could tell it was an older ship, due to its boxy shape. Most of the newer vessels went for a sleeker look.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I think the auctioneer said it was a… uh… oh, what was the name of it again? Some kind of Celyrian model.”

  “That's a Celyrian All-Atmospheric Defense Vessel!” Jord yelled. He looked genuinely excited. “I haven't seen one of those in fifty years!”

  “Is that a good thing?” I asked. “It looks like its best days are behind it.”

  “It’s not very fast or maneuverable, but they can go just about anywhere.”

  “How so?”

  “This thing can go into space, into the air, and even underwater,” Jord explained. “And, unless I'm blind, that's a railgun on top.”

  I walked closer and inspected the ship. Was a fifty-year-old ship even spaceworthy? I had to admit, the ship was the best-looking one in the whole junkyard. The railgun - if it worked - would have been a nice defensive countermeasure for Interspace travel. It was near-suicidal to fly through Interspace without protection, whether it was thick armor or weapons. You'd end up like those people in the ship I saw on the way back to Anura.

  I walked back over to Valo, who was busy fighting a phlegm-ridden cough. “Say, Valo, what are the chances I could test-drive it?”

  He spit out a giant wad of mucus and snorted like a farm animal. Sheesh, that guy was disgusting. “That depends on if ya interested in buyin' it.”

  “How much do you want for it?” I asked.

  Valo looked up to the sky as if the answer was in the clouds. He mumbled. It sounded like he was doing some mental math. He finally looked back down at me. “Fi
ve-hundred thousand.”

  I shook my head. “No way, not for that piece of junk. Besides, you've had it for ten years with no buyers. You must be desperate to get it off your hands.”

  “Ya damn idiot. Look around. This is a junkyard. Most of it is crap folks get rid of! Five-hundred thousand.”

  “Tell you what,” I said. “You let me take this thing out for a spin at least; then, we'll talk. I have to know if she still flies.”

  Valo's head bobbed back and forth. “Well… fine. I suppose that's reasonable. Only five minutes, though. And I go with ya. Leave them guns here with your computer buddy.”

  I nodded. “You got it. Now, let's get aboard.”

  Valo typed a four-digit code into a keypad at the bottom of the starship. “Nine, zero, three, seven,” he said before hacking again.

  There was an internal rumbling, and the ship shook violently. A boarding ramp hissed as it came down from underneath, kicking up a cloud of dirt as it slammed to the ground. My boots clanked against the metal steps of the ramp. Orange lights flickered and came to life, illuminating the narrow interior. It was just wide enough for us to walk side by side to the fore of the ship. We reached the cockpit, which had a single captain's chair at the controls. It was leather. I hated leather seats. They made my ass sweat.

  Regardless, I sat in it and flicked the ignition switch. There was a series of tinny clicks. The ship shook again, rocking me in the chair. The engines roared like a beast freshly woken from hibernation, then settled to a steady growl. I strapped myself into the restraints, took the control stick in my hand, engaged the prograde thrust, and took us into the air. Through the glasteel viewing window, I could see Jord shrink to the size of an insect. The sprawling Ritan City looked like a model set from up there. I engaged in some test maneuvers and hoped the engines wouldn't give out, causing me to tumble to an explosive death. The engines roared as I cut sharp turns, did a few loops, and barrel-rolled. Valo cursed and held onto my chair with a vice-like grip. Pretty strong for an old guy.

  “All right, that's enough!” he shouted. “Take her back in!”

  I smirked. I hadn't been able to fly like that since the academy. What had I been missing out on for the last ten years? I pressed forward on the stick and put us into a nosedive. Oh, how Valo did not like that. The engines screamed as we neared the surface, and I cut the prograde and slammed on the retrograde thrust. Valo fell to the floor with a hard, metallic thump and cursed. Looked like I'd have to install some more safety harnesses.

  “There; she flies!” he shouted. “Now, do ya want it or not? If ya don't, then get off my property!”

  I shut off the engines. “She flies, but she needs some love. A lot of love. How about you come down on the price? Two hundred.”

  “Ha! Ya tryin' to rob me? Four-hundred-and-fifty.”

  “You're crushing my gonads, Valo. I need to put at least fifty-thousand worth of replacement parts in her. Three-hundred.” I might have lied a bit about the repair cost. But, I had to drive the price down somehow.

  “Four-hundred,” he said. “No lower.”

  That would leave nothing left of my dad's investment, and nothing for repairs. Not to mention we'd already be scrambling for money. Omnigalactic would be off to a horrible, moneyless start. There had to be a way to talk this guy down. We’d gotten lucky finding the starship. It was perfect. Yeah, a little rough and a little dusty, but she flew pretty good for an old bird. She might have been our only option at that point.

