Art of the Deal

Chapter 1

Merchant Ship Loki’s Delight
Murran Constellation
10 July 2250


         Floating in the bridge of his flagship, Hauptmann Morgan Fathom watched as the great hulk slowly drew nearer. Minutes turned into hours as the young warrior-merchant focused intently on nothing by his target like a predatory cat surveying its prey. The crew went about their business, avoiding the senior merchant as they glided around.
To anyone else the asteroid Queen Aphalia was nothing special. It was another giant chunk of rock in the solar system’s expansive asteroid belt. Since humanity’s exodus to space the millions of asteroids in the belt had been targeted by tens of millions of settlers for a slew of reasons. Queen Aphalia was a colonization-expansion project pushed by the ever growing Murran Constellation. Whoever Queen Aphalia was, Morgan didn’t care. What made the asteroid special to him was the promise of a new market and future profits.

         Beside Morgan sat Hauptmann Felix Lenz, commander of the Loki’s delight and Morgan’s right hand man in dealing with the Murranian settlers. He had started his career in the Hanseatic League Security Forces as a finance soldier, but ended up in the fleet’s space faring vessels after discovering and correcting several purchasing flaws in the system. The Hansa rewarded those who performed well.

         The Hansa also severely punishes those who fail, Morgan reminded himself as several tones rang on one of the forward consoles. The young blonde crew woman seated there tapped a series of buttons before turning to Lenz.

         “Herr Hauptmann, Queen Aphalia port control is requesting identification and licensing codes.”

         “Go ahead, send them,” Lenz replied confidently. “Bring the ship in when we are given clearance and docking.”

         “Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann.”

         Felix turned to Morgan, a grin on his face.

         “So begins our foray, Mister Fathom.”

         Morgan smiled. He turned to leave the bridge as he ran his hand through his closely cropped brown hair.

         “For God, the Hanseatic League, and fortune, Hauptmann,” Morgan replied.

         Lenz turned towards the retreating Fathom.

         “God only deals with the spiritual, and the League has enough coin. I’m in this for the fortune.”

         Morgan laughed as the sliding doors hissed close behind him.



         Although only settled ten months before, Queen Aphalia was already bustling with the activity of thousands of workers, families, scientists, and administrators. Morgan felt as if he was in an ever changing sea as the masses flowed around the train car in the low gravity. Missing from the daily hustle and bustle of colony life were marines, especially strange since the Murran Constellation was a military run autocracy. But then, if they were here I would still be on Mars, Morgan thought as the maglev carried him and his entourage through the half built city.

         The Loki’s Delight was locked into the Queen Aphalia space port and the crews were conducting routine checks and maintenance. Traveling with Morgan was Felix, Leutant Alicia Weber, Morgan’s petit security forces executive officer, the League diplomatic representative, Olivia Mann, and two men from Morgan’s security forces to act as guards. The two troopers, Hauptfeldwebel Julius Reimer and Unteroffizier Udo Berger, wore the sharp dress grays of the Hanseatic League Security Forces and were armed with their B-G40 assault carbines. Each man was decked out with thick but light dragon skin body armor under their form fitting jackets.
         
         As the maglev slid along its silver rail, the group chatted nonchalantly, drinking chai tea and eating crackers.

         “It’s a good thing the Board of Merchants keeps close ties with the Murran Constellation,” Olivia Mann said as she sipped her tea. “And the asteroid belt in general. It is such a lucrative region. And all of the fiefs out here are antsy to set up trade and look legitimate to the rest of the solar system.”

         Morgan held back the urge to slap the woman, instead stuffing several crackers in his mouth. Her snotty, blue blood hochdeutsch ran on his nerves. He had never liked the Hansa aristocracy. They were all rich and looked down their noses at everyone below them, yet they themselves had not done a single day of hard work in their lives. Their citizenship seemed to be passed down from wealthy parents and relatives, never having to earn the coin to buy shares in the corporations and interests that made up the Hansa. Although the Hanseatic League was a warrior-merchant organization, the very rich seemed to remain aloof and soft.

         But she had a point. The Hanseatic League’s involvement in the belt had led to Morgan entering and winning the trials to lead the mission.

         “Yes,” Morgan replied, swallowing another cracker. “The Board, God protect them, have been prudent in this situation.”

         “Have you been to the belt before, sir?” Leutnant Weber asked.

         Morgan shook his head. “No. I was born on Mars and I’ve operated between Mars and Mercury the last few years.”

         “Teaching Blackline and Komatsu a thing or two,” Reimer chimed in. “The Hauptmann and I have seen our share of both merchant and combat missions.”

