Art of the Deal

Memories 1

Bergen, Argyre Province
Hanseatic League Territory, Mars
14 November 2235

         
         Morgan dodged a split second before the other boy’s knife cut through his cheek. He moved backwards, closer to the edge of the circle of onlookers. The other student, Morgan’s fellow classmate, Peter Faust, stood, towering over Morgan like an ogre. The cruel looking, fifteen centimeter blade in his hand waved back and forth in front of Morgan like a cobra’s head.

         “Come now, Morgan,” Peter jeered. “Don’t run like an Earther. Fight me like a real warrior.”

         With that Peter roared and lunged at Morgan. Morgan’s own knife swept up to block the larger boy’s downward drive. The two grunted as their free arms clasped and they pushed to gain the upper hand.

         “What’s wrong?” Peter asked. “Nine years of agoge and you still don’t have what it takes.”

         Peter released Morgan’s arm and jabbed the smaller student in the temple. Morgan reeled, trying to stay balanced, but his body wouldn’t stay upright and all he could see were stars exploding all throughout his vision. He swung wildly with his knife, vainly trying to hit his opponent. He grunted and roared, attempting to retain some form of advantage and to make Peter think twice about attacking again.

         “Shut up, Peter!” Morgan bellowed, still dazed. “I-I have what it takes!”

         The next sensation Morgan felt was searing pain as Peter dug his knife into Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan roared and lunged to where he thought Peter was, only to cut into air. He was rewarded with twin jabs to his back. Blood poured from the gaping wounds down his naked torso and staining his shorts. His breathing was becoming shallower, his energy seeping away with his blood. Although his vision had returned, Morgan feared he would black out at any second. But he could not, would not, quit, would not show pain to his enemy.

         And Peter Faust truly was his enemy. Ever since they were five Peter had teased and chided Morgan at every turn. Putting up with Peter’s bullying had been a part of daily life for as long as Morgan could remember, and this bout was no different except that they had knives and were trying to wound (and perhaps even kill) each other. So far, Peter was winning, as always.

         “Aw, what’s wrong? Is Morgan hurt? Do you want your mommy?”

         Morgan roared and lunged at Peter, driving his knife up under the larger boy’s guard. A lucky strike, Morgan slashed his blade across Peter’s chest. Peter grunted in pain and swung, missing Morgan by a hair as he shot backwards and recollected himself for the next attack.

         “You little brat,” Peter growled. “I’ll make you sorry you did that.”

         Peter rushed Morgan, barreling the smaller student over and onto his back. With a laugh of triumph Peter jumped on top of Morgan and began to drive his knife down into boy’s chest.

         “That’s enough!”

         It was Herr Mueller, the class’ combatives teacher. At the last moment he had broke through the circle of stoic students to stay Peter’s hand.

         “That is enough for one day,” Mueller said calmly, taking both knives. “You both fought very well.”

         Peter sneered as he stood, dusting himself off. He began to walk away but Mueller’s strong hand halted him.

         “You only leave a dead enemy on the battlefield, Peter. But Morgan is your ally. Extend your hand in comradeship and help him up.”

         Peter looked at Morgan, then at Herr Mueller. Looking back at Morgan he smiled and extended his hand.

         “Gute kampf,” Peter said as he clasped Morgan’s hand and began to lift him of the ground.

         Suddenly Peter let go and Morgan fell back to the floor with a loud thump. Several of the other students laughed. Herr Mueller didn’t think it was so funny. He tackled and pinned Peter with the greatest of ease.

         “Peter, that is a dishonorable thing to do!” Mueller said, berating the child. “How dare you treat your comrade like that. That is not the way of the Hanseatic League.”

         Peter grunted under the man’s body of solid muscle.

         “My father told me that the strong take what they want and that the weak are left to die,” he retorted.

         “That is wrong,” Mueller responded. “As warrior-merchants we are to protect those weaker than us, especially when it is an ally. If your friend is weak, then you must help him become strong, not leave him to die.”

         “Maybe as a soldier,” Peter shot back. “But what about as a merchant? For God, the Hanseatic League, and Fortune, right? Well getting fortune means pushing aside those weaker than you and taking the initiative in a deal.”

