As I sat there stewing, I saw a courier travelling up the street.
The galaxy, with teles gone, had to rely on antiquated methods to communicate. Belvaille used bicycle messengers.
They wore gold uniforms and zipped through the streets. They carried packages, messages, and delivered price updates to neighborhood markets from the Ank Boards. They were so omnipresent they were usually ignored.
But seeing one riding up the street during a trial was unusual.
The crowd grew quieter as the courier pedaled onward. Only the prosecutor and judge continued their rants against me.
At the edge of the bench, the courier ran up to me and handed me an envelope. I signed for it and the courier got back on his bike and rode down the street.
Now everyone was silent as I opened the outer envelope and found another, red envelope inside.
I opened it and read the contents of the letter.
I couldn’t believe it!
I sat there, uncertain what to do. My mind raced through the repercussions of this message. There was nothing good that could come from it.
“Well? Supreme Kommilaire, may we continue the trial?” the judge asked.
I reluctantly read from the letter.
“Judge Moer-lox-n, by order of the owner of this city, you are hereby stripped of your authority and position within the government and any legal proceedings you are administering are invalidated forthwith. Signed, Garm.”
CHAPTER 39
Outrage!
But also confusion.
Didn’t Garm hate me? Rendrae testified that she hired an assassin to have me killed.
I didn’t get it either. What was Garm playing at? She hadn’t done me any favors by dismissing the judge. It saved me one useless trial at the expense of making everyone detest me even more. Not only was I a bully, a dupe, a fat blunderer, but I was immune to even the most basic prosecution.
Hobardi declared his candidacy for Governor almost immediately.
Then Peush declared.
Hong declared as well and also filled in forms to run for every seat on the City Council. I wasn’t sure if he could do that, but I wasn’t sure he couldn’t.
They were all taking advantage of the sudden, and violent, distrust in the current leadership. If there really was an election for Supreme Kommilaire, I was pretty sure I would lose out to anyone who wasn’t a serial killer. And even then it really depended on who they had killed serially.
The Ank Boards crashed.
The prices for food and precious commodities and interest rates shot through the latticework. Company stocks and disposables plummeted to nothing.
I wasn’t an expert on trading, but I had worked with gangs and helped negotiate transactions for a couple centuries. I understood that if companies couldn’t pay back their debts, they’d have to fire people, or cut wages, or close shop. Then people lending money would stop lending money, and the same things would happen to even more businesses. Then I’d have a city full of unemployed people.
If things were bad now, when no one had a job they were going to be a lot worse. And that was the good scenario. If people couldn’t afford food, we’d have city-wide riots within a week.
I had to go talk to the Ank.
Someone must be manipulating the Boards. I knew it was… possible. I had heard lots of talk about it at the Athletic Gentleman’s Club. There were people who did nothing but invest in the Boards. They didn’t actually own anything or produce anything it was all just Board chalk marks and tickets.
I didn’t comprehend how it was done, but I assumed it was screwing up Belvaille’s economy.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled as people cursed at me as the heavy lifter trundled toward the Ank Reserve.
They could say what they wanted, I was a big boy. I saw a guy about fifty feet ahead winding up his arm to throw something at me and I took out a shotgun and aimed it at him.
The cursing died down substantially and the would-be thrower decided to rub his shoulder nonchalantly instead.
The area outside the Boards was chaos. They were always chaos, but I could sense the panic. Traders were screaming and clawing at each other.
The values on the Board were changing so fast they had double the usual personnel setting prices. I stared at the numbers, but it was all Qwintine to me.
The Ank had increased security, though I saw a few fights break out in the trading pit.
Inside the Reserve, I was left waiting as usual.
Two Ank finally joined me and when we adjourned to the nearby meeting room my knees were aching from standing for so long.
“We are glad you came to visit us. What may we assist you with, Supreme Kommilaire?”
“The Boards. You guys need to fix them. People can’t buy anything. Half the local markets are shut down. My Stair Boys had to break up a riot at Grain Street.”
“The Boards are correct,” one of the Ank responded in his sing-song voice.
“The market is always correct,” the other added.
“Correct in what? You got traders punching each other in the face right outside your front door. A lot of companies are going to go under. Even gangs.”
“Then that is correct.”
“I’m not getting what you mean,” I said, the Ank making me feel even dumber than usual.
“The Boards reflect the sentiment of the people,” one started.
“Their fears, their hopes, their present situations,” the other said.
“The market takes every variable into consideration. It is a living organism.”
“What? Really? I thought they were just big chalk boards,” I said, now really confused.
“We do not mean literally. But they are a representation of a living organism. In fact, they are a representation of all living organisms that contact Belvaille.”
I sat there. I had just looked at the boards and I didn’t get what they meant.
“When people are afraid, they buy certain things.”
“When people are comfortable, they buy other things.”
“That affects prices.”
“Well, those prices are wrong,” I said. “People can’t afford stuff.”
“There are no wrong prices. The Boards understand and react to the supply and demand of the people,” the Ank said.
“People are going to go hungry and die, though.”
“And the Boards will react to their deaths.”
That kind of stunned me.
“So you’re just going to let people die because the Boards are being manipulated?” I asked.
“We do not interfere with the market.”
“The Boards are far more knowledgeable than we are about what is needed and what is not.”
“If we interfered, we would only create a false market which could not be sustained and which would have even worse consequences.”
“But the Boards are just chalk on blackboards, right? Why can’t you go up there and make food less expensive? Or lower interest rates?” I asked.
“Because that is not what the city wants.”
“Sure it does,” I countered. “A bunch of people just came to me and said so.”
“If it was, the Boards would already show it.”
“Why do you keep pretending that the Boards are some intelligent things? They’re just guys yelling at each other and your employees with chalk. Companies are going to go bankrupt and people are going to starve.”
“Then that is what the market demands.”
“Every person, every company, every Kommilaire on this station has a value that is represented on the Board. Not always directly, but indirectly. Some will fall, fail, or die, others will rise, succeed, or be born.”
Wow. I really needed to get a translator. Because I totally didn’t get these guys.
“So you’re saying I’m listed on the Boards?” I asked.