Authors: Mark Henrikson
Hastelloy sat out
on the covered balcony of his villa overlooking the gentle waves of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a particularly hot day on the island, but a refreshing breeze made it tolerable. Across the table sat a local business man who donned the Chiton garment of the working class consisting of a single piece of fabric slung over the left shoulder, leaving the right shoulder and breast exposed, and tied at the waist with a plain piece of rope. The man must have cleaned the garment for the occasion as the pale blue fabric was absolutely spotless.
The Chiton was a functional piece of apparel, but did not command
respect like the toga Hastelloy wore over his body. The garment was his badge of Roman citizenship and the purple embroidered along the edge denoted his standing as governor of the territory.
The
business man waxed on about discovering copper on his family land and the need for capital to establish a mining operation to extract the valuable ore. Hastelloy struggled to maintain a straight face as the man all but begged for Hastelloy to magnanimously grant him a loan and use the land as collateral.
His
amusement came from the knowledge that whether the man’s venture was a success or failure Hastelloy would be all the richer in the end. If everything went well the ambitious business man would pay his exorbitant thirty percent a year borrowing rate. If things went bad for the man, it was even better for Hastelloy since the land put up as collateral would be seized, and he could then extract the ore and sell it for himself. Either way Hastelloy stood to profit handsomely from the risk this man was all but groveling to take. Of course Hastelloy would make the loan, and he hoped the man would return the next day with all his friends begging to do the same.
Hastelloy
smiled inward as he recalled his assignment as governor of the tiny island started as a ploy from a political opponent. The intent was to remove Hastelloy from the city of Rome to preserve the man’s senate seat. The joke was on that senator now because Hastelloy held a monopoly on lending money on the isolated island of Cyprus; accumulating an immense personal fortune was assured. Hastelloy would soon return to Rome as the richest man in the Republic. The power money carried at this point in these people’s cultural development would open a whole host of possibilities for him and his stranded crew.
Hastelloy pulled his mind back to the conversation at hand
as the business man waited anxiously for a reply. “Sir, your proposal is well given and your venture well conceived. I must consult with my factor to make sure I am adequately compensated for the risk I take lending you the coin you seek. Return in two days and you will have your answer.”
With a backhanded wave Hastelloy excused
the man from his presence. The business man expressed his profound gratitude and then meekly left the balcony. When the outer door clapped shut Gallono stepped out from behind a column carrying a decanter of red wine. He poured two glasses and took a seat next to his captain and friend.
Gallono
snatched a ripened apple from a bowl sitting on the corner of the table and took a healthy bite. With his mouth still full of fruit he glanced over at Hastelloy and lazily asked, “Tell me, do you ever feel guilty taking advantage of these backward people like that? Here you sit on your balcony eating fruit and drinking wine while that man and countless other families labor all day to pay your fees.”
“You’re the one eating frui
t and pouring wine,” Hastelloy pointed out. “I’m simply following the rules of economics and charging what the market will bear. Not a penny more or less. If he doesn’t like the terms, he doesn’t have to do it.”
“Well what’s he going to do if he doesn’t like your terms? Go to the next lender, oh wait, there is no other. You have them all bent over a barrel with no alternatives.”
“True. A monopoly only benefits the one who controls it, but look at what we’ve done for this island. It’s the second wealthiest trade port in the region. It’s raining money in this city and everyone’s getting wet.”
“Never mind the fact that you now hold title
to over half the land,” Gallono chastised.
“Th
ose men are living better now working for me than they ever did as land owners for themselves. They should thank me,” Hastelloy responded.
“A
s the man who enforces your repossession orders, I can tell you from experience - they don’t.”
Annoyed with the insulting direction
of the conversation, Hastelloy sat up straight, snatched the apple from Gallono’s hand and took a bite for himself. “I’m not about to accept criticism from a man who indulges in the benefits of my business practices. Now say what’s on your mind commander. I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
“Time to waste,” Gallono repeated. “We
have nothing but time to waste while living for a virtual eternity among these people hoping they advance enough so we can contact Novus and get a lift home some day.”
“We’
re working to expedite that advancement,” Hastelloy said, “but doing that takes money. Heaping mountains of it so tall a person could spend a life time digging through it and never reach the bottom.”
“That’s all well an
d good captain, but in the meantime I’m a warrior sitting here watching you play financial head games with people from whom I eventually have to go beat up and confiscate lands.”
Gallono grabbed another apple
from the bowl and rolled it in front of Hastelloy. “I’m bored out of my mind doing a job I hate that any knuckle dragging thug could do. For the first time in my career I feel completely useless.”
Hastelloy held Gallono with the
disapproving stare only a parent could conjure toward a child. “Do you know why I have beaten you in all 26,543 chess matches we’ve played against each other?”
“
Oh gods, you keep count,” Gallono stated while throwing his arms in the air. “Please enlighten me, because I’m really tired of having my head handed to me every time.”
“I win because I
take the time to move every piece into its precise position. Then, and only then, do I unleash my gambits. You, on the other hand, get frustrated with the slow buildup and lurch forward prematurely.”
“
We need money,” Hastelloy continued, “because it makes everything else possible. Our time on this island, while lacking excitement, has been immensely profitable. I promise you my friend, exciting times will be here shortly and I’d wager even you will be satisfied with the pace.”