         “But that is business,” Mueller said. “In business we work to make things more advantageous to us, but we always remember that there are other human beings on the other side of that contract. Of coarse, it is our God given right to accumulate as much wealth as we see fit. We are not socialists or communists. As warrior-merchants of the Hanseatic League we are the arbiters of free markets in the solar system. But at the same time we need to be ethical, both on the battlefield and at the negotiating table.”

         At this Mueller stood up, allowing Peter to regain his feet. Mueller crossed his arms and nodded towards Morgan.

         “Now, help your comrade up.”

         Peter complied with his teacher, but only begrudgingly. As the rest of the students moved off, Mueller called Morgan over.

         “Morgan, I would like to see you after school today,” Mueller said. “Meet me in my office.”

         “Yessir,” Morgan replied, then slunk off to retrieve his shirt and to be sewn up by the nurses.

         After his last class Morgan made his way back through the training grounds to the gymnasium. Upon arriving Herr Mueller was instructing two older students in unarmed combat. The boy and the girl, stripped to their waists (the girl had a sports bra on) were covering several basic moves and taking tips from Mueller as they went. Morgan could see by their black shorts and the black shirts on the ground that they were final year students. They had passed the grueling three month long Crucible in the barren wasteland of the Martian north pole and were now preparing to enter the world of business and soldiering.

         “Ah, Morgan,” Mueller exclaimed as the young man approached. Looking at the older students, Mueller nodded towards them. “That’s enough for the moment. Take a brake and meet back here in thirty minutes.”

         He turned back to Morgan and motioned for the boy to walk with him.

         “Quite a fight you and Peter had today,” Mueller commented as they moved towards his office. “A bit more personal than I had hoped.”

         “He always makes everything into a contest,” Morgan growled.

         “And so what are you going to do about that?”

         Morgan thought for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing in deep thought.

         “Beat him?”

         Mueller smiled and shook his head. “And how well is that working?”

         Morgan frowned at the memory of that morning’s knife fight.

         “Not too well, I guess.”

         “Morgan I have no doubt that you could beat Peter if you put your mind to it, but I think your problem is that you are giving into your anger. And that’s precisely what Peter wants. He wants you to take everything you two compete in personally and he’s getting excellent results, wouldn’t you say?”

         “Y…yessir,” Morgan replied scornfully.

         “And so what are you going to do about it?”

         Morgan thought for a second, his young, immature mind trying to find some way for him to end up victorious over Peter. Sadly, though, he could think of nothing. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

         Herr Mueller smiled. “Why not just keep a cool head and not worry about what he thinks or what he does? If he wins, he wins. There is no loss to your honor and you can evaluate what you did wrong so that you can train to improve your skills. When you’re hot with anger you tend to lose sight of such things. You are young, Morgan, and still have much to learn and many years to become stronger. You will find that if you stay balanced mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally, and you step back and look at the situation from a different perspective you will come out better than you started.”

         Young Morgan Fathom sat there in Mueller’s office, soaking in and processing all the information he had just been fed. It was a different mentality from his teenage, fight or flight, hormone driven mind set that he had been following the last few years as he came of age. How could such a system work? Wouldn’t the other students chide him and tease him for doing such a thing? And he knew Peter would have his say about it.

         “But…” Morgan tried to start.

         “No,” Mueller said, cutting him off. “No buts. It does not matter what others think, Morgan. You have to understand that the next four years of your social life are minuscule and all together unimportant in the long run. When you are twenty-five or thirty-five who is going to remember that some bully made fun of you? No one. If you work to improve yourself and stop worrying about what everyone else thinks, you will turn out better in the long run.”

         Morgan still did not understand it, but how could it hurt? Everything else had failed up until now. Perhaps Herr Mueller had a point.

         “I’ll try,” Morgan replied after a while.

         “There is an ancient saying,” Mueller said in response. “Do not try. Do or do not. There is no try. You have to commit yourself to becoming better and not losing your temper. It’s going to take a lot of self-discipline on your part. But you have a lot of potential. I’m sure you can do it if you just work at it.”

