Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network by E. Foner (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📗

“Timing is everything. The article in the trader’s section of the Galactic Free Press showed a graph for the acorn futures price that was only a week old and it looked like a downhill ski slope. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

“I haven’t been reading the trader’s section lately,” Ellen admitted. “I know, it’s stupid of me, but I’ve been concentrating on Earth news because of the new job, and the Advantage platform has private discussion groups for trade news where people really let their hair down.”

“You have a buzz cut,” Marshall pointed out.

“Yeah. The truth is, the people on those discussion groups were mainly interested in politics, why traders should vote against joining the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities and all that. I mainly stuck with the hot-markets thread, but I don’t have the time to spend on chasing rainbows. I suppose it’s good to know there are still opportunities out there for traders who are light on their feet, but you’d have to spend half of your life in Stryx tunnels to make use of the information.”

“Did it ever occur to you they might be doing it on purpose? Maybe some of your generation sees trade as a zero-sum game too, and they’re trying to winnow out the competition by sending them on wild-goose chases.”

“You think that the high-reputation posters in the Advantage group are lying in order to trick the rest of us into losing money?” Ellen frowned. “I can’t believe what an idiot I am. Here I’ve been thinking that it’s just a really bad platform, but now you’ve got me wondering if that’s on purpose.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Taking advantage of one’s reputation in a closed community is one of the oldest tricks in the book. It’s a type of affinity scheme. And it looks to me like you’ve got a fish on the hook.”

“What?” Ellen looked around and saw a teenager crouched on his heels, his eyes fixed on one of her more expensive mistakes.

“Can I try one of those fishing reels?” he asked her. “They look a little different from what I use.”

“They’re the basic type sold on Vergallian tech-ban worlds,” she told him, handing over one of the spinning reels. “It’s saltwater safe, ball bearing construction, and you can see that the hand is reversible just by flipping the crank mechanism to the other side.”

“What’s the recovery?”

“You mean how much line comes back in a single crank? I don’t remember the conversion from Vergallian units, but it’s the standard amount.”

“So you don’t know the maximum drag either?”

“Do you see the indicator on the side?”

“You mean I have to set the drag manually?” the teen asked, looking disappointed.

“Vergallian reels are all equipped with a fractional drag selector. The default setting is twenty-five percent of the breaking strength.”

“So I have to do an alien unit conversion and enter the test strength somewhere?” He turned the reel over again to see if he had missed something.

“That’s the blue button on the side. When you change the fishing line, press it, and the reel automatically tests the breaking strength of the line.”

“Are you serious? That’s so cool, but now I know I can’t afford it.”

“Twenty-five creds?” Ellen suggested.

“Really? Deal,” the teenager said. He pulled out a change purse and began to count out five-cred pieces. “If this thing works like you say, all of my friends are going to want one. Hey, how much for the carton?”

“All sixteen? That would be four-hundred creds.”

“No discount?”

“I quoted you my cost. I’m sort of cleaning house.”

“Hold on,” the teen said, and pulled out his phone. A few seconds later, he continued out loud. “Dad? I was on my way to see you and I stopped in the—yeah, I know, but there’s a trader with Vergallian fishing reels for twenty-five creds and—he’ll be here in a minute,” the kid concluded, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Dad works at the ground station for the elevator and he’s a bit nuts about fishing. If the reels are everything you say they are, we’ll take them all.”

Twelve

“Welcome to the Borten Habitat,” a scruffy looking young man called up to John before the ramp even touched the deck of the landing bay. “Got any work for a cash-poor trader?”

“Talk to me,” John replied without hesitation. “I’m not a charity, but maybe you have some information I can use.” The ramp reached the deck, but rather than starting down, he gestured to the young man to come on board. “You hungry?”

“I could eat Vergallian vegan.”

“That bad, huh? I’m John.”

“Mario,” the young man identified himself. “Just so you know, I won’t be able to invite you over in return because I lost my ship.”

“Pirates?” John asked, leading his unexpected guest to the ladder.

“Bankers,” Mario replied. “I did a cash-out refi six months ago but I couldn’t keep up with the payments. They tried to point me in the direction of some good business but nothing seemed to work.”

“MORE?”

“That’s them. But don’t get me wrong, it’s a great company. They even offered to let me keep living on the ship to fly consignments for some package network they’re setting up, but I just couldn’t see doing that after being my own boss.”

“Leftover pizza all right with you?” John offered. “I ordered it from the takeout place when I got in so it’s less than eight hours old.”

“Pizza’s great. So you’ve already taken care of your business here? I was hoping I could make myself useful.”

“Delivered some ore, ate a few slices, and fell asleep. I’m one of those weirdos who gets bone-tired whenever I go from Zero-G to getting some weight back, even if it’s just on a habitat.” He removed two slices