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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Pinnacle Health and Fitness Center

City of Olympus

Old Terra

Sol System

Terran Federation

December 4, 2552


Kanada Thakore stepped off the treadmill, picked up his towel, and wiped his sweat from the machine. Then he wrapped the towel around his neck, braced both hands in the small of his back, and stretched hard.

He always felt better in the endorphin rush after a workout, but the health club’s cardio section was oddly empty today. He felt the stillness around him, and the quiet was almost unnerving. It certainly wasn’t typical for an early Tuesday evening. Not for the Pinnacle.

The Pinnacle was the most expensive fitness center on Earth, with annual dues several times higher than the salary Venus Futures paid its junior managers. Members didn’t pay just for the exercise opportunity, either. The cost of admission was its own…filtration device. Members paid it for the opportunity to network with equally wealthy members of the Five Hundred as often as possible.

Which was why there ought to have been at least a dozen other people on the floor, so why…?

A man in a well-cut charcoal-black suit came around a corner. Ceiling lights reflected off his slimline sunglasses, and Thakore’s stomach tightened. Bodyguards in business suits were no rarity among The Pinnacle’s members, but somehow he knew that wasn’t what this man was.

This man regarded Thakore as a target, not as someone to protect. And not as one of the most powerful members of the Five Hundred, either. Another Fixer. They usually weren’t this visible, but they were living in interesting times.

The newcomer carried a fluffy bathrobe, held in front of him on his palms, like a serving platter, and he smiled as Thakore saw him.

“Ah. Makes sense, now.” Thakore waved one hand at the empty space around them, then walked across to the Fixer. “Where?”

“Mr. Perrin will see you in the sauna,” the Fixer said. “He appreciates the opportunity to speak with you off-the-record.”

“No doubt.”

Thakore snatched the robe from him and went into the locker room. He dumped his sweaty clothes and slipped into the robe, then followed his guide to the sauna.

Two more Fixers stood guard on either side of the sauna entrance. One opened the door for him, and Thakore went inside. The dry heat kept his workout sweat going, and his first breath felt like something out of an oven.

Perrin sat on one of the benches. His upper body was bare, his flab drooping down, and a pair of towels protected his modesty.

Thakore decided he’d seldom seen a more disgusting sight and looked away, to the man sitting across from Perrin. His body was bulky with muscle, a physique built for combat and strength, not for aesthetics. A young, effeminate man and a woman with a body sculpted as if she lived in the gym were busy giving the bruiser a pedicure. Both had towels wrapped around their waists and nothing else.

Thakore was well aware that etiquette proscribed eye contact in the sauna, but the sight of the other man froze him in place. When the Fixer closed the door behind him, he felt as if he’d just been locked into a cage with a tiger.

“Ah, Kanada!” Perrin raised a faux-cigar and puffed. “How kind of you to join us.”

“Perrin. Haven’t seen you here in a while.” Thakore shifted his weight from foot to foot as the temperature gradient worked on him. “What’s the occasion?”

“Why…you are.” Perrin chuckled. “Take a seat, please. Our tea boy will fetch anything you ask. We don’t pay Pinnacle prices for anything less than the best, now do we?”

“Don’t you own this place?” Thakore asked, sitting on Perrin’s bench but well beyond arm’s length from him.

“Hmmmm, do I?” Perrin smirked. “So many assets to manage, so little time.”

Thakore was well aware that Perrin was the health club’s owner. And there’d been so many rumors of listening devices planted throughout the facility—and of Perrin swooping in to snatch opportunities from other club members—that Thakore made it a point to never discuss business on site.

Actually, the truth was that he would have canceled his membership outright, if he hadn’t needed to make appearances here for the sake of the Five Hundred. And if the juice bar hadn’t been so incredible.

“You know General Alaimo, don’t you?” Perrin waggled his cigar at the other man.

“By reputation.” Thakore nodded courteously to the general.

“Pleasure,” Alaimo said with a smile. “Venus Futures warships have taken me to and from many a battle. I appreciate the care and workmanship you put into them.”

One of the pedicurists wobbled. A dollop of sweat fell from his forehead and landed on Alaimo’s ankle and he froze for an instant, then immediately dabbed it off with a cloth.

“Thank you,” Thakore said to Alaimo without much sincerity.

“The situation’s deteriorated to a point where the Oval had to ‘break glass in event of war,’” Perrin said. “General Alaimo’s been recalled to active duty to deal with one of our more…troublesome sectors.”

The general smiled again, a bit more broadly, and a sliver of cold grew in Thakore’s chest, despite the heat.

