A Side Job on Earth
I brought IS-1 and Trainer One across to Earth with me.
It was borderland between Syria and Iraq, and fortunately there was no sign of anyone passing through. I had put the training camp to the torch, so the upper ranks of IS were surely in an uproar, but they had no way of knowing whose work it was. For the time being, they would not come anywhere near this place.
I climbed into the vehicle I had hidden. Trainer One took the driver's seat.
"Drive."
"Yes, Master."
The trainer bastards. They had spent their time carrying out armed attacks through the great cities of Syria and Iraq, murdering perfectly ordinary civilians as they went, and once they were moved over to trainer duty they had taken their pleasure in beating the trainees. But with Submission Collars locked around their necks, and after being dragged to the other world for an indirect taste of a slave's life, they were now scrambling to look good in front of me. Trainer One was the eager one even among that lot, and this time he had gone so far as to volunteer, of his own accord, to come along.
"I know the location of IS's secret training camp."
A secret training camp. A gathering of lunatics who had joined IS and were training for the sake of killing people. To me it was no different from a natural fishing ground. I would stop by on the way back. First, though, I had urgent business to settle.
I drove the truck toward Damascus. I needed to reach Cairo, and I could not board a plane with these two. But there is always a way.
After we arrived in Damascus, I rented a car from an agency—the most ordinary Toyota pickup they had—took it to the motel that served as my transit-gate foothold, and crossed back over into Gaia.
The outskirts of Fortress Ballad. On my last visit I had used lumber I brought with me to build an additional transit point underground, out in the wasteland. I had made it large enough that coming through in a vehicle was possible.
Once I was through the gate, I drove for Lorenzo. Half a day behind the wheel brought me at last to the goblin cave on Lorenzo's outskirts. I hid the truck in the cache and slipped back out through Gate One, on the edge of Cairo.
I entered the city without leaving a single trace of a border crossing, took a room at a shabby hotel, and left IS-1 and Trainer One there. That done, I still had time before the day I had promised.
Might as well see to a few preparations. I headed into central Cairo to find the lawyer I had entrusted with establishing the corporation.
"It's been a while. The paperwork is all finished. We've filed, so once the outstanding taxes are cleared up, the acquisition should be wrapped up in about a month. When that time comes, send the remaining balance to this account."
I told him I understood, gathered the documents, and left the office. In a month I would have a corporation of my own standing in Egypt. It was a plain violation of my company's ban on outside business, but set beside the other things I was presently up to, this hardly counted. In any case, once that month had passed I would officially possess a means of turning the gold I had been stockpiling into cash.
I left the lawyer with a few instructions.
"Get me the contacts for the seller's existing clients as well. An official gold buyer would be best, but an unofficial line is fine too."
Gold, like the dollar, was money that passed anywhere in the world, and a means of shaking off a financial trace with ease. Demand for it held steady whether the trade was done in the light or in the dark.
I left the work with the lawyer and made the rounds of Cairo's markets, buying up food, blankets, tents, and the like. I also purchased clean cloth and simple clothing in bulk. Looking after slaves who were hurt or sick consumed a ridiculous quantity of supplies. I filled the dozen-odd magic pouches I had brought until not another thing would fit inside them.
At the start, even a single magic pouch had seemed more than enough. The more work I did, the more I caught myself thinking I would be better off if they were simply larger. And every time that thought rose, Aphago read my mind like a ghost and slipped in with a temptation.
"You need only give your consent, and a subspace several kilometers in volume becomes yours. Wouldn't it be better to put away these booger-sized trinkets and acquire something with a bit of room? Hahaha."
If it truly was a space large enough to hold an entire city, as the thing claimed, there would be little I could not do with it. But not yet. Not yet.
I spent days going about buying what I needed and enduring the inconvenience, and at last the promised day arrived. The day I was to meet the narcotics supplier the broker had connected me with.
Late in the evening, I did as I always did—a black hood drawn over my head and face—and made for a cemetery on the outskirts of Cairo. Tombstones of ochre mud brick, clay, and sandstone stood packed tight in every direction, every shape among them: stones sunk flush with the ground, markers the height of a grown man, tombs the size of small houses. Following the shadows scattered thin beneath the moonlight, I circled around behind a small chapel.
Through ears laid under a hearing-enhancement spell, I caught the presence of people. Four? No. One behind each of them—six. And with the broker, seven.
As I turned the corner of the chapel, the broker came into view first, his body tucked into the shadow.
"You're here. The goods? You said a hundred kilos."
"Show me the money, and I'll have them ready for you to take on the spot."
The broker's face tightened, but picking a fight right before a deal must have felt wrong. He turned his head.
