Six Stories

SixStories

Eric G. Meeks

Table of Contents

SCIENCE FICTION

Corporate Wars: Loki: Application Process

Prelude

Loki: Application Process

Corporate Wars: Apollo Thorn: Jupiter's Moons

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Selling Space Shares

FANTASY

Mirth the Dragon vs. The Bookdealer Knight

HORROR

Vampire Nightmare

Mr. Morris Gets a Haircut

COPYRIGHT PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COMPLETE WORKS OF ERIC G. MEEKS

Science Fiction

CORPORATE WARS

Loki: Application Process

Prelude

About this story....

I started playing with the idea of the Corporate Wars story line after finishing my first Novel, The Author Murders, in the early 2000’s. It was just something to let my mind relax before taking on a bigger project. But then the idea, as often my ideas do, started growing into something bigger, grander, greater scope. I could foresee a time of space exploration and expansion where the players are unregulated and controlled by corporate interests.

The affect, to me, would be that of the Wild West, where gunslinger space men could do as they wanted millions of miles away from any sort of law. There would still be good and bad people working within the confines of their employer's ambitions, but they would also have to make moral judgments based on split seconds of minutely fragmented raw data and then live with the choice.

And while Apollo Thorn has gotten the most ink to date of any character in this realm, there are a few others who deserve their moment in the sun.

More will come...

CORPORATE WARS

Loki: Application Process

One guard gently set the metal chair upon the bare grated floor. Another pushed Loki down into it. The small part of Loki’s mind thought if his hands weren’t tied behind his back, he’d give his handlers a good bruising, perhaps even a broken bone or two. But the parameters of his mission were to allow himself to be captured and confront the upper echelon of Frost Acquisitions. One person in particular was to be addressed, a Mr. Greenborough. The rough handling of the guards was all in a day’s work, another day’s work. So long as the treatment didn’t escalate to an extreme before he could complete his mission.

The guards stepped back from Loki’s chair, just behind his peripheral vision. He knew where they stood from the sound of where their steps stopped. Beneath his own feet, through the soles of the military style boots he wore, Loki felt the grating on the floor, which allowed fluids to drip into drains. Across from him was a conference table made of artificial wood. A nice make but not the real stuff. The patterns of knots and grains repeated themselves every couple feet. Behind the table were three comfortable leather business chairs. The central one had a higher back, more stuffing and cushier arms. Clothing hooks lined stainless steel wall behind the table. The walls to the left and the right had less welcome apparatus attached; cuffing rings at various heights, a baton and a whip. It was nice to know some things didn’t change off world. The old ways still worked best.

Behind the desk, a section of wall hissed, slid open, revealing a doorway. Three people entered. The first: a short man with a bull dog like appearance. He wore dark green finely pressed coveralls with creases down the legs. A leader of workers but not a worker himself. On his chest was the Frost Snowflake emblem, resembling more of a spiders web. His brown hair was cut short and flat.

The second person was a tall lean man who appeared to be in his mid fifties. Under his dark blue corporate suit with the Frost emblem over his heart he was industriously fit.

The third was a mousy nosed woman with short coiffed black hair. She wore glasses and reminded Loki of someone who spent too much time reading reports, or writing them. A tight straight skirt showed trim calves tucked into black polished shoes. Heels seemed more her style but a grated floor would catch them easily, so she wore flats. She also wore the Frost emblem on her black blazer and held a slim leather bag by its handles in her right hand.

The three went directly to their chairs. The bull dog sat on the left. The administrative lady sat on the right and the lean man took the command chair in the middle. They were perfectly at ease. The bull dog nodded at the guard to Loki’s left. Two cold metallic prongs touched his neck. A hum swept into his ear, followed by a shock that made his teeth clench and eyes roll. The pain was intense and thankfully short. He slumped in his chair, heated and out of breath. His eyes adjusted back into their sockets and a hand grabbed him by the hair pulling him upright. The bull dog waved a flat palm at the guards giving the command to stop.

Greetings Mr. Thompson. Mr. Bill Thompson, said the bull dog. If that is your name.

Loki sat quiet. He knew this wasn’t meant as a question to be answered.

The mousy woman pulled a sheet of paper from her bag and slid it across the table to her right. The lean man glanced at it briefly and slid it further. The bull dog lifted it from the table and read It seems you did lousy at the Pai Gow tables last night. You lost what would be six months pay for most men. Something the crew was happy to take from you. But perhaps your employer the Amir Farzai can afford such a loss. It would be pennies compared to his worth. As he spoke his jowls rumbled like a bull dog shaking his head. I wonder if he slobbered when he got excited. He stopped long enough to glance up, his jowls slowing their flap, to see if his comments warranted a response. When they did not he set the paper down and made his comments more direct.

You are a spy. Last night you appeared to drink too much and talk too much about nothing. About asteroid belts we’ve already mined. About lunar debris that’s been recorded and salvaged decades ago. Your information was poor and dated until you mentioned the particle fields of Neptune. It was then our attention was drawn.

