"This isn't what I wanted, and certainly not what I asked for! A hundred people? That's nothing! Less than nothing! I'd rather launch the ship with no fanfare than a pissant little ceremony with a hundred people, most of whom work for me!"

  "Look, Archie, the problem is..."

  "WHAT!? Did I mishear you, Count Edward Vormunchousen, first lord of Phobos? Or were you speaking to someone else?"

  There was silence in the room for a moment, and then Count Edward began again, "If you will permit me, Duke Archibald, I can point out the two things that are preventing the planning of your grand ship christening ceremony."

  "Please do so, Count Edward."

  Edward turned and pointed first to Mr. Borkavich, the head of security, and then to Joe Veemer, the Raxxon accountant, who was now overseeing the online finances for the ruler of Mars. "Him, and him. Anytime I want to do something, one or the other tosses a spanner in the deal and shuts me down. Blame them."

  "What do the two of you have to say in your defense?"

  Both shrugged. The accountant nervously said, "We don't have money for these things in the budget."

  Mr. Borkavich didn't seem nervous at all. "Doing the job you hired me to do."

  Both the head of security and the head of accounting felt those were sufficient answers and said no more. Edward began pacing and ranting, "Do you see how they are? I can't get the accounting department to give me the funds for the event. You want a viewing stand built? That's easy. Wayland Smith ordered one of his robot-things to do the job, and we had a boring but functional viewing stand an hour later, and it only used a small bit of materials. But decorations? Comfortable cushions? Pavilions for food and entertainment? A full orchestra and marching band? All of that takes money!"

  The Duke looked at his accountant, "Why don't we have money? Our mining ships are bringing in ore and resources every day. Every corporation in the game wants ships."

  "They are, sir. But those materials went to building your ship. Anything extra is being sold to pay back the loans we took out from the Tyrant. And ships need fuel, wages for the crews, and repairs. Seventeen of our mining and scouting ships have come in damaged from duels with rebels, six have been destroyed, and nine are missing. Mining in the fringe is not without its costs and dangers."

  The Duke flushed, annoyed at having to solve every problem himself, and then pointed to the huge ship on the landing pad. "Which is why I built the Star Conqueror. Once we take her on a cruise through the mining worlds of the fringe, we won't have to deal with rebels or pirates, and we can dictate pricing to the mining guilds. But I'm not going to miss out on an opportunity for a big PR event. We need to convince the better players to throw in with us, not fight us. Overwhelming firepower from the biggest ship will make a big impression on them, but we need to get their attention and show off a little. Take out another loan."

  "Sir, it's my job to advise and point things out. Our initial starting funds were over Ten Billion credits. The costs of buying the mining fleet, building our headquarters, buying the rights to Phobos, and building the casino used up most of that. The additional Ten Billion credits have a monthly interest payment of 1% and a late fee equal to the interest payment. Taking out further loans to cover everything in the proposed plans will cost us 17 million credits. That will push us slightly into the red, and we won't be able to make the next month's payment."

  "You aren't looking ahead! Once we take control of the mining worlds, we'll pay off those loans quickly. Borrow another billion. We need working capital. Now, Count Edward, tell me your problems with Mr. Borkovich. As he said, he does his job well. I wish we had another half dozen people as confident as him."

  The Count rolled his eyes. Archie had always had favorites and toadies he defended; this was more of the same. "You want cheering crowds and entertainment. But he refuses to let any of those people attend the event! A marching band tooting on horns from behind the security fence is silly. At best, the stands that can hold five thousand people will have a hundred people from the shipyards, since those are the only people with the security clearance! I've explained the situation over and over to him, and he simply doesn't understand that for a big project like this, he has to be flexible!"

  The Duke cleared his throat. Borkovich was calmly reading his datapad and not paying attention. He looked up at the sound, "Pardon me. Catching up on The Perils of Pauline, seven new chapters dropped today. You need something, sir?"

  "You heard the Count's accusation?"

  "No, sir. I was ignoring him. It's difficult to read when he yells a lot. But I assume it's one of his recent complaints. We've gone over things many times. I'm not sure why he expects a different answer. Letting all of those people into the shipyards is a security risk. Doing so isn't being 'flexible'; it means not doing the job you hired me to do. Mr. Wayland Smith has been very straightforward with how angry he would be if anyone gained access to his workshop, shipyards, manufacturing facilities, or, god help us, his experimental area. I haven't been given a list of the people you want to attend or the funds to run background checks on them. I'd also want to bring in additional security guards."

  The accountant grimaced, "No money for that, either!"

  "Do you see, Archie? Both of them are like this! They drive me crazy."

  The Duke looked at them, ignoring his cousin's lapse in etiquette, for now. "Well, I suppose I could order the two of you to obey the Count and help him with our plans."

  Edward threw his hands in the air and danced in circles. "Finally! I am so tired of not having minions obey me. Time to get to work, boys."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The account looked ill, "Yessir, I'll see what I can do and get it done."

