Fleer steeled himself to face Adler. Fleer recognized that he was not the best negotiator, and Adler was used to wheeling big deals.

He'd made a slightly outlandish boast to the crew that he could get 10,000 credits for the little datasink, but realistically he was hoping to clear 5,000. That was still a pretty nice little extra on their payday. But if he could get that up closer to 10,000, that would net them a clean 100,000 credits for the job. Round numbers made him happy. Especially when they had so many digits.

He left his office, trailed through the dimmed rec room, toward the back of the warehouse, past the barracks, back in the fusty dark section nobody much went into-- where they kept the old paperwork, leftover machines, and the brig. "Containment cell" was the more proper and modern term, but Fleer really liked the idea of having a brig.

He nodded to Mrs. Meade, who was standing guard, pushed open the door, and entered Adler's cell.

Adler was sitting in a folding metal chair with his arms and legs crossed, looking decidedly put out. A small table held his datapad.

"So, Adler," Fleer said. "Have you had a chance to look over the contract?"

"I've been locked in this tiny room for four hours. What else was I going to do?"

Fleer grinned.

"So, does it meet your approval? Should I forward it along to Matters, Inc.'s legal team?"

"I'll need to discuss it with them. Find out what's required. The terms seem reasonable. Though I've never seen such a... thorough non-retribution clause."

"Let's call it an 'experienced' clause."

Adler's datapad pinged quietly. Ignoring Fleer, he picked it up and scanned through a message. He suddenly looked sick, and started frantically typing in a message.

"Everything okay?" Fleer asked.

"Fine," Adler said. "Fine. Just talking with some people. The board has convened over this matter."

Fleer grimaced in sympathy, but he was ignored as Adler messaged furiously.

"Just... figuring stuff out for Monday. For when I get back," Adler said, still focused on his messages.

Eventually his messages slowed, then stopped. He finally looked up from his datapad, only to stare blankly at the wall across the room.

Fleer gave him a minute before re-engaging.

"There will be one more addendum," Fleer said. "We still haven't discussed this." Fleer drew the datasink out of his pocket and Adler's eyes locked on it. "Do you think it would make sense to lump the payment for this in with the Guild contract?"

"Yes. Let's get that taken care of as well. Has anybody looked at the data?"

"No. It's been solely in my possession since we left your facility."

"I'll pay 150,000 credits for that. As long as nobody looks at it." Fleer blanched, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.

"That seems reasonable," he responded, keeping his voice carefully even. "I'll get that worked into the release contract."

Adler nodded, and Fleer left the room. Adler's eyes never left the datasink.

----------------------------------------

Fleer had never jumped up and clicked his heels before, but he was powerfully tempted to do so now. The financial transfer had been approved. Once the funds cleared, Riotfish, Inc. was going to be closer to black than they had been at any time since he'd acquired them.

It had been fewer than 24 hours since the Riotfish had left the Hayworth building (or rather, had left what was left), and he already had a redlined contract back. Matters, Inc.'s lawyers hadn't even blinked at it. A quick scan of the changes, and he sent back his signature. Done.

He leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Now to wait for the payment to clear, then they could let Adler out of his cell.

He'd tried not to be too obvious about leaving Roger off the guard rotation. He figured Adler had already had a rough day, and Roger could be trying if you weren't used to him. Plus, he wasn't sure if Roger knew that Adler was a former Rigenic exec; Fleer didn't want to know how things would play out if Roger learned that little factoid. Best to keep things peaceful.

He idly looked at the little datasink sitting on his desk. He was powerfully curious-- there was something on there that Adler was deeply anxious about. Considering his past with Rigenic and Project Icarus, it was likely to be something nasty. Fleer picked it up and stared at the cheap plastic housing.

One little push, and he could hook it to his machine and dump all that data in just a few minutes. See what had Adler so worried.

But no. That kind of thinking belonged in Adler's world, not his. He was a businessman, not a corper. If a businessman didn't have his word, his ability to hold up a deal, he didn't really have anything at all. Even a ragged little outfit like Riotfish could be honorable.

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His computer gave a soft "bing!" and a blue notification light pulsed. He poked it, and a beautiful, beautiful message popped up, notifying him that a payment of 240,000 credits had cleared into Riotfish's primary account.

Just lovely.

Grinning and humming, he hopped up from his seat and drifted back to Adler's cell.

He arrived at the cell, which had once been an office, which used to be just an old storage closet, and rapped on the door. The door cracked open slightly and Little Timmy's face shot out of the narrow gap.

"He knows something," Little Timmy hissed.

"What?"

"He knows! The conspiracy! I've been explaining it to him for hours now, and he says I'm crazy! Which just shows you that they don't want word getting out!"

"I'm sure you're right," Fleer said gently, "but the contract's signed and payment's been made. It's time for him to go."

Little Timmy was crestfallen.

"But I didn't even get to the part where they're using lizardmen for their mind control experiments!"

"Dipsos, Timmy, not liz-- not that other word. That's rude. Come on." He waved Little Timmy aside and stepped into the cell.

