Ravens of Eternity

Chapter 167

167 Throttling Up, Pt The Toymaker sat hunched over his workspace in his quiet little shop and tinkered with one of his many delicate toys. With a jeweler’s loupe in front of one eye, he gently aligned springs and sprockets in place with unwavering precision.

His hands, aged as they were, held onto his delicate tweezers and tools with unwavering steadiness. He slipped a thin brass gear in between two larger ones, and tapped it into place neatly.

And as he added more and more parts back in, his steadiness never wavered. As though he himself was like clockwork. He barely even stirred when his shop bell rang and three people walked through his door. Two sets of footsteps were familiar to him, but couldn’t place the third.

He didn’t even look up by the time they reached his corner of the shop.

“It’s been so long,” said the Toymaker. “I’d heard you were in lockup for a while. Sounds like you had a rough time there.”

“It was the worst, yeah,” said Eva. “I got stabbed so many times.”

“And also the best,” added Miko. “I learned so very much.”

The Toymaker laughed at their youthful exuberance.

“Tell me more,” he said. “I like to live vicariously through my best contractors.”

.....

“Maybe you oughta watch our ‘Cast,” said Eva.

As they gave a brief recollection of their time at the Empire, he placed the last few parts of his toy, tightened it down, and closed it up. It resembled a little jackal, curled up in a golf-ball sized orb.

He tapped a little button on its tiny nose, and after a moment, it began to move around on its own. It walked around the workspace, sniffed at the edges, realized it had nowhere to go, and curled up in an annoyed huff.

Miko found herself watching the toy jackal. The thing had zero electronics, and no installed intelligences. And yet it moved as though it did.

“How did you make that?” she asked.

Satisfied with his creation, the Toymaker removed the loupe, and rubbed the strain out of his eyes.

“I’ll teach you,” he said, “but first you’ll have to introduce me to your friend.”

“I’m Azrael,” said Amal. “I’m Freya and Raijin’s new partner.”

“We’re like a sisterhood,” added Eva. “Or a brood.”

“I like brood better,” said Miko.

“Brood it is. Anyway, we’re here to register her skills with you, and see what kind of contracts you’ve got for us out in the colonial territories.”

“Well, isn’t that wonderful,” said the Toymaker.

He immediately produced a datapad from under his workspace, tapped through a few menus on the screen, and scrolled through the results with a discerning eye. On it were hundreds of requests, most of them unfulfilled.

“It seems hyperopiods and other alpha-class intoxicants are in high demand out there,” he said. “But otherwise, any contraband is welcome. Stims, hacks, the usual. Biggest buyer is some faction calling themselves The True Suns.”

“True Suns?” said Eva. “What are they about?”

“Unsure. Pirates, brigands, they’re all the same, really. Most of the buyers are like that, anyway.”

“Honestly, we would kinda prefer to deal with the colonists,” said Amal. “No offense to your other clients, of course.”

“Hmm, I see,” said the Toymaker.

He filtered out the requests on his screen so they only came from Federally-recognized colonial settlements and domains. The few hundred were reduced down to a few dozen.

His mouth frowned slightly as he scrolled through them.

“There are a number of requests, it seems,” he said. “Most are also contraband, of course. Guns, explosives, intoxicants, banned tech, stims. But their pay is dismal – half the regular ones. You’re sure you want to take these?”

“Are there any where they’re asking for protection or medicine or anything like that?” asked Amal.

“Hmm, yes, a few. There’s always a settlement like that – ‘save us from the pirates, agh!’ Pitifully low pay, though.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” said Eva. “It’s not always about the coin.”

“Mmm, yes. You always were a bit more conscientious than most... Don’t get too deep into that ideal, though. The galaxy doesn’t distinguish between such foolish concepts as good or evil, selflessness or selfishness, rich or poor. We’re all space dust, or so the saying goes.”

“Exactly why we’re doing this, you know?” said Amal. “Since there’s hordes of thieving jackasses out there already, least we could do is even things up. The galaxy won’t do anything to hurt or help them either, so it’s all on us.”

The Toymaker chuckled with amusement at her naivete. As though three women could somehow quell the evil in all men’s hearts. But then again, she wasn’t saying she wanted to remove it altogether.

She simply wanted to be a bright point in an otherwise dreary life for those on the bottom end of things. Plus there was an earnestness and determination embedded in her tone that he just couldn’t ignore.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll sift through colonist jobs and send them to you.”

He began to select a number of them, and compiled them into a new list. Then he configured filtration sparks to automatically populated his list.

“We will certainly butt heads with some of your other clients,” said Miko. “Are you alright with that?”

“Like the galaxy, I’m not here to judge anyone,” he said. “I’m simply here to help provide things to those who want them, that’s all.”

“You’re truly a mercenary,” Amal said to him.

He nodded with respect in response.

“I know what these two can do,” he said. “But you? What’s your skillset?”

“I-I can’t do much right now,” replied Amal. “I’m still basically a beginner, but I’m close to graduating from the Naval Academy and getting my Medical Technician’s License, so there’s that. If that’s what you mean.”