         Their meeting over, Morgan left Mueller’s office and made his way to the train station. That night Morgan spoke to his father about the day’s events in the older man’s large, book strewn den.

         “Sounds to me that Joshua gave you some pretty good advice,” Vincent Fathom said at length.

         “Who?”

         “Herr Mueller’s first name is Joshua. But you will never call him that.”

         “Yes, father.”

         Vincent leaned back in his overstuffed chair and looked at his son.

         “Mueller and I go way back,” Vincent said. “We attended agoge together and fought in the war of twenty-two-nineteen against the Carolina Confederation on Ganymede, Titan, and Io. He knows what he’s talking about. He had the same problem growing up.”

         Morgan sneered. “Then how can he tell me to make myself better if he made the same mistakes?”

         “Because he learned from those experiences, and is an excellent soldier and warrior for it. He can tell you how to improve yourself from his mistakes so that you don’t make the same mistakes, understand? That, and he’s not like that anymore. He’s really calmed down over the decades.”

         “So,” Morgan hesitated, thinking. “I should do what he says and not care what people think?”

         “Precisely.”

         “What if the other kids make fun of me?”

         Vincent cocked an eyebrow. “So what? You will be working to make yourself a better person and a better warrior-merchant. Forget about the things they say. If you continue to work to improve yourself, you will come out on top both in the Crucible and when you get into the real world.” Vincent smiled and patted his son on the shoulder, purposefully putting painful pressure on Morgan’s fresh wound. “You’re a Fathom, my son. You’ll do fine.”

         Morgan left his father’s den a little more confident. Maybe he should take Herr Mueller’s advice. Morgan decided to try it, and retreated to his room to finish his homework.

         The next few weeks saw Morgan working very hard to keep cool and to learn from his mistakes instead of giving into his anger. It took every ounce of discipline he had to not react to Peter’s antics and insults. But, as weeks turned to months Morgan found it easier to deal with. He began working extra hard on his school work and asked his friends, peers, and superiors for their input on his martial skills during training. By the time May of 2236 rolled around Morgan was in excellent shape, both physically and in his grades.

         His self-discipline had the opposite effect than what he had feared. Other students were actually drawn to him and were asking for his advice and to hang out. Even Peter had started to treat him a little better. And best of all, Morgan had started dating a young woman named Lorelei Fuchs who a class ahead of him.

         Agoge was over for the summer. Students would have a month off before returning to pre-instruction training, a month of exercise and practicing military skills. One warm, calm May night he lay on the beach of the Galle Sea with Lorelei and a small clutch of friends. They all had bathing suits on and were playing in the water or relaxing on the beach. Lorelei’s head rested on Morgan’s chest and the two dozed together as the sun began to disappear under the horizon.

         “Morgan,” Lorelei cooed as she shifted a little. “Have you ever thought of what you’re going to do when you’re done with Agoge?”

         “Be a warrior-merchant, ofcoarse.”

         She smiled and cuddled closer to him.

         “Nothing very interesting, then.”

         He gave her a quizzical look.

         “Nothing interesting?” he began. “I’ll get to go all over the solar system, fighting and dealing as I go.”

         Lorelei laughed at her boyfriend’s defensiveness.

         “Oh, Morgan, you know I was kidding.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then laid her head back on his chest.

         Morgan gave a small grin and looked up at the stars. The night was clear and billions of stars twinkled back at him in the Martian night. His mind wandered to the future – it seemed so far away.

         “I wonder what it’s going to be like,” he said after a while. “Who’ll I’ll meet, where I’ll visit.” He was quiet for a moment. “What will I be like?”

         Lorelei looked up at him.

         “I’m sure you’ll be a great man someday.”

         She reached up and gave Morgan a deep kiss.

         “Oh, for piss sake! Get a room you two!” David, one of Morgan’s friends, exclaimed.

         The group of friends laughed and Morgan and Lorelei went back to dozing on the sand. Morgan gave one last look at the stars before closing his eyes.

         What does the future hold?


Christopher Meyer
Writer of Fortune