How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Space Capitalism

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But everyone can hear the sound of the galactic dollar.

The sound of the dollar at the Exchange was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. It was the beep of the machine from a credit card swiped, a stock sold, or a deal signed. It was all the same, beautiful, high pitched ping. The kind of thing one fell in love with — like a first kiss, or a spring day on Mars after a long winter. It was the dollar being exchanged; money being made; it was riches won off of the backs of the unlucky or the stupid; it was sweet financial security; it was empires being forged. And nothing made him smile and giggle more like a baby seeing a dog for the first time than when that galactic dollar was being deposited into his own account. His own empire.

Of course, real tangible currency had all but been extinguished along with the Uranium standard. This change came with the usual grumblings from some fairly unknown economist published in some middling newspaper — frankly, Yuri didn’t care. All he really cared for was flipping houses on the moon. Not just houses, either: cargo, stocks, spaceships, ray-guns — you name it, his company bought it for cheap and sold it for good profit. Of course, he had his tactics. For example, those factories on Mars were cheap but were high quality — most of the time. He knew how to say the right thing, shake the right hand, dine with the right person. Theories of economics were for musty intellectuals — he was a captain of industry! The almighty dollar was his oyster to be earned and eaten — of course, real oysters had gone extinct.

One could ask if it was worth all the effort. Sure, he was dizzy half the time, his muscles shook, and eyes saw spots. All from the countless hours pouring over every detail to make sure that the Ganymede deal would happen. Another day, another galactic dollar.

WORKERS OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM, UNITE! DOWN WITH THE EXCHANGE! PARADISE BELONGS TO EVERYONE!

The satellite-billboard disappeared past him as his shuttle made its slow ascent from Earth to that hallowed space station mankind called the Exchange. He certainly didn't need to see such drivel on his commute. The irony of the cost to put it up there didn’t elude him.

“Fifteen minutes until arrival,” a robotic voice announced. For Yuri, the voice represented the exciting sterility of the Exchange.

“Communication from Jennie Bonatelli,” the voice said again. Ah Bono. Awake already? Ever eager to start the day! He’d have to give her a raise soon, maybe even double her wage. He’d never had a personal assistant before with such dedication along with a keen eye for growing capital. Yuri was a generous man, he’d have to say so himself.

“Let’s hear it,” Yuri said, thinking he was speaking with the confidence of an interplanetary smuggler.

The screen next to him flashed to life, showing the face of an eager-eyed twenty-year-old with cropped purple hair. “Good morning sir,” came the voice, clean and calculating, “hope you’ve had a pleasant trip here.”

“Good morning Bono, yes I have. Let’s hear it,” said Yuri.

“The Galactic Dow Jones has gone down by 20 Galactic dollars today, but that’s to be expected with the recession, sir.”

“Of course, our shares?” asked Yuri.

“Good, we’ve completed the Ganymede deal and the Ganymede Traders Company signed it this morning. I only need your signature when you get here. ”

“Hell, yes!” said Yuri, a flash of excitement across his face, his body shivered. This was what he lived for: hundreds of millions of Galactic dollars pouring into his own bank account!

His biggest catch yet. Was he a shark ripping open its prey? Yes, he was, if he could say so himself.

To think that in his younger years he’d started out by selling liquid Helium to small suppliers on the moons of the outer planets of the solar system. Of course, he could deny that a small loan from his parents had helped him out. He could and he did deny it. For Yuri the truth was he'd been born entrepreneurial — born a mastermind. But with his hard work and sweat he’d flipped a profit and paid them back within a year. “Capital indeed!” Criminal, once again!

Bono seemed taken aback by this display of emotions, her eyes wide, a small smile of surprise on her lips. Yuri knew he was cold and dry and calculating most times. You needed that killer instinct if you made deals at the Exchange. Yet when the deal’s been sealed, that was the time to celebrate.

“One other thing,” said Bono.

“Yes.”

“The Telari want to sell all their stocks in Yuri and Sons.”

“What? All of them? Fuck, don’t they know our stocks will go up with the Ganymede deal concluded?” Yuri never trusted those gaseous blobs ever since humanity made first contact with them ten years ago. In the past five years they went from owning nothing to owning forty percent of the shares in his company. He never understood why the United Earth Government allowed for the selling of stocks to extraterrestrials they didn't yet comprehend. But business was business, and he certainly didn't complain about extra investment. Yet, Yuri still remembered how they had appeared one day at the edge of the solar system while he was still a Helium trader. He was on a nearby space station when three gaseous blobs docked there. Back then he’d never seen such wretched things, and prayed he would never have to again. Yet, here they were.

