CHAPTER 10
Maktoum Corporation had employed their full powers of persuasion to encourage Bethune’s bid for independence from the Confederated Worlds, and now the Maktoum office on Bethune buzzed with activity, profiting from this fresh political reality.
Certain operations forbidden under Confederated Worlds law were launched, various revenue streams laundered, and assets of questionable provenance were dispatched to off-world buyers who streamed into Bethune on every inbound star liner.
This kept most of Sami’s subordinates beyond busy, allowing him a free hand for hatching the most ambitious scheme of his life without tale bearers immediately grassing on him to Sharif. He wanted his vision for the mysterious asteroid base, Ajanib, fully operational (and hopefully profitable) before Sharif got wind of the unorthodox application that only he, Sami Maktoum, would ever have had the imagination and guts to attempt.
To accomplish this Sami had to bend a few rules—and not lie, precisely . . . merely suggest to various company department heads that Sharif had fully signed off on this new operation.
If Sami would have any chance of presenting his angry brother an inarguable business success, he would need to accomplish all this quickly, and that time pressure had the unintended consequence of driving Sami to heights of labor and productivity he had never known before. He remained in his office, or in meetings with suppliers, from early in the morning until late at night, striving to scrape all the necessary pieces together and have them operational in Ajanib at an unbelievable pace.
He sent materials and construction crews out to the asteroid to construct dozens of luxury suites, lounges, and galleries. He purchased a top-of-the-line universal fabrication system, and as it was being installed, he threaded a dangerous course through Maktoum Corporation departments to obtain the centerpiece of his whole new vision, the fruits of his earlier brainstorm: complete fabrication files from a certain era of Old Earth road vehicles. These ancient files he managed to secure despite a degree of skepticism from various Maktoum department supervisors that made Sami sweat, knowing Sharif would likely hear about it sooner rather than later. He felt sure that time ran down quickly, and Sami stepped up his frenetic efforts to an even higher pace. Success must arrive within months, not years.
On his checklist, Sami found himself in another tricky balancing act. He needed to begin client acquisition immediately, even though the operations on Ajanib stood far short of completion, and this presented an even greater conundrum. The client base Sami targeted populated the upper echelons of wealth and power—the very people Sharif might interact with on a social level.
If Sami advertised under the prestigious Maktoum brand, he would obtain an immediate badge of legitimacy . . . but also very possibly trigger an immediate visit from one outraged older brother.
After struggling mightily over the risks and benefits, Sami could only take the path of compounding risk. The Maktoum name adorning his enterprise was simply too valuable for an operation that needed top-tier clients in a hurry.
With the decision made, targeted advertising launched out to the ultra-wealthy of a dozen worlds and more, and Sami calculated market penetration, interstellar transit schedules, and construction progress advancing within the asteroid facility, Ajanib, timing everything down to the wire.
Almost immediately after initiating the advertising campaign, Sami discovered that he had nonetheless miscalculated, and for once in his life the mistake he made was in undervaluing the brilliance of his own creative vision.
Reservations poured in with shocking immediacy, some eager enthusiasts setting off for Bethune at once, and Sami faced a new terror, greater even than his fear of Sharif’s wrath. Sami could not bear the thought of the embarrassment he would face as a mob of the wealthy elite arrived to experience the heady joys of Ajanib, only to find it an unfinished shell, in their jaundiced eyes nothing more than a sham. With this horror driving him, Sami made preparations to rocket out to Ajanib himself where he could drive laborers night and day, personally ensuring that the first paying clients to enter within the exotic confines of the alien asteroid would find exactly what they had been promised.
“I will be out at Ajanib for at least two weeks,” Sami detailed to his assistant, Pushkin. “Forward all communication to my office there, but don’t tell anyone that I’m off Bethune.”
“Of course, sir,” Pushkin said, his placid features composed, his hands clasped behind his back, effortlessly recalling every order Sami ever uttered without a reliance on notes.
Sami threw a few items from his desk into a satchel and paused to rub weary eyes. “Oh, yes . . . Pushkin, have we any experts available on antique Earth ground vehicles? I need one, fast.”
Pushkin nodded as if this request was entirely reasonable. “I believe I mentioned the peculiar news that Warren Springer Stowe was arrested some weeks ago, and he’s here in Torino, jailed awaiting a criminal trial.”
“Stowe?” Sami repeated, remembering something about a stolen vehicle and some pathetic local museum. “I need someone who is not in jail,” Sami said testily, “someone who’s able to board a ship in . . . an hour and twenty minutes.”
Pushkin pursed his lips, contemplating. “Hmm, there is a local collector—Cathwaite is his name, as I recall. Perhaps you could entice him somehow.”
Being an heir to all the Maktoum charm and fortune, of course Sami could entice Cathwaite, especially since this Cathwaite embodied a burning addiction for anything related to Old Earth vehicles and culture. An hour and twenty-two minutes after his conversation with Pushkin, Sami and Cathwaite set off for the asteroid Ajanib.
“So you have really secured genuine fabrication files from the original manufacturers?” Peter Cathwaite asked for the fourth time, his bushy eyebrows lowered until they nearly touched the rim of the gleaming brandy snifter that he pressed to his lips.