Gallono
casually leaned to the side in his chair and pulled a scroll sealed with an imprinted glob of wax from the folds of his toga. Hastelloy observed the seal was that of his engineer, Tomal, and it was already broken. A frustrated air emanated from Gallono as he handed the document over. “If you continue letting Tomal run wild in Rome you’ll soon find yourself penniless and begging someone to lend you coin at usurious terms.”
Hastelloy calmly unfurled the scroll, knowing all too well what he would find written
therein. He got to the bottom of the page and then tossed the roll of paper onto the table.
“Gods, he’s out of money again,” Hastelloy groaned. “He needs another 200,000 sesterces to settle with his creditors.”
“That’s more money than most people earn in a life time,” Gallono added with a sneer. “He pisses it away in a matter of months. When was the last time he sent for more money? It can’t be more than three or four months ago.”
Hastelloy reached for his glass of wine and took a slow, thoughtful drink
while he looked out over the calm Mediterranean waters.
“Tomal’s presence in Rome is serving
my purpose,” Hastelloy finally concluded. “The problem is the funding requests are growing in both amount and frequency.”
“The senate elections are only a mon
th away,” Gallono interrupted. “Maybe it’s time we return to Rome so you can run the campaign yourself and let me take Tomal behind the woodshed for a good spanking.”
Hastelloy swatted away a set of tiny flies buzzing around a cluster of grapes setting in fr
ont of him. “The problem is voters have the memory span of a fruit fly. If I show up too early and make a big splash, all will be forgotten by the time ballots are cast. I was hoping to stay away for another week or so . . .”
Hastelloy
was cut short by the sound of Tonwen stumbling onto the balcony and dropping a set of iron bound books he carried. Hastelloy picked up one that came to rest beside his right foot. At first he tried to lift it with one hand and quickly added the other when he realized both arms were required to lift the deceptively heavy object. With effort he handed the text back to its owner.
“A little light reading
?” Hastelloy asked.
Tonwen
let out a loud grunt and set the two books he carried on the table. “They may have cost a small fortune and taken many years to acquire, but it was all worth it in the end.”
He p
ointed to the book Hastelloy once held. “This is called the Tanakh and it lays out the foundations and beliefs of the Hebrew people you led out of Egypt, Captain.”
“Why do you need to spend days read
ing a book about it?” Gallono asked. “The man sitting next to you was there and can tell you everything you need to know in fifteen minutes.”
“That would be more efficient I grant you, but
less enlightening I am afraid. I would like to judge the cultural impact that Captain Hastelloy’s actions had on the people based on their own words. I want to make sure their laws, ethics and beliefs are within the thresholds of their normal Neo Scale development.”
Hastelloy never could figure out what drove Pharaoh to go back on his word all those years ago
once he agreed to let the slaves go free. It made no practical sense to march his army away from his seat of power to chase down a group of exiles wandering in the desert.
Whether it was rage or madness, Pharaoh came after the exiles like it was
his divine mission in life, and Hastelloy used modern weaponry in front of the Hebrew slaves to spare them from slaughter. He knew his actions violated the directive, but what was he supposed to do, let thousands of innocent beings get hacked to pieces? He made his choice and was at peace with it, but Tonwen in his role as culture cop was not.
“What about the second book?” Hastelloy asked quickly to g
uide the conversation in a new direction.
Tonwen looked at Hastelloy with a disapproving eye. The science officer knew Hastelloy
was deflecting the topic, as he always did. The look conveyed a clear message, ‘one of these days we will talk about this.’ Tonwen slowly loosened his stare and glanced toward the second book. “This text is titled
The Republic
and was written by Plato from Greece,”
Gallono’s face lit up when he finally realized the angle Tonwen was taking with the
captain. Anticipating the confrontation soon to follow had him positively glowing.
Hastelloy did
n’t want an audience for what came next so he issued orders to his first officer. “Gallono, we leave for Rome in the morning. Make arrangements at the docks and have the workers start packing.”
“That can wait,” Gallono said with a grin.
The look Hastelloy leveled against the commander left no opening for debate. “Right now,” he said enunciating each word slowly and clearly.
“Oh
you’re no fun,” Gallono teased as he stood, finished his glass of wine and headed off the balcony. On his way out the door he shouted back. “You’d think at least once over the last thousand years I’d be allowed to sit at the grown-up table and listen to this debate.”
When the door shut behind the commander Hastelloy
looked over at his science officer with tired eyes. “So you think discussing your instance of cultural contamination will prompt me to open up about my own?”
“The thought did cross my mind,” Tonwen conceded.
Hastelloy radiated frustration, but he finally relented. “Fine. You first.”
“Very well,” Tonwen
nodded. “Three hundred years ago I got caught up in a moment debating philosophy with the keen mind of Plato. He used my arguments as the foundation for his theory of a democratic society where the people are ruled by a body of elected officials rather than an individual. While this is the optimal and longest lasting form of government a civilization can progress towards, the idea is very likely ahead of its time.”
“I am virtually certain these people are not ready for that kind of governing body,” Hastelloy added. “Elected officials in a democracy must represent out of duty and dedication to the state and the greater good of the people.”
“The Greeks were most
definitely not prepared for a democracy,” Tonwen conceded. “Rather than selfless servants of the people they elected selfish individuals making greedy grabs for power and riches at the expense of society. In the end, corruption tore that prospering civilization apart and set us back in our mission to progress these people along at an accelerated developmental pace. I have high hopes the Roman Republic is different.”