“I know, sir. I share the same reservations.”

“Get the Grand Gas-Lord Sholfass himself on the line. I’m sure I can talk some sense into that slimeball,” or gas, or whatever.

“Yes, sir, you already have an appointment with him at fourteen hundred Galactic Zone Time.”

“Excellent, this is why I pay you the big bucks. I’ve been thinking about doubling your salary lately, Bono, for all the good work you’ve done.”

“Actually, you don’t pay me at all, sir.” The words that he’d need to actually pay his intern reached his ears, yet they didn’t process in his brain, as if bouncing off electromagnetic shielding in his head — useful for protecting him from making decisions that would lead to the loss of capital. I’m honored, sir, was what he expected her to say, so that’s what he heard in his head.

“Excellent, I’ll put in that order to double it. Keep your chin up and one day you’ll be where I’m sitting now,” he said. He liked Bono, she had spunk and work ethic, he’d give her that. But could he ever see her rising as far as him? Truthfully, he couldn’t see anyone attaining what he’d done. He was the best trader in the galaxy, and none would be as good as him. He had that true entrepreneurial drive. The same drive he’d talk about in his new, soon to be released, book: 24 Rules for Gaining that True Entrepreneurial Drive.

“Arriving,” came the voice of the robotic announcer. As he arose from his seat, the screens of lights from the vessel flashed on and off with horrifying fury. He stumbled and fell back on his chair from the shaking of his ship, arms flailing. The emergency lights of the ship turned on, their dim light casting a faint pale blue glow across the gray hues of the vessel.

Then, the large circular hatch of the shuttle opened behind him.

A ragtag group of five miscreants littered the open shuttle hatchway adorned with an assortment of torn cloths of red and black. Overlapping metal sheets — some primitive attempt at armor to deflect a blast from a ray-gun — could be seen on the shoulders or over the chests of some of them. One of the intruders wore a bandolier filled with charges for a ray-gun. Yuri wondered what madness would occur if one of those burst. The rest kept theirs tucked away safely in their belts, a mini-shield protecting the volatile ammunition.

“We’ve got you now, capitalist swine,” said a figure Yuri assessed as the leader of the group. The leader had robotic eyes and a clean shaven head with a tattoo of a red dragon stamped on the forehead. The dragon looked as though it was devouring the skin below. Charming. The voice was robotic, almost the same monotone as the robotic voice that had announced Yuri’s landing, although this voice was tinged with anger. The exposed parts below the head — the arms, the legs — were metallic. Yuri couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman he was dealing with. Was it a human, or a cyborg, or a robot? One thing was for certain, it was more machine than man now.

“Come with us, your days are numbered.”

That may be so, Yuri chuckled to himself, but I’m not the one with rotting teeth. Then the pang of pain from his teeth came as his jaw clenched shut. Oh wait, yes I am. He’d neglected to purchase dental for his company.

***

This situation is fucked, thought Yuri. People were lined up, sitting in the rows of the Exchange. Their backs to the various interfaces of the machines used to trade.

Usually the Exchange was bustling with the activity of daily trades. Men and women at their stations, using large blue interfaces to calculating AI. Making decisions from the reports generated by the AI, waves of sounds crashing against the Octogonal walls of the Exchange as they made calls. Small robots with screens on their backs zoomed across the board trying to find their traders to establish confidential calls. In the back rooms, deals were signed that moved millions, like the Ganymede deal. Fuck, I still need to sign those papers.

Now only silence reigned, broken by the murmurs of the captives, the planning of their captors, and the clicks from automatic trades. He saw the horror written on the faces of the floor traders sitting, ironically, on the floor. Damn fools, damn unlucky fools, thought Yuri, Their client’s stocks are now at the mercy of the “autos”, as they were called in trader language. Or “trado lingo”. Yuri knew the insides and outs of the Exchange, including their slang, and was pretty proud of his knowledge. They must feel impotent and and powerless. Poor bastards. Oh wait, thought Yuri looking around at his surroundings, so do I.

The captors also had a large metal box with them, and they flashed their guns at anyone who dared shuffle too close. Yuri wondered what kind of special weapon they could have brought with them, or was it something else?