         “I’ve been in and past the belt quite a few times,” Felix said. “From Mercury, to the edge, and back. No combat tours, but plenty of pirate fighting.” He munched on a cracker before continuing. “I remember one time seven years back, I was serving on a ship that was part of a four vessel flotilla and we were burning towards Titan when two bandit barges and a squadron of their fighters jumped us in the rings.” He shook his head, memories flowing back. “Verdammt, that was a brawl.”

         Olivia had been all but forgotten. The lifeline of the Hansa, the warrior-merchants, were talking, and sheltered noble girls like her had no place to remark. She stewed silently, sipping her chai to hide her expression.

         Morgan picked up where Felix had left off.

         “Pirates are bad, but independent merchant house units are the worst.”

         The other five soldiers seethed and cursed. The Hanseatic League was one of hundreds of merchant concerns in the solar system. The League was the standard for all others in the system, with a widely used currency, the H-Bill, and had set the laws and regulations all others copied.

         But there were many merchant families that did not pledge themselves to the Hansa code. Most were smaller and only operated in certain areas of the solar system. The larger non-Hansa merchants, though few, all seemed to be gunning for Hansa merchants to prove their mettle and worth. This had lead to numerous skirmishes all over the solar system, both on the ground and in space. In fact, the Blackline Corporation, along with the Komatsu Shogunate, had waged a disastrous sixteen year war against the Hanseatic League and several of its allies to gain more land and wealth. Both factions had been forced to sue for peace just the year before.

         “Two years back Reimer and I were on Venus,” Morgan continued on. “I was working to open several metal ore mining sites in the Cossack Fiefs. Who shows up to contest our claim but House Cornwallis. The verdammte head merchant lands an entire mechanized infantry battalion a klick away and demands we ‘cease and desist’.”

         A roar of laughter filled the maglev car.

         “That’s not even the best part. Die kleine sheisse ordered his mortar section to open fire when we didn’t respond.”

         “Anyone get killed?” it was Unteroffizier Berger who had been silent the whole time.

         “Yeah right. The idiots just made craters in the ground. I maneuvered one infantry platoon to pin them while the other two hit their flanks. And when they tried to retreat to their transport craft my mortar section pounded them into the dust.” He shook his head as he took a bite of a cracker. “Two days later the deal was sealed and I acquired two TM07 transport shuttles which, by the way, I sold back to the Cornies a month later.”

         Another bout of laughter blasted through the cabin. Olivia just sat quietly looking out the window, unnoticed by the five other members of the delegation.

         Although incredibly fast, especially in Queen Aphalia’s zero gravity, the maglev took a good hour to work its way from station to station around the domed, under-construction metropolis. Morgan didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to recon his area of operations. The layout of the city, the way people talked, what they talked about, how and where they moved, areas of high and low traffic, areas in the dome still undeveloped. All of this his mind absorbed like a sponge and then filed away, always available for use at the opportune times. His ability to utilize such information was what had helped him secure numerous deals and victories for the Hanseatic League.

         And for himself.

         Every person, from the time they entered the “agoge”, formal schooling run much like the military, at the age of five to the time they died, had the Hansa philosophy drilled into them. This was especially true for those who entered the military; For God, for without him nothing was possible and his laws laid the foundation of morality and how to live one’s life; for the Hanseatic League, the soldiers and citizens in the entire realm who worked together for the greater good and growth of their society; for fortune, working hard to earn money to live and enjoy one’s life how they saw fit. The primarily Protestant population did not see any conflict of values between their religion and business. The common belief was that their religion supported the other two tenets of their philosophy. Like so many others, Morgan grasped the concept and took advantage of it.

         It helped that the League rewarded those warrior-merchants who successfully made deals with a percentage of the profits added to their pay until the contract was up, untaxed. Morgan enjoyed a healthy extra two thousand H-Bills every month for his past work. But, even though he worked hard to help others and live as a good Catholic, he felt that his abilities both on the battlefield and at the negotiating table entitled him to more profit and a better life. His subordinates were there to support him in that endeavor, no matter how much they had proven themselves. Even Reimer, who had served under Morgan for the better part of five years and had proven himself under fire and in dealing countless times, was ultimately a tool for Morgan to utilize and, if need be, discard. It was this mentality that had gotten him where he was now; a Hauptmann, in command of his own company and head merchant of a new, possibly lucrative, trade mission.

         That same ice cold, efficient, calculative mind set would see him through this mission, too, and he would reap the rewards.

         Their conversation quieted as the maglev pulled into the station that sat adjacent to the city hall. Negotiating faces plastered back on, the delegation retrieved what little luggage they had brought with them, and floated off, steeling themselves for whatever was to come.


Christopher Meyer
Writer of Fortune