Subterfuge. Loki held the bulldogs gaze. His head was up but his chin drooped. Looking up from under his brow, he said, Mikhail, I could tell you. But then we couldn’t be such good friends.

You know me?

I know of you. You are Mikhail Donlagic. A grandson of the late Attorney General of Czechoslovakia. The man who rose to a most significant prominence and lifted your family from a life of cabbage farmers and auto parts dealers. Both clean respectable trades but nothing like being in control of an interstellar destiny.

This history you speak of only confirms your being a spy. A spy who has done his homework.

The mousy lady chimed in. As she spoke her nose wriggled as if it had whiskers, So you’ve read a few newspapers. Tell us more about Neptune. How did you know our scouts had determined the location of the particle fields? We’ve told no one. And yet at the tables you dropped the hint of magnetic netting and metallic planktons. Then you threw in the notion of traveling to the twin sister planets of Neptune and Uranus. These connections could not have been made idly.

You’ve told no one, Andrea. Loki enjoyed the mild shock in her eyes as she realized he knew her name too, and perhaps more. Mikhail here seems to be running an AM Talk Radio show from his cabin. He’s been broadcasting your moves since last Spring. Funny he should mention the Amir so prominently in his questioning. But then some of his responses came back not only in Arabic but in Chinese also. Was it a bidding war?

The lean man turned his seat so as to check Mikhail’s reaction.

He’s lying Nathaniel. I would never sell you out. He’s trying to divide us to protect himself.

This is what Loki had hoped for. He needed confirmation that Greenborough was aboard.

Mr. Nathaniel Greenborough had lived a long life, an unnaturally long life, and worked hard to get to his position as President and CEO of Frost Reclamation. He owned a fleet of six space salvage craft including: two Lockheed fighters, a 25 ton cargo vessel, a 60 foot Arabian Questar, a former NASA space shuttle, and the pride of the fleet - a 485 foot Russian Gravity class former research vessel. Some would even call Mr. Greenborough’s little Armada a bevy of pirate craft, considering how heavily armed they were. Torpedo bays equipped with heat seeking cruise missiles. Gunnery turrets saddled with 50 caliber machine guns and reinforced clear Kevlar. A few ships even had big 20 inch cannons taken from the decks of African militia river boats. Loki respected a man like Greenborough.

He better be lying, said the mouse, eyeing the Bulldog.

Loki interrupted. But, I’m not. Early this year, Mikhail made several large purchases of personal entertainment equipment: a large television monitor, new mobile computers, stereo sound systems. Mostly legitimate stuff, but there must have been some other equipment in the boxes that came aboard because it was at this same time that his transmissions began.

The panel behind the table hissed as it opened. Another guard stepped in and leaned forward so Greenborough could whisper in his ear, then left again.

The mouse spoke up again, I still don’t understand why you come to us though. What do you care whether Mikhail is a traitor or not?

I came here to fill out a job application but not to work for Frost Reclamations. Not directly anyways. My employer wants to hire Mr. Greenborough here, and therefore all of you too. There might even still be a position for Mikhail. You see, my employer is very thorough. They gave me considerable information to not only entice you, but to convince you of our sincerity and capabilities. Perhaps I could share some of your history as further proof, Andrea.

Shifting in her seat, the mouse felt a stir of uneasiness.

Loki went on before she could protest. Your full name is Andrea Karenina Lomposky. An East Asian refugee from the Kamchatka region of the Former Soviet empire. You were orphaned as a child and raised in a convent. As you matured, you realized that your looks, while hospitable, would only get you so far in an Earthly life and so you combined some highly adaptive bookkeeping skills with some science lessons, forged a few college degrees and landed an accountants position in the new Outer Realms Space liner industry. You are to be congratulated. While you are a bit of a scoundrel and have turned out a few bosses for sexual harassment, you never did more than stretch the truth. Plus, you’ve never actually killed anyone.

Andrea unconsciously nodded, revealing her agreement with Loki’s assessment of her past.

He’s merely trying to gain your confidence, Mikhail snorted. He still offers no proof of anything.

Loki peered into Mikhail’s face. Sweat moistened his skin. His flesh had shaded pale. His lips were dry. Even his jowls seemed heavier. He had the aura of a man turned out, soiled in fear. They stared at each other for only a few seconds but what seemed like minutes. Finally Mikhail said, We shall see if he’s telling the truth, and motioned to one of the guards to advance on Loki.

Wait a second Mikhail, commanded the lean man in the middle, raising his hand to ensure his order was followed. If you know so much of my compatriots, then you must know a little of me. Tell me something about myself to confirm the extent of your knowledge and perhaps I will take your job offer under consideration.

This was Loki’s chance. He had thought for over three months now what he would say to Mr. Nathaniel Greenborough to convince him of the legitimacy of his offer. He finally settled on the most distinct fact of Mr. Greenborough’s long life, "You sir, I would prefer to talk to in private but if I had to bring one statement out of your closet I would have to declare about your list of jobs you had before owning your own business’s. Such as being an airline