Austin Zane looked up from his office desk.
“Mister Zane, the delegation from Japan is here,” Suzy, his secretary, said.
“Good. Thanks for the reminder—lost track of time.” Zane smiled and closed the holograms on his desk. He’d been working on the newest Mars transports.
Suzy smiled. She knew her boss better than he knew himself.
He stood and walked to the door; she straightened his tie and gave him a dataslate with the meeting’s information.
She brushed off some fluff from his shoulder. She nodded, gave her assent, and pushed him out of the office.
“Thanks, Suzy,” Zane said.
“No problem, boss.” She shook her head at her boss.
Zane wandered out of the office. The dataslate had a note telling him where the meeting was being held. I should pay Suzy more.
He smiled to people as he passed them; they nodded back and smiled. He only knew a few of and most were just responding to their CEO giving them a smile.
His friends had long ago disappeared as he’d moved from barely making a living to a trillionaire. Some had felt annoyed he’d made it while they hadn’t. With others, there was such a disconnect, it was odd.
Who wanted to be friends with someone who would bring the press with him everywhere he went? He hadn’t been drunk in years. Having the press badger him about him being an alcoholic or depraved soul was enough to make him want to run into a wall.
He continued to smile. It was the nice thing to do. Yet the looks he got from some people—from the utterly fake to seductive—were the opposite of pleasant. Who wouldn’t be happy with smiling at a walking cash machine? His smile took on an edge but he hid it from his exterior.
“Sorry, I’m late. I hope everyone had a good flight. Does anyone want coffee or any refreshments? I know first-class food is still plane food.” Zane smiled as he walked into the occupied conference room.
The four men and three women said that they were okay; they were already nursing a drink of some kind. They seemed a bit shocked with Zane’s attitude.
“Jackie, could you get me a cold mocha latte and plate of sandwiches?” He said to the thin air.
“Yes, Mister Zane,” the building’s AI said.
“Sure you don’t want some food?” Zane asked.
He saw the hesitation and sent them Jackie’s menu. There was a cafeteria just down the hall. Having food at the workplace meant more work and less wandering around to find a place to eat from.
Economics one-oh-one. More time in the seat, more bang for your buck! Fuck, I hate economics. Zane caught sight of a lady with a moving food cart; his stomach responded.
Though I also forgot to have lunch, again.
Zane went through the process of greetings and introductions. Finishing up in time for the food to arrive. Zane answered many of their initial questions, easing them into the presentation.
Rock Breakers Corporation was based in California. They had started with one goal: mine some darned asteroids. They’d been successful, grabbed some rocks, mined them, refined them on the Moon and sent them back to Earth.
Overnight, Zane and his team of 300 had gone from well in the hole, even with the backing and VC’s money, to trillionaires. They crashed the market on metals and Google gave them a bounty for being the first ever group to successfully process and land materials back on Earth.
Well, they’d dropped it into the Pacific Ocean, but Earth was seventy percent water, so Zane argued it was still Earth.
That was when things started to get out of control. Zane stopped being a project manager stuck in the nitty-gritty. He became the face of the RB Corporation (the damned PR people made them slim down the name), which meant attending galas and promoting his venture.
Thing is, astrophysicists and engineers didn’t go to galas for the large part. It was usually egotistical pricks who had made a bet on a company and it had succeeded. They talked about the latest up and coming businesses, the people that were making the most or had the newest cars. Everything was about status. Zane had gained his status as a by product of working, these people had worked to increase their social status.
His team of 300 had fallen apart. They were brilliant together, but money was the root of all evil, in Zane’s mind. Suzy had stuck with him, but Zane was a trillionaire engineer in a billionaire’s world and had no one to nerd out with.
Then the United States saw a way to make some money: tax Zane an astronomical amount.
Which was why he found himself talking to a bunch of government officials from Japan. The country was small; they’d been getting smaller for decades. With the introduction of VR gaming, it was like watching some of Space X’s initial rocket landings. Boy, did those guys know how to make things blow up!
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Japan’s people as a whole were getting old and few were interested in doing the dirty in real life.
“We’ve looked over the proposal and we have to say that we are incredibly interested. You must know that the United States is eager to keep your company based in California,” Mister Kishida said.
“Yes, and they’ve made it clear that they would be interested in reversing some of their decisions,” Zane said.
“I must ask, for personal interest if nothing else, why would you not be interested in taking their new offers?” Kishida asked.
“Trust,” Zane said simply.
Kishida nodded. The others looked a bit confused. This contract could be for billions. Trust seemed like a minor item.
“As you know, the United States was overjoyed when Rock Breakers started dropping down a years’ worth of mining every few months. We had legitimate agreements and everything was good to go. No one went in our airspace and we had a set schedule of supply rockets going up and payloads coming down. Then the new flunky got elected, made a whole bunch of promises he couldn’t perform on. Few months later, we were informed that a new tax was required and that people were looking to travel over our flying platform.”
