“Very clever,” Dominique drawled when he finished, though there was a note of respect in amongst the affected languor. “Brains as well as balls.”
“I like it,” Parris said. He studied his cut-crystal glass. “Why tell us?”
“Supply and demand,” Joshua said. “I’ve found a valuable hole in the market, and I want to fill it.”
“But the Lady Macbeth hasn’t got the capacity to do it by herself,” Clement said. “Right?”
Joshua had wondered how smart the lad was. Now he knew. A real chip off the Vasilkovsky block. “That’s right. I need a partner, a big partner.”
“Why not go to a bank?” Dominique asked. “Charter some ships for yourself.”
“There’s a loose end which needs tying up.”
“Ah,” Parris, showing some real interest at last, leant forward in his seat. “Go on.”
“The power mayope has over Norfolk lies in keeping it a monopoly, that way we can keep the price high. I have a provisional arrangement with a distributor on Norfolk who’s agreed to take as much as we can ship in. What we need to do next is pin down the supply to a single source, one that only we can obtain. That is going to take upfront money, the kind which can’t be explained away to bank auditors.”
“You can do that?”
“Parris, I have never been on a planet more corrupt than Lalonde. It’s also very primitive and correspondingly poor. If you, with all your money, went there, you would be its king.”
“No, thank you,” Parris said sagely.
“Fine, but with money pushed into the right credit disks we can guarantee that no one else gets an export licence. OK, it won’t last for ever, administration people move on, traders will offer counter-bribes when they find what we’re doing; but I figure we ought to get two of Norfolk’s conjunctions out of it. Two conjunctions where your ships are filled to capacity with Norfolk Tears.”
“Every ship? I do have quite a few.”
“No, not every ship. We have to walk a fine line between greed and squeeze. My Norfolk distributor will give us most favoured customer status, that’s all. It’ll be up to us to work out exactly how much we can squeeze them for before they start to protest. You know how jealously they guard their independence.”
“Yes.” Parris nodded thoughtfully.
“And what about Lalonde?” Ione asked quietly. Her glass was dangling casually between thumb and forefinger, she rocked it from side to side, swirling the champagne around the bottom.
“What about Lalonde?” Joshua asked.
“Its people,” Symone said. “It doesn’t sound as though they get a very good deal out of this. The mayope is their wood.”
Joshua gave her a polite smile. Just what I need, bleeding hearts. “What do they get at the moment?”
Symone frowned.
“He means they get nothing,” Dominique said.
“We’re developing their market for them,” Joshua said. “We’ll be pumping hard cash into their economy. Not much by our standards, I admit, but to them it will buy a lot of things they need. And it will go to the people too, the colonists who are breaking their backs to tame that world, not just the administration staff. We pay the loggers upriver in the hinterlands, the barge captains, the timber-yard workers. Them, their families, the shops they buy stuff from. All of them will be better off. We’ll be better off. Norfolk will be better off. It’s the whole essence of trade. Sure, banks and governments make paper money from the deal, and we slant it in our favour, but the bottom line is that people benefit.” He realized he was staring hard at Symone, daring her to disagree. He dropped his eyes, almost embarrassed.
Dominique gave him a soft, and for the first time, sincere kiss on his cheek. “You really did pick yourself the best, didn’t you?” she said challengingly to Ione.
“Of course.”
“Does that answer your question?” Parris asked his lover, smiling gently at her.
“I guess it does.”
He started to use a small silver knife to peel the crisp rind from a date-sized purple fruit. Joshua recognized it as a saltplum from Atlantis.
“I think Lalonde would be in capable hands if we left it to Joshua,” Parris said. “What sort of partnership were you looking for?”
“Sixty-forty in your favour,” he said amicably.
“Which would cost me?”
“I was thinking of two to three million fuseodollars as an initial working fund to set up our export operation.”
“Eighty-twenty,” Dominique said.
Parris bit into the saltplum’s pink flesh, watching Joshua keenly.
“Seventy-thirty,” Joshua offered.
“Seventy-five-twenty-five.”
“I get that percentage on all Norfolk Tears carried by the Vasilkovsky Line while our mayope monopoly is in operation.”
Parris winced, and gave his daughter a small nod.
“If you provide the collateral,” she said.
“You accept my share of the mayope as collateral, priced at the Norfolk sale value.”
“Done.”
Joshua sat back and let out a long breath. It could have been a lot worse.
“You see,” Dominique said wickedly. “Brains as well as breasts.”
“And legs,” Joshua added.
She licked her lips provocatively, and took a long drink. “We’ll get the legal office to draw up a formal contract tomorrow,” Parris said. “I can’t see any problem.”
“The first stage will be to set up an office on Lalonde and secure that mayope monopoly. The Lady Mac has still got to be unloaded, then she needs some maintenance work, and we’re due a grade-E CAB inspection as well thanks to someone I met at Norfolk. Not a problem, but it takes time. I ought to be ready to leave in ten days.”
“Good,” said Parris. “I like that, Joshua. No beating around, you get straight to it.”
“So how did you make your fortune?”
Parris grinned and popped the last of the saltplum into his mouth. “Given this will hopefully develop into quite a large operation, I’ll want to send my own representative with you to Lalonde to help set up our office. And keep an eye on this upfront money of mine you’ll be spending.”
“Sure. Who?”
Dominique leaned over until her shoulder rubbed against Joshua’s, a hand made of steel flesh closed playfully on his upper thigh. “Guess,” she whispered salaciously into his ear.
Durringham had become ungovernable, a city living on spent nerves, waiting for the final crushing blow to fall.
The residents knew of the invaders marching and sailing downriver, everyone had heard the horror stories of xenoc enslavement, of torture and rape and bizarre bloodthirsty ceremonies; words distorted and swollen with every kilometre, like the river down which they travelled. They had also heard of the Kulu Embassy evacuating its personnel in one madcap night, surely the final confirmation—Sir Asquith wouldn’t do that unless there was no hope left. Durringham, their homes and jobs and prosperity, was in the firing line of an unknown, unstoppable threat, and they had nowhere to run. The jungle belonged to the invaders, the seven colonist-carrier starships orbiting impotently overhead were full, they couldn’t offer an escape route. There was only the river and the virgin sea beyond.
The second morning after Ralph Hiltch made his dash to the relative safety of the Ekwan , the twenty-eight paddleboats remaining in the frightened city’s circular harbours set off in convoy downriver. Price of a ticket was one thousand fuseodollars per person (including a child). No destination was named: some talked about crossing the ocean to Sarell; Amarisk’s northern extremity was mooted. It didn’t matter, leaving Durringham was the driving factor.
Given the exorbitant price the captains insisted on, and the planet’s relative poverty, it was surprising just how many people turned up wanting passage. More than could be accommodated. Tempers and desperation rose with the brutal sun. Several ugly scenes flared as the gangplanks were hurriedly drawn up.
Frustrated in their last chance to escape, the crowd surged towards the colonists barricaded in the transients’ dormitories at the other end of the port. Stones were flung first, then Molotovs.