“Who authorized this?” he asked.

“Admiral Fokaides, naturally.” Perrin smiled, then shrugged in a monstrous billow of obesity. “Once the report of sedition and treason came in from the Cyclops Sector, we decided to let Alaimo off his leash. He’s the only commander we have with a perfect track record when it comes to turning restive populations into compliant ones.”

“You have—” Thakore wiped sweat from his forehead and flicked it at the hot-rock coals of the sauna stove “—roughly twelve percent of your total holdings in Cyclops.”

“Ha!” Perrin slapped his buttermilk-colored thigh. “I told you he was well-informed, didn’t I, Taskin?”

“Yes, Sir, you did.” Alaimo leaned back, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and contemplated Thakore as if he were something to be eaten.

“I keep our good general here comfortable between assignments,” Perrin told Thakore. “He’s had some bad press he didn’t deserve, and it’s wrong for the Federation to not take care of our veterans, don’t you agree, Kanada? Taskin lives at my estate in the Canary Islands. And have I ever neglected any of your needs, General?”

“Never, Sir. Much appreciated,” Alaimo said, leering at the woman taking care of his left foot. He bumped his leg against her exposed chest. She looked up at him and gave him a forced smile.

“‘Bad press’?” Thakore arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but I heard he enjoyed every minute of it.”

He watched Alaimo as he spoke, and the general winked at him.

Thakore felt his skin crawl.

“Well, my boy here does what needs to be done to win what must be won,” Perrin said. “That’s been the Federation’s attitude ever since the Aggamar strike. And that being the case, Taskin and I are going over which assets need to be preserved once he moves on Bellerophon and the rest of the sector. He’s taking Ninth Fleet and the Thirteenth Army Corps with him.”

“And are Federation citizens among those assets?” Thakore asked, and Perrin chuckled.

“If they’re not in compliance, they’ve decided for themselves that they aren’t our citizens. Not too bright of them, admittedly, but that’s why Standing Order Fifteen applies.” He shrugged again. “They’re peasants, Kanada. I’ve got almost all of them toiling their little lives away to escape the debt traps they entered voluntarily. Once upon a time, people like them were called serfs. Slaves. The names change, but the truth doesn’t: they work, and they do what they’re told by the people they work for. Economists and historians can debate where true wealth comes from, but you and I know the answer to that, don’t we?”

Perrin rapped a knuckle against his bench twice, and the female pedicurist instantly pulled a bottle of water from a small refrigerator near the door. She picked it up in a clean cloth, so as to avoid getting her own sweat onto it, and handed it to Perrin.

Labor is the source of all wealth, and the fuel of all economies,” Thakore said. “Nothing happens unless there’s someone there to make it happen.”

“Of course you know that,” Perrin said. “You wouldn’t have become relatively wealthy if you didn’t.”

Thakore let the slight against his own net worth pass.

“What good is an asteroid full of gold and platinum, if there’s no one to mine it out?” Perrin continued. “No one to run the refineries and smelters? If there’s no one to manage the shipping, or the fabrication centers? If there’s no market demand from people to make it valuable?” He puffed his cigar. “How can a government function, if there are no citizens to pay taxes through their labor?”

“That’s why I treat my employees well and deliver quality ships to the market,” Thakore said. “The free market—”

“Doesn’t exist,” Perrin interrupted. He gulped down water, much of it spilling from the sides of his mouth, then lowered the bottle. “We at the top command everything. Tax brackets here, government budgets there, suppressing competition, and patent sniping, from time to time. The only thing that matters is that we keep the population working. All the rest is just window dressing.” He waved the water bottle dismissively. “The peasants can have the illusion of freedom, and we don’t care, as long as they’re working the mines or running numbers for actuaries. They make a pittance and we skim off the rest. We used to give them nothing, but then we realized it’s easier for the proles to convince themselves they’re not slaves so long as we give them a sliver of freedom. It’s amazing how much easier that makes it to keep them in line, isn’t it?”

“And the consequences of that attitude are what’s coming back to haunt us, aren’t they?” Thakore asked with a levelness that surprised him just a bit.

“Bah! From time to time we have to crush skulls to keep the rabble in line. Other times, we can just give a little on the tax rate, and then raise fees elsewhere to make up the difference. How we do it matters less than the fact that we’ll always be in charge, Thakore. But we can’t permit our wealth to leave us.” Perrin slapped his fat belly. “We’ve squeezed the Fringe since this war began, and they’ve minded their manners and stayed in their place. But now, the curs are growling in their kennel, so we have to reconstitute our authority. That’s where General Alaimo comes in. He and Ninth Fleet wormhole out for Bellerophon on Tuesday.”