  I pulled out the block of gold from my jacket, held it in front of his eyes, and wiggled it. He shielded his eyes from the glare.

  “You see this?” I said. “This is worth four-hundred thousand in bitcreds. A great hedge against inflation. So, let's make a deal. I'll give you half this bar right now, and the other half in six-months’ time, plus ten-percent interest. You'll get the other two-hundred thousand and then some.”

  “How do I know ya won't just take the ship and run?”

  “You have the ship's serial number, right? Take that half gold bar and if we don’t pay you the other half, then hire some hitmen to track us down, kill us, and take the ship back to you. You'll get your ship back like nothing happened.”

  Valo looked up again, deep in thought. It looked like I’d gotten to him. My face didn't show it, but my heart was racing. This was it. His eyes met mine. He held out a hand. “Ya got a deal.”

  I sighed in relief and shook his hand. I’d just secured Omnigalactic's first starship.

  “Now,” he said. “Let's head over to my shop and cut that gold bar in half.”

  I followed him out. Jord jogged up to me and pulled me aside. “That was some flying, bud!” he said.

  I couldn't help but smirk. “Yeah. I'm a little rusty, though.”

  “So, what's the damage? Did you talk him down?”

  “Yes and no.”

  He shrugged. “What do you mean?”

  “I told him we'd pay half now, then half later, plus interest.”

  “Define ‘later’ and ‘plus interest’.”

  “Ten percent, six months later.”

  Jord leaned in so close to my face, I could smell his morning breath, which caused me to question whether I’d brushed my teeth that morning. “And if we don't make the deadline?”

  I kicked a piece of rusted scrap with my boot. “What would two-hundred-thousand bitcreds get you for a hit job?”

  “Five or six younger, much deadlier versions of me,” Jord said with the bluntness of a hammer.

  “Wow, really?”

  Jord sighed and slapped me on the back with that cybernetic hand. “You did what you had to. But, we have a ship. Let's hope we can pay him back in six months.”

  “Yeah…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Money, the Lifeblood

  I sat in the cockpit of the Lady Luna with my feet kicked up on the controls. Yes, Lady Luna. At my urging, since the ship was of Celyrian design, it should have been given a Celyrian name. She should have had a dignified name like the Ignys or something. But, Jord insisted it should be named after a high-class Human prostitute he’d once ‘loved’. Apparently, she was always there for him between jobs. Lady Luna knew how to cure his ails and relieve his stress. Those were his exact words. I explained to him that prostitutes only gave him the time of day because he paid them to do so. After a futile, hour-long debate, I gave up. I dunno, maybe it would grow on me.

  Over the past three days, Jord and I had packed a month's worth of air-sealed food. Mainly for me, since Tresedi hardly ate. Their metabolisms were so slow, they could gain weight just from eating a thousand calories in a single week. It came from evolving on their harsh, desert homeworld. We also packed a month's worth of clothing, my personal movie collection for downtime, a tool set (because the Pantheon knew, that ship was going to need some fixing), the guns, and a few cases of Wat's Master Brew. We parked the Lady Luna in a patch of hard soil a ways from Ritan City, just to avoid paying for docking and storage fees.

  We had nothing to do that day, so I stared at the yellow nunu birds and the blue nunu birds battling it out in a territory war. As I watched a blue one stab a yellow one with its pointy beak, I got to thinking. We had the GBL license, the guns, and the ship. Now, we needed to start bringing in the income. How were we supposed to do that? I had some ideas, but after botching the interview with Reliant Shipping, I wasn’t feeling too confident about landing some clients. That was basically the same thing as a job interview. Except, this time, it wasn't just for my measly paycheck. It was for my business. Anxiety set in, so I began to read Chapter Three: Money, the Lifeblood. My old man would help me out.

  One of the most important — if not the most important — resource a business requires to survive is money. It sounds stupidly simple — if not elementary — but one would be surprised to discover how many forget this concept. Money can be spent on an immaculate, user-friendly website; the sales floor can be optimally designed for c
ustomer traffic and convenience; or, perhaps, it is spent on a fancy dinner to lure potential clients. All of these are smart tactics to improve the business, but where is all this money coming from? As we learned in the last chapter, capital is vital to start the business. In this chapter, we will discuss how to secure that capital.

  Customer, patron, client — all of these are fundamentally the same. Since they have what you desire — money — you must attract them to you. In the volatile sea of the marketplace, the Entrepreneur must stand out. Advertising! Promotion! These are the keys. The oldest form of advertisement is word-of-mouth. If a customer enjoys their experience using your service or product, they will tell everyone with an open ear. However, one must attract these customers using more advanced tactics.