He looked at the girl and tried to study her as she spoke. She was certainly like the other two – a refugee with an oddly refined quality about her. Not in the sense of social refinement. More like a genetic one.

And like with the others, he was well aware of their capabilities. All the refugees were stronger, tougher, smarter than regular people, to varying degrees. But what he noticed was that Amal was far more empathetic than most.

Well, that he had met, anyway.

He easily surmised that perhaps the refugee’s emotional capacity was also increased, both for the negative and the positive. For every great empath, there was no doubt a great psychopath out there as well.

The Toymaker realized that what she had said held truth, perhaps much more than she realized herself. There was a necessary balancing act happening here – and somehow he had his own part in how it swung.

Perhaps in spite of his vaunted neutrality.

“Hmm, this implies perhaps,” he began, “that you also hold basic pharmacological skills, yes?”

Amal nodded, but also darkened when she understood what he was implying.

“I’m not about to make hyperopiods for colonists,” she said. “Or for anyone.”

“You should know more than anyone that all modern painkillers are, in fact, highly refined hyperopiods,” he countered. “Medical-grade medicines are far more potent than street-grade drugs. That’s a simple, irrefutable fact.”

Amal was taken aback by his words, but grimaced at their truth.

“Which means, of course,” he continued, “that street-grade drugs are filled with deadly impurities. Impurities that kill colonists and anarchists alike.”

He tapped on his datapad and filtered in medical requests, but regardless of faction. A great many popped up on his screen. He then laid it down on his workbench, spun it around so they could look for themselves, then leaned back.

The three crowded around the pad, Miko in the middle, and scrolled through all the possible medical contracts. Most of it was for illegal hyperopiods, but for the reasons of needing medical analgesic.

And the contracts came from every faction out there.

It was clear that people were in pain, and there wasn’t enough to numb it all.

Amal sighed and settled her mouth into a deep frown as the situation tumbled around in her head and in her heart. Then she looked the Toymaker squarely in his eyes, the frown still etched on her face.

“So what are you proposing exactly?” she said. “That I synthesize hyperopiods for everyone? Don’t you think flooding that sector is a terrible idea? It’ll make addicts out of so many people!”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said the Toymaker. “There will be abuse happening. People at the bottom will want to escape from their lives. It doesn’t matter if they’re getting shot at, or doing the shooting. Life is hard everywhere, especially out in the colonies. When life’s full of pain, people will want to relieve it.”

He leaned forward and reached out to his datapad. He scrolled through a few, then tapped on one. The contract’s details opened up for them to see.

Although it was rather typical, the amount they were willing to pay was astronomical.

“Now, I’m not saying you should start producing and supplying drugs to an entire region of space,” he continued. “That’s simply reckless. But you could synthesize enough for wherever you’re going. If you’re serious about doing good, then build yourself a drug lab.”

The Toymaker laughed at his own phrase as Amal’s frown flattened out.

“Old man,” she said, “you’re really dangerous.”

He laughed further.

“And yeah, you’re right,” she continued. “If I had a small production line, it would really help out. We could choose who gets medicine... But all that would happen is that they would get immediately raided.”

“Unless you also supplied a little drugs to a faction first,” said the Toymaker. “Say, some pirates you don’t like? Who knows what their rivals would do, knowing that they got a shipment of hyperopiods?”

It was Eva’s turn to laugh, and hers was filled with both amusement and incredulity.

“You mean,” she said, “get them fighting each other, while we deliver meds to colonists? You really are a dangerous old man.”

He tapped his nose with a finger, but otherwise said nothing. His words and his idea sank down into all three, and they mulled over the idea.

After a while, Miko broke the silence.

“How will we procure the raw materials to make the drugs?” she asked. “We certainly do not have the funds to do that. We do not even have a ship to our names.”

“That’s easy,” he quickly replied. “Let me sponsor you. Or, rather, let me invest in your venture. I’ll procure what you need, and I take my cut post-sale.”

“You’ve given us an incredibly generous offer,” said Eva, “but I don’t know. None of us are into having a boss, or really anyone to be beholden to.”

“Oho,” said the Toymaker.

His eyes brightened when Eva mentioned that. The spirit of rebellion, of freedom, of true independence. Those were all sentiments that he also held dear.

.....

“I can certainly relate,” he continued. “But it’s an incomplete view of the galaxy. Everyone has someone who pulls their strings. It’s in our nature as people. Maybe not by someone right above you, but by the people beside you, and under you. We all tug at each other and pull everyone next to us in every direction.

“But more to the point – I don’t mean to tell any of you what to do. Your life, your game. Instead, think of my investment as my confidence in your capabilities. Most critically, you should think of it as my best means of protecting you from the competition. After all, it’s in my best interest to protect my own investments.”

“I’m guessing not many decide to compete against you,” said Eva, “is that what you mean?”

“Oh, they certainly try,” he replied. “They simply don’t succeed. Not against me.”

Amal sighed deeply.

“Alright,” she said. “We’re sold. Or at least, I am. But be up front with us here – what’s the catch?”

The Toymaker grinned widely.

“That’s easy,” he said. “Turn a profit, and return the investment.”