Shock hit Thakore in the chest. He’d heard rumors—but only rumors—about Alaimo’s return to duty. Which meant the rest of the Five Hundred had made sure rumors were all he’d hear. But Ninth Fleet had been organized by scraping up every available unit to cover Sol when Rajenda took the entire Reserve to the Fringe. They were diverting that to Cyclops, as well? And when Alaimo got there…

“Is he—is that really necessary?” He felt sweat ooze from his entire body. “My son will have reached Jalal a week ago. Even if Murphy’s actually endorsed this ‘Free Worlds’ madness, Rajenda will deal with it. One battle to end New Dublin’s rebellion is all we need to convince the other Fringe systems to see reason. Adding General Alaimo is likely to…compound the problem.”

“I have full confidence your boy will do his best,” Perrin said, “but whether he wins or loses—wins, preferably—the Fringe still needs a lesson. One it won’t soon forget.”

“And just how many planets will need to learn that lesson?” Thakore asked. “One like the one Gobelins learned, I presume?”

“I had my hands tied on that one,” Alaimo said.

The young man polishing his toenails faltered. He drooped forward, as if he were on the brink of heat exhaustion, until his forehead bumped the bench. Alaimo looked down, then put his foot against the man’s face and pushed him toward the door. The pedicurist muttered apologies and crawled out of the sauna. Alaimo patted the wood next to him, and the mostly nude woman sat on the bench. He examined his fingernails, then set the hand on her lap, brushing the towel away to touch her skin.

She took a small file from an open pouch on the bench and began making his pinky nail more perfect.

“Why are we having this discussion?” Thakore asked.

“Because there’ve been some doubts about you, Kanada.” Perrin leaned forward over the dome of his belly, spreading his arms wide enough he could prop his elbows on his knees. “You pushed for Murphy to be governor out in New Dublin. Nothing wrong with that. There’s no point being in the Five Hundred if you can’t use a little nepotism to shore up your legacy! But you did get Murphy into that position, and now it’s become a problem for all of us.”

“I didn’t—”

“No, no! You didn’t. And your daughter’s playing ball. Your boy’s playing ball. None of you are the problem; your son-in-law’s the issue. See, I rather like you, Kanada. Shrewd. Honest,” Perrin said the word as if it were made of salt. “You’re popular in the Five Hundred, too. But in trying times like these, we get to see everyone’s true colors.”

Thakore glanced at Alaimo, then back to Perrin.

“Not everyone in the Five Hundred stays in the Five Hundred, my friend.” Perrin heaved himself back into an upright position and scratched his triple chin. “And in times like this, we need to be sure where everyone stands. That means we’re going to shake out everyone who’s not playing the game. You understand?”

“Of course.” Thakore smiled. “Just out of curiosity, has anyone expressed any concerns over the General’s upcoming deployment?”

“That twerp Vice Admiral Yang,” Perrin grunted. “Which is fine. Like I said, we need to know where everyone stands, and we’re looking for a new replacement for Fokaides now. Your son’s in the running, just so you know…provided he can deliver on the orders we sent him to kill Murphy.”

“Kill…or capture,” Thakore said.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Of course.”

Perrin nodded with enormous insincerity.

Silence fell. Perrin let it linger for almost a full minute, then took a long drag from his faux-cigar.

“This conversation was a professional courtesy to you, Kanada,” he said then. “I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do.” Thakore stepped down from the bench. “Since I’m pretty sure you’re well aware of my loyalty to the Five Hundred, though, I’d appreciate it if some of the bottlenecks and price gouging Venus Futures is dealing with would go away. The Navy still needs those ships, and we’re all on the same side, aren’t we?”

“I’ll have a word with my subsidiaries.” Perrin waggled a hand at him. “Once the Murphy situation’s been handled, I’m sure things will go back to normal.”

“Thank you,” Thakore said as pleasantly as if Perrin hadn’t just confirmed that the Five Hundred would keep the pressure on and the knife of economic ruin at his throat but wouldn’t drive it home…for now. “If you’ll excuse me, then?”

“Toodles!” Alaimo said with a wave as Thakore reached for the sauna door’s inside handle.

“Send your girl over here,” Perrin said to the general as the door opened. “Just because I can’t see my toes doesn’t mean they can’t look good.”

The two of them were still laughing when the door closed.

Thakore stood for a moment, aware of the Fixers on either side of him, then turned and headed straight to his private locker room.

He walked as quickly as he could without running.



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