“The Belvaille Confederation will not only be a union that establishes formal rules and means for dispute resolution, but it will increase productivity substantially. Uh…”
I tried to flip my cards and my fat fingers dropped them all.
“Damn,” I said. I couldn’t bend over to pick them up and now they were spread all over the floor. I had to make this perfect if I wanted to impress the Ank and I was blowing it.
Valia scrambled to gather the cards, grinning at the Ank as she did so.
“As you can see,” I said, indicating MTB’s poster, we will have clearly delineated territories. There will not be a situation where—”
“Supreme Kommilaire,” one of the Ank answered in his tinkly, pleasant voice. “Our time is extremely precious. I am afraid we cannot listen to your full presentation at the moment.”
“Though we are sure it is quite lovely,” another said.
“But if you’ll just give me a minute,” I blurted, my overweight heart sinking. “Maybe I’m not explaining it clearly.”
The three Ank all stood simultaneously.
“We have made our decision.”
A man entered from a side room in an Ank Reserve uniform. He handed me a small, non-descript briefcase without any fanfare and walked away.
The Ank began to file out of the room.
“You have our support, Supreme Kommilaire. Contact us if you require assistance.”
And with that they were gone.
I looked at the briefcase. A million thumbs was what I was originally going to request to get the Belvaille Confederation off the ground. I thought it may be possible for as low as 250,000, though I’d have to cut a lot of corners and do a lot of begging.
This case was too small for a million at any denomination.
I was disappointed. So disappointed I didn’t want to open it. I knew inside it was going to be like ten grand or something, which would maybe buy a round of drinks for all the crime lords.
Valia stood up from recovering the cue cards.
“Well,” she said, “how much did they give?”
“You open it, MTB,” I said.
I handed him the case and he slowly flicked the lock and opened it.
There was a single old-style thumb, one of the tube varieties we had used before going to the flatter, plastic weave ones. There were some small symbols on it and circuitry and etchings, but it was just a thumb.
In the center, where it usually listed the numerical denomination detailing how much it was worth, it instead had a symboclass="underline"
Infinity.
CHAPTER 58
I guarded it. Hid it in my house. Had Kommilaire lining the street. I panicked.
Then I realized it wasn’t an actual thing. Back in the day, I had a hard enough time understanding bank accounts. That I had currency out there somewhere even though it wasn’t in my hand or pocket.
This was just one thumb. I couldn’t cut it into pieces. I couldn’t even use it to buy something directly because no one could make change for an infinity. No one could steal it, because it was given to me and everyone knew that.
It was just a symbol. A message.
When I went out to pitch my Belvaille Confederation to gang bosses, I had a retinue of Kommilaire with me, all standing at attention in gold uniforms.
In the center, one held The Box. I swapped out the boring briefcase the Ank had given me, and used the fanciest thing I could find.
Before I started the sermon I flashed it to my audience.
This infinite thumb, for people whose lives and dreams were about making money, was like seeing the face of a god. Murderers with broken jaws and mangled knuckles asked if they could touch it. People asked if they could kiss it—strangely, a lot of people wanted to kiss it. Gang muscle, normally an impassive, unimpressed lot, crowded around when I took it out and gazed with religious awe.
Ironically, I didn’t spend anything. I didn’t have to. I was the Master of Money according to the Ank, who were the Creators of Money.
Supreme Kommilaire, Secretary of City, even Destroyer of the Colmarian Confederation. Those were nice and all, but Man With Infinite Cash!
That was something.
I never had as much influence with gang bosses as I had now. I wasn’t just someone they had to put up with, I was someone they wanted around. They invited me over for lunch like the rich snobs who thought I was a curiosity that boosted their social standing.
On the Royal Wing I had the ability to bring hope or despair to that desolate place. But now I had it on the space station proper. All these gang lords were tired of ripping each other to pieces over scraps. They were ready to believe in the Belvaille Confederation and who better than someone with infinite money to make it a reality?
I didn’t even have to negotiate—much.
I set the prices. I set the borders. I set the products. I established everything and if people didn’t like it, they might humbly raise their hands and beg permission to speak, but they didn’t throw around threats and stamp their feet like they used to.
Building the Confederation was just time. A lot of time.
If I lined up every boss outside my front door, the queue would probably snake out and circumnavigate the city a dozen times. This wasn’t going to get done overnight. Or even in a year.
Every judgment had to be committed to paper and electronic storage. This was official. Our master template. Our holy document.
But it wasn’t simple, either. One boss would come in and I would create all his parameters and then another boss would come in and I would have to go back to the first one and haggle over where they overlapped or conflicted.
The gang wars stopped instantly. Because I told them to. I said if you keep fighting, you won’t be in the Confederation and then everything you own will be available for auction. What gang could possibly resist the combined forces of all the other gangs on the station?
Tamshius was right. They had to join. They were begging to join.
It was all democratic. Well, I guess it was more like feudalism, with power based on your territory. But you were capped out by the other bosses, which promoted competition. There were no monopolies.
I told Lisedt she could call herself a queen or whatever she wanted, but it didn’t mean anything in the Confederation.
I hired clerks and typists and mapmakers to record everything, billing the Confederation for their services. My Kommilaire had already started running messages between the fledgling members.
Belvaille was still crappy, but I could see a real enthusiastic future. Everyone could see it. The loudspeakers were detailing all our activities instead of the latest bloodshed and mayhem.
The Boards absolutely surged, with confidence in the city at its highest levels in… maybe ever. As soon as a business or gang joined the Confederation, they had the option of listing themselves on the Boards. If they did, their shares shot up instantly and dramatically. The costs of goods also declined because there was a growing order among producers and consumers, though still healthy competition.
All these benefits and I figured not even five percent had been added to the Belvaille Confederation so far.
People didn’t dislike me anymore. The conspiracy theorists now were saying I had planned everything all along. Starting with the destruction of the Colmarian Confederation seventy-eight years ago. That’s how clever I was. Regular citizens didn’t like speaking to me directly. They would avert their gaze and fold their hands in front of them, as if they were worried I was going to smite them with piles of cash.
I was back to being a folk hero.
I had only stemmed the gangs, however. And while the gangs and businesses made up a lot of influence, the Order, the Totki, the Olmarr Republic, the ferals, and a whole lot of random people were still causing havoc over their personal grievances.