The people around the room grimaced.
“I don’t suffer idiots well, and when people threaten my people, I really don’t think about rebuilding bridges. There are people in space who are, while not completely, dependent on the supplies we send them, and would be in a pretty crappy position if we didn’t send them supplies every few months. We paid the new tax, kept our heads down and we’ve been talking to other countries ever since. The United States government started to ask for more tax on orbital drops. So we stopped dropping items and stopped selling on the open market. People started going nuts and the United States government is pointing at us as the problem.” Zane drank from his cup.
He’d been born in Texas, loved his country and what it stood for. The more he got to know the inner workings of government and politicians’ ability to promise everything under the sun, without the forethought of how the hell they were going to do it, the less enamored he was with the United States and its government.
“I see that you want to talk about the possibility of nearly a million visas,” Miss Miyuki said.
“Yes. I like the people in my company—they are good workers. Just because the government’s a bunch of a-holes doesn’t mean I want them to lose their way of living,” Zane said.
“I think that we can streamline any visas that you want cleared.” Kishida smiled.
Zane returned the smile. As much as he felt as though money had ruined his life, it was a useful tool, like any socket wrench.
“Let’s go over the big details right now. Then, I believe my secretary has an itinerary for anything that you might find interesting, like trips to various infrastructure that we will need to build in Japan.” Zane threw out planners from his data slate.
The Japanese delegation looked at their data slates, being alerted of the new messages.
Zane got one as well.
> Your package has arrived.
He fidgeted in his seat, wanting nothing more than to run to his house. Instead, he sat through the meeting and showed them around the building.
***
Zane sat on his couch and looked out of his window at California’s waters. He pulled off his tie and tossed it away.
“Would you like something to eat?” Jackie asked.
“Beer me.” Zane continued to look out at the water.
A robot handed him a beer.
He took a sip. Tension fell from his body as he closed his eyes and held the god’s nectar to his head. He caught his reflection in his massive television. He was a thirty-year-old man. His calisthenics kept him in decent shape and he had been evaluated by dozens of doctors when he got his first asteroid mined. Seemed that the VCs had all put out insurance on him.
He was the face of RB Corp.
Here in his home, he dropped the smile; wrinkles appeared and a tired expression came on. He had black hair, a slight tan, and green eyes: just another normal-looking dude in an expensive suit. He couldn’t even try to pronounce the suit’s maker and his home had been pulled from a magazine.
“How the hell did I get here?” Zane walked out to his balcony, leaned over it, and looked at the sea below.
He sipped his beer. A helicopter could be heard in the distance. Seemed as if one of his neighbors was getting some unwanted attention, or they were filming another movie.
So much for finding peace out here!
He wandered back inside.
“Turn some damn music on, Jackie. Going cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!” He took another long drag of his beer. “And more beer!”
Rock started playing through the house, specifically Queen.
“Sir, I feel the need to remind you that the package you ordered has arrived,” Jackie said.
“Shit. I forgot all about that!” Zane walked past the grey, black, and white miasma of tables, seats, couches, and more seats and couches. He headed for the one place in the house that was his.
A robot pulled up with two more beers.
“Nice one, Jackie.” Zane grinned, looking at his first beer. Waste not, want not. He finished it off, put it on the robot’s tray, and grabbed the two others.
He wandered into the basement. Another glass wall looked out over the sea. With a press of a button, massive curtains closed over the window pane. Zane turned and wandered down concrete steps to his basement.
People wondered what Austin Zane did when he was home. Was he talking to that supermodel on his arm at some gala, or doing business? Did he really sleep? What did he eat? Drink?
“Little do they know.” Doors opened to show a black reclining chair with a black helmet. Around the room were gaming posters and a closet of models of his favorite characters.
“Sorry, ole buddy—gonna go with the upgrade.” He tapped the computer in the corner of the room affectionately.
He sat in the chair in the middle of the room. He didn’t have anything to do for the next three days. The Japanese delegation would be all over the United States while he was in-game. Suzy could send him messages about anything major. He wasn’t scared; his people knew what they were doing. He’d been waiting for the newest VR system to come out for months. As soon as he heard about it, he’d had Suzy get him some days off.
It had been tested out in Japan first. Their servers had grown overnight; people ranted and raved about it. Professional gamers sold their old gear to pay for the new system.
So far there was just one game for the system, the only game that Zane wanted to play: Emerilia, made by Jukal Enterprises.
Zane made sure that all the cords were in the right places. He treated the chair with the same care as he’d treated the rockets he’d sent off to mine asteroids.
He finished another beer as a robot came in with food. Zane ate and drank everything. He wanted to spend as much time in-game as possible. He wiped his hands on the towel provided, sat back in the seat and pulled the helmet on his head.