Despite having been reasonably well-treated, Adler looked rough. He'd been offered a change of clothes, food, a shower, and a number of other creature comforts, all of which he'd flatly refused. His suit, like his demeanor, was strained and rumpled. He seemed to be shell-shocked, staring off into nothing.

"Everything's processed, Adler. You ready to go back home?"

"Huh?" Adler blinked and slowly focused on Fleer.

"Home? I bet a good night's sleep in your own bed and a solid meal will get you back on your feet."

"Right, right."

"I have your things here. Want us to call you a ride?"

"Huh? No, no, I have a guy." Adler punched a button on his datapad. "He'll come for me."

"Sure thing. Exit is this way."

Adler shambled after Fleer through the HQ and out the front door to stand uncertainly on the sidewalk. He stared numbly at the weed-choked street, the poorly-painted front, and the pitted, flaking sign. Fleer decided to wait with him to make sure he got off okay. And to have him close to hand, just in case of any shenanigans.

"I don't know, Fleer."

"Hm?"

"About you. You're doing everything wrong. Always have, from what I hear. And yet here we are."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"The Board is spitting acid. They're out to flay me. This is not just a money thing, this is a public embarrassment. They're going to make an example out of me, let me take the fall for all this." He paused, staring at the stars, drinking in the night air. "I had so, so many plans in flight. It's going to take me years to undo the political fallout from this, today. But you, you just got some, some, some chump change, and you're happy as can be and nobody's going to shred you on Monday morning.

"And your guys," he continued, "they're all wrong, too. I mean, crazy wrong... my guys all had the best training and equipment and I had dozens of 'em."

"And yet here we are," Fleer rejoined.

"Yeah. I can't figure it out-- am I doing it wrong, or are you just doing everything so wrong that none of the rest of us can keep up?"

"Hard to say."

"What's it like, Fleer? Owning your own business, being your own boss?"

Fleer paused for a moment.

"Well," he said carefully, "it's not without its challenges. Why do you ask?"

"I just... want to know if there's a way out. A fallback, or something. If things go badly on Monday."

Fleer stared over the ramshackle warehouse across the way, deep into the stars.

"It's harder. But it's better. Even if I could, I would never go back now. I had to follow my conscience. I got out to where I could make my own decisions."

"How did you do it?"

Fleer stared at him in surprise for a moment.

"You just walk away. Put it all aside. The whole lifestyle, the cachet, the fame, the influence, you just drop it. Focus on what's important."

"I can't do that. People depend on me. Lives, jobs, plans, power: they need my touch, a steady hand and bold leadership--"

"That's a lie. If you vanished, they'd replace you in a month. Less. And then talk bad about you once you were gone."

Adler sneered a little.

"Well I've got people who have power over me, too. Dangerous people. But I guess you wouldn't know about that."

"There's no power over you unless you accept it. In the corporate world, for the most part they can't force you to do anything. They can just stop giving you things. All the stuff I used to think was so important-- the loft up in the Corporate district, the latest model gravcar, the trips, the safety-- I mean, they're all fun and nice, but if you're not careful they become the golden shackles. And as long as you hold on to all that stuff, then they've got a hold on you. It's the only prison I know of where you keep yourself locked in."

"But what about the power? How could you walk away from the power?"

Fleer shrugged.

"I never had that much power, I guess."

Adler's sneer deepened.

"You mean you never took it. You know what it's like near the top. You have to have that power to survive."

Fleer shook his head.

"I don't think so. Power is just a way of pretending you can control things. But you really can't. All the power in the world won't change that."

Adler clammed up for a few minutes, looking around at the dingy, run-down surroundings.

"I couldn't live like this," he said finally. "I've got standards. I don't know how you do it. I'd never be able to stand it."

"And I couldn't live like you do. I've seen both sides, and I know what it takes to keep-- that lifestyle."

"You just didn't have a choice," Adler shot back. "You screwed up and then you ran. And now you're stuck out here in the slums with the freaks. I feel for you," Adler cooed. "I really do, but you can't possibly expect me to believe you like this," he gestured around their ramshackle surroundings, "better than the good corporate life."

"I did have a choice," Fleer said quietly. "But I couldn't bear the cost."

"Toots, noots McGoots!" Roger said, poking his head out of the doorway. He was wearing a party hat with spangly trim, and holding out two oranges. Fleer smiled.

"I'll be in shortly, Roger. Thank you."

Roger shrugged and went back inside.

A sleek gray gravcar that very clearly did not belong in the area thrummed up.

"Well, good luck with your 'better life'," said Adler, his practiced sneer fully resurfacing. "I'll be back in my penthouse, crying it out on silk sheets."

"It's so much more than that," Fleer said sadly, but Adler was already in the car.

Adler slammed the door, and the gravcar hummed away.

Fleer stood outside somberly for a moment, reflecting. Suddenly remembering the new fatness of Riotfish's bank account, he perked up a little and went inside.

Time to pay some bills.