Into Everywhere by Paul McAuley

Author:Paul McAuley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781473204003
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2016-04-20T23:00:00+00:00

32. The Switch

‘I had a time of it, tracking you down,’ Brandon Wiley told Tony. ‘Anyone would think you don’t care about your old friends any more.’

‘Right now, I am hoping to sell something,’ Tony said.

‘Well, maybe I can help you with that,’ Brandon said artlessly. ‘Are you going to finish those, by the way?’

‘The bean cakes? Help yourself,’ Tony said.

The motel’s maker hadn’t done a very convincing job. The fried shells were too dry, the insides half-cooked and gluey.

‘I had to skip breakfast. Too much work to do, too many people to see. These aren’t bad, whatever they are. Spicy,’ Brandon said, biting a bean cake in half. ‘You should give me the recipe – I could try them out on a few people I know in the food biz. Maybe they’ll catch on. You never know.’

He was dressed in a shabby black jacket and blue jeans, a plump middle-aged man with an untidy halo of curly black hair and the manners of an over-indulged child, half obsequious, half petulant. He had quit his university post in Port of Plenty, First Foot after some vague scandal and had drifted through the fringe worlds before washing up in Freedonia. He worked now as a low-rent trader. Although he lacked the skill and nerve to ever make it big, he was surprisingly good at networking, keeping his contacts sweet by assiduously dispensing gossip, flattery and minor favours. Tony had done a little business with him, once transporting a gaggle of code jockeys who had been stranded after their ride found herself a better deal and booted without bothering to tell them, another time shifting stock confiscated from a bankrupt trader – cheap trainers and cases of a soft drink, Vimto (the last in the universe according to Brandon), that Tony had managed to offload on Wellington for a marginal profit that had been considerably less than the trader had promised.

Brandon took a while to get to the reason for his visit. Tony listened patiently while he complained about the foibles and foolishness of other traders and freebooters, and boasted about his low-ball deals.

‘People complain that times are hard,’ Brandon said, blotting crumbs of fried beans with a wetted finger and sticking it in his mouth. ‘They say trade isn’t what it once was because worlds are becoming more self-sufficient, and too many are caught up in this so-called recession. But if you can make your own opportunities there is always a profit to be made somewhere. People like us, we roll with the lows and ride the highs for all they’re worth. For instance, here’s a nice little deal I’m putting together. An acquaintance of mine has a contract to ship seven hundred gross of prayer flags to Zungqu. You know the kind? They are set out for a year on certain places high on the spires, where they accumulate spiritual energy. Not much money in it, but – this is the sweet thing, Tony – there’s a fellow I know on Zungqu who deals in desert rose.

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