"You heard him. Come out and at least say hello."
A moment later several figures stepped out of the dark. Rough-looking men, but with the sharp, well-defined features of typical white Europeans. Three of them wore nothing more considered than a shirt and trousers. The one in the center had dressed in a suit, though his shirt hung open and the thug in him showed through. He was handsome, and the look of him was Italian. The man raking a hand back through his blond hair had the back of that hand, and the fingers, crowded with tattoos. The suit stepped forward. The tone was friendly enough, but the way his eyes traveled the length of me let the wariness show.
"A mysterious friend. I'm Pico."
The broker spoke.
"If you mean to keep doing business, wouldn't it be proper to at least exchange names?"
I considered it a moment, then answered.
"Terra."
The suit let out a short laugh.
"Heh. A man of few words. Well. Better than someone who won't shut up. Shall we see the goods, then?"
"The money?"
The suit jerked his chin toward one of the men behind him. The man who caught the signal was holding a Boston bag that looked heavy even at a glance.
"Two million euros. All of it cash."
Priced as it traded on the European market, a hundred kilograms would come to ten million euros, but the wholesale rate passed on to a distributor was ordinarily about a fifth of that. One way or another, the middleman's margin was obscene.
The suit asked, "You'll need to show the goods too, won't you?"
A moment later IS-1 and Trainer One came up from behind, each with an enormous bag slung across his back. The heavy bags hung low and sagged toward the ground. At my order the two of them walked to the middle and set the bags down.
Seeing it, the suit nodded. "Bring it over. And check the goods."
The other side brought the Boston bag across and set it down, then opened the backpacks we had put out and drew out what was inside. What came out were vacuum-sealed rectangular bricks of pills. One of the crew tore a brick open, took out a tablet, crushed it between his fingers, and smelled the powder.
"It checks out."
The rest of them dug through the packed tablets in the bags, making sure there was no trick. On our side, IS-1 and Trainer One opened the Boston bag, drew out the bundles of cash, and checked them.
While each side confirmed goods and money in turn, the suit spoke.
"I'd say this opens our first deal. You planning to keep trading after this?"
"I am. If it's all right next time, I'll deliver as well."
Learning where they kept their base was one of the purposes of the deal. Better, then, to carry the goods to wherever they were.
"If you'd do that, all the better for us."
"Delivery isn't cheap, though."
"Including delivery, two million three hundred thousand euros for the same weight. How's that? Three hundred thousand euros a run. Well?"
Not bad. All I had to do was drop the load in a magic pouch and take a single flight. But a negotiation ought to have the flavor of give and take, and in the narcotics trade the hardest work of all is crossing a border. Letting that go for a mere three hundred thousand euros would be far too much of a waste.
"Three million."
"What? Isn't that too big a jump?"
"It wouldn't even be half of what it sells for on the European market."
"You've got to figure the cost of running a distribution network."
"Then let's say two million eight."
"You're insane. Two-four."
"Two-five."
"You planning to fold the business with this one sale?"
"Then feel free to come collect it yourself next time, too."
"Fine. Two million five. Not a euro more. The margins don't work."
Two and a half million euros. Somewhere around three and a half billion won. At that price, maybe this end of things paid better. But I had no intention of becoming a pill-peddling junkie. This was only a way to find candidates for slavery. Not that I could say the scraps falling my way in the process weren't a little excessive.
"Done. I'll even drop it at your front door."
"Hmph. Feels like I got taken."
"Call it a win-win."
Just then, the check of goods and money came to an end.
"It checks out, boss."
"Cash confirmed."
Each side gathered what it had been handed and moved back to its own ground.
"Then. See you next time."
I gave no answer. I turned away with the slaves in tow, and behind me I heard the broker.
"You sending the commission to the account?"
Ten percent of two million euros. Two hundred thousand euros in commission. Damn it. One way or another, the finest trade in the world these days was still running the platform.
I drew out a bundle of cash on the spot and pressed it into the broker's hands. I had the slaves divide the rest between them, and then I left the cemetery.
On the way out, the deal behind me, I climbed into the Toyota pickup we had left parked well off from the cemetery entrance. IS-1 took the wheel, the trainer the back seat, and I the passenger side. Hands on the wheel, IS-1 waited for my order. I settled into the seat, drew a crystal orb from my pocket, and spoke the word that woke it.
"Reveal."
⟨ Tracking Magic ⟩
Tracking magic. Together with the orb, it told me where an object I had designated in advance now lay. Before coming, I had set it on one of the bundles of cash. A red aura coiled over the crystal, the light gathered hard against one side of the sphere. That was where the money bag was.
"Head northeast."
"Yes."
IS-1 started the vehicle and pulled away.