“Yes,” Sami patiently said, also for the fourth time, quietly pleased at Cathwaite’s unconcealed awe. “Original, validated, direct from the top manufacturers of the era.”
Cathwaite swirled the vintage brandy in his mouth, shaking his head as he swallowed. “God. How did that ever survive the Super Cleanse?”
Sami held up a palm. “We can only guess, but survive they did, and since most of the files represent vehicles from one, um, especially prized decade, our guess suggests a knowledgeable connoisseur stood behind the preservation.”
Cathwaite perked up. “An especially prized decade? Which decade are we talking about here?”
Sami’s own obsession with Old Earth vehicles—like most of his obsessions—had burned intensely but for a short duration, and now he couldn’t readily recall all those countless details. Collectors only really valued ten decades or so of Earth history, back when most ground transport vehicles had been direct hydrocarbon burners, but which specific decades had become most prized again? Sami couldn’t immediately remember, but he knew his fabrication files comprised the absolute cream of the crop. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough, Cathwaite,” he said, rather than reveal his shameful forgetfulness. He really needed about five hours of uninterrupted sleep, soon.
Sami managed to obtain that sleep and more before his ship reached Ajanib and he witnessed the most obvious first sign of his recent improvements. The utilitarian lock extension that they had originally added to the asteroid provided safe and functional docking for scientific vessels and supply ships, but Sami wanted his ultra-wealthy clientele embraced with suitable luxury from the moment they arrived, so an entirely separate docking arm now served as Sami and Cathwaite’s introduction to the new face of Ajanib.
The ship’s lock cycled to reveal a wide hallway laid out in teakwood with brass railings and accents; the Nautical Look, the architectural designer called it. Cathwaite nodded appreciatively. “Very nice, Sami, I must say.”
Sami’s on-site section supervisor, Belinda Athenos, greeted them alone, her posture rigid, but lines of fatigue combined with darkly circled eyes to present a picture of near-exhaustion. “Welcome to Ajanib, Director,” Belinda said, bowing her head slightly. “We have two premier suites fully prepared, if you would like to—”
“In a moment, Athenos,” Sami said, cutting her off. “We would like to go look over Build-Out first, if you could have someone take our things to our suites, please.”
Sami prided himself on reading people at a glance, but the expression that flashed across the face of Belinda Athenos defied his interpretation, seeming a combination of exasperation and . . . fear?
“Yes, Director,” is all she audibly replied, handing them each a small device. “Here are your inertial trackers. As you know, sir, the spatial geometry inside the station is . . . unique, and people get lost easily. With the inertial tracker you can always retrace your steps.”
“Yes, yes,” Sami said impatiently. “Now, if you can point me toward Build-Out, I will leave you to your duties.”
Again an unreadable expression flickered across her face, but she bowed her head, meekly offering, “Continue to the mezzanine, straight ahead, then follow the ebony track. It will take you to Build-Out, and a few installation techs should be on hand if you have any questions there.”
Before she finished speaking Sami was in motion, Cathwaite stepping up briskly at his side, Belinda Athenos left behind.
While the mezzanine space revealed the first glimpses of Ajanib’s native materials to them, it also bore the refining marks of Sami’s expensive renovations, a broad gleaming space with only the eyesore of stacked construction materials to detract.
Sami saw the path diverge ahead, with a sparkling white path leading leftward, a broad golden walkway continuing straight ahead, and a glass-like ebony track to the right. Following the right-hand path, they moved into a narrow corridor that continued about fifty paces to a luxurious control room equipped with a dozen semi-enclosed cubicles.
“Ah,” Sami said, smiling. “Here we are.” He only understood what he beheld because he had selected and purchased the equipment himself, but he had never actually utilized such a system himself.
Now, where were those techs she mentioned?
“So, how does it work, precisely?” Cathwaite asked, scratching his chin as he looked over one workstation.
Sami’s verbal dexterity rarely failed him, and it threw him a lifeline now. “It’s meant to be intuitive to use. So, you can be our first test, and we will both learn if it is as intuitive as advertised.”
Cathwaite shrugged. “Okay, I’ll give her a try. In the interest of science and all.” He settled himself in the enveloping embrace of the waiting seat, and things immediately began to happen. A row of indicator lights illuminated, one after the other, even as a holographic display fizzed into life just before Cathwaite’s bemused face. The dark wall facing the workstation glowed, Sami suddenly realizing that this “wall” was the view pane into the fabrication chamber itself that now stood under warm lights, waiting for its first creation.
Sami looked back down to see Cathwaite navigating through menus, murmuring as he did, “Incredible . . . simply incredible. Ford . . . hmmm . . . General Motors, Chevrolet . . .”
Sami heard the dimly remembered Old Earth brand names, wondering if Cathwaite’s pronunciation was correct. If so, Sami had been mispronouncing “Chevrolet” for years.
“Can I . . . ?” Cathwaite turned to regard Sami, his expression boyishly expectant. “Can I try constructing something?”
Sami had been assured all was in readiness. “Be my guest.”
Cathwaite selected something called a 1968 Corvette Stingray, actuating it. Then Sami and Cathwaite watched as the universal fab-all came to life on the other side of the view pane, the lines of the vehicle coming together under glowing plasma injectors.
The moment of truth came quickly for Sami now. Would it all work as advertised?