  Mr. Borkovich handed the Duke an envelope, "My resignation, sir. I will not sully my reputation by doing a poor job. And, the risk of being blacklisted from Mars by Mr. Smith is quite high. I'll see myself out." He turned and began walking away.

  The Duke paled, "Wait! That was only a possibility!"

  "And yet, not phrased as such. Nor did Count Edward take it as such. I have been respectful, sir, and carried out the needs of my job. But I must say, in my humble opinion, this isn't the correct way to go about things."

  "Well, what is the correct way?"

  Borkovitch pointed to the large area that someday would be landing pads for more ships. "Shift the celebration outside of our current security zone, and have a separate VIP section. There will be expenses to set up new security fencing, checkpoints, lights, and guard towers, but we can then avoid any possibility of an unauthorized person getting into the secure areas. We construct the viewing stands and celebration area there, with a large viewing stand on one end and the VIP stand on the other. Guests will come through a dozen special gates. VIPs will have a special viewing area, and everyone else will be scanned for weapons and explosives. This would permit you to allow anyone to enter, with no lapse in security."

  Joe Veemer once again protested, "But, sir, that will cost so many more millions of dollars."

  Borkovich shrugged, "And save just as much. I don't have the costs of background checks on caterers, tuba players, cheerleaders, and thousands of players who will flock to see the spectacle of the largest ship in the game taking off for the first time. Frankly, it solves all the problems except money, and cash flow should triple almost immediately."

  The Duke smiled. "Excellent. I like it. But why didn't you speak up earlier?"

  "Parties aren't in my job description, sir. I only spoke up now because I no longer work for you."

  "What?!"

  "I resigned, sir. I'm sure you remember."

  "Yes...but...oh hell. I need you! Un-resign."

  "I could, sir, but again, I have a reputation to think of. This has been very stressful. I could consider further employment if you guaranteed that I would only take orders from you, and not the count. A man cannot serve two masters. And his ideas on proper security are best left unsaid."

  "Right. Eddie, I want you to work with Mr. Borkovich, but he has final say on all security issues. Joe, borrow the money we need. We've got four days, people. Let's get to work.

  Somehow, as if by the grace of Zeus himself, things worked out. Fencing, lights, towers, and viewing stands appeared as if by magic, courtesy of the ingenious machines of Wayland Smith that built everything on Mars. Star Conqueror was moved to her new position, with a squad of guards on each entrance and cargo port. Fuel, supplies, and a never-ending load of ammunition were loaded, with Mr. Borkovich seemingly everywhere and never sleeping.

  News traveled fast, and small ships came into the main system from everywhere, directed into routes that would take them to Mars. A few wandered off the correct routes, only to find themselves blasted out of existence by the patrolling Medusa Class Gunships. The Tyrant of Olympus didn't allow even slight acts of disobedience and took every opportunity he could to show his complete control of his domain. The outer landing pads filled one by one, and on the day of the great ship's launch, an enthusiastic crowd filled the stands.

  The Duke waited anxiously for the start of the event, but would have to wait longer. Mr. Borkovich came running up the stairs to the ducal area, uncharacteristically nervous and panting. "Sir, change of plans. We need to delay by one hour."

  "Why? What could possibly be so important that we can't start on time?"

  "It's the Tyrant, sir. Maximillian Zeus himself is coming to the event."

  Duke Archibald had met the Tyrant in person only once, and for the few minutes it took for the corporate heads who were buying planets to swear their undying allegiance. The man had so overwhelmed them with his presence that none of them had taken offence when he left immediately afterwards. "Here? My god, this is brilliant. We'll get a hundred times the publicity. He's putting his personal blessing on us. This will be the first time the Tyrant is actually seen in public! Everything has to be perfect! Perfect, I say."

  Count Edward was excited, "I've got to contact every gaming video influencer on my list." He began speaking furiously on his phone.

  Borkovich turned to go, "And I'm going to make sure I have another three dozen snipers covering the crowd and set up random sweeps for weapons. All we need is an attempt on the Tyrant's life to turn this into a disaster."

  The Duke scowled, "But, he can't be killed, right? I heard he's immortal and can't be hurt, even with a rocket launcher."

  "That's all true, sir. But I should point out that you'll be sitting next to him. And it won't be snipers sir. Anyone trying to kill the Tyrant will be using advanced technology that will turn the area into a smoking crater. I have to point out that it will be painful, kick you from your position for a period of time, and someone in your position as a main character is fined heavily by the system for 'miraculously surviving certain death'. I'm sure Mr. Veemer doesn't have it in the budget. And you don't want the Tyrant to be upset with you, which an attempt on his life certainly would."

  The Duke Paled. "You're right. That would be very bad. We'll have the money soon, and the blessing of the Tyrant is priceless. Set things up, and damn the cost. By this time tomorrow we'll be conquering worlds!"