Yuri had been thrown on the ground with floor traders, and had waited there for almost an hour. He counted about ten total captors, each armed to the teeth, each wearing the red and black of their anarchist cause. Or at least he assumed Anarchy: Communism, Socialism, Fascism, Neo-Galactic-Anarcho-Libertarianism. He didn’t care. They all got in the way of the bottom line. So many isms. And there was only one ism he cared about — Capitalism.

“Yo Chaser, if you’re going to the supplies. Get me a vegan decaffeinated coffee,” shouted one of his captors to another.

“Get it yourself, Isabella. Also there’s no such thing as vegan coffee, that’s just a capitalist marketing ploy.”

“Hey, don’t use my real name! I told you my code-name was Grimlady. And don’t tell me what to think. And, fine, just make sure it’s decaf and that it’s vegan.”

“I told you —,” he responded, then seemed to abandon further objections, “whatever, Grimlady.”

“You, know, it doesn’t matter if we know your real names or not,” said Yuri, deciding now was the time to speak, “If you don’t give up you’ll both be dead by one earth rotation, max.” He hoped he could use words to get out of this mess. He was tired of being held captive, tired of hearing these goonish hooligans squabbling. Yuri got up, the captors glaring at him with evil eyes.

“Sit down!” the one called Chaser yelled, but Yuri would not give into such demands. For Yuri, it was death or profit.

“Enough is enough. What the hell do you want with us? I’m sure we can afford to pay you enough that you’ll get out of our hair,” said Yuri.

“Fool, we don’t want money. We want to dismantle your wretched system,” said the cyborg leader.

“I’m the fool? And how do you suggest doing that? By holding us hostage for half a day? The Interplanetary Police Force is sure to rescue us. Or at least destroy you!”

“The IPF are a bunch of incompetent bastards. I suggest you stay quiet, hostage. Er, sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Yuri Borokov,” said Yuri. Now she wants to know my name. The first step towards freedom! Just like mercantilism was the first step when it replaced feudalism.

“Of Yuri and Sons?” asked the cyborg.

“The same.”

“And where are the sons? Here as well?”

“There are no sons.”

“No sons?”

“Well —”

“What, you thought you could get people’s trust by having a family business. Is that it?”

“Well, yeah you pretty much hit the nail on the head,” stated Yuri.

“Oh wow, you're the caricature of corruption. Stay quiet, Yuri, or else!” said the cyborg, stamping its foot and creating a large boom. The traders on the floor cowered in fright. Yuri thought about going back to the safety of the floor but spoke instead.

“What if I don’t? What then? Are you prepared to shoot me?”

The butt of the cyborg’s gun cracked into Yuri’s chest, sending him backwards on the ground. The colors in his vision were spinning — blurred and twisting in all directions. His mental confusion slowed down as he sat for several seconds on the floor, waiting it out. He then spoke with his eyes closed.

“I suggest you give up now, and take the damn money we offer you,” said Yuri. He couldn’t know how much money it was that could be offered. But for the entire Exchange, that would be worth a small empire. These criminals would have to be smart enough to negotiate amnesty as well, lest they be on the run. He wasn’t yet sure yet by looking at them if they were smart enough to know.

“We don’t care about money,” said the robotic voice of the cyborg. The leader's gaze then glanced off to the windows to space that covered the Exchange as if it would find an enemy right there waiting between the dotted stars — nothing but the emptiness of space.

“Bastard,” said Yuri, spitting out blood and thinking about what to say next now. The room focused all of their attention on him. Who knew when that would come again? “Well in that case, it seems we’ll be here a while, what do I call you anyways?”

“You can call me Lenin 7,” said the robotic voice, face still glancing at the windows.

“So there were six of you?” said Yuri.

“Well the greatest Lenin was V-I-Lenin,” said Lenin 7.

“So you’re… V-I-I Lenin? You know those are initials and not roman numerals, right?” asked Yuri.

Silence.

“I’m pretty sure I can recognize Roman numerals when I see them. You can't even fathom the computations per second I can do in my mind, ” said the cyborg.

Yuri didn’t know whether to burst into laughter or to cry at the stupidity of his captors. All that he was sure of was that their dogged belief in their ideology reduced the chances that he’d come out of this thing alive. Then a voice came through the Exchange announcement system, stern and uncompromising, “This is the Interplanetary Police. We want to make sure that the hostages are OK.”

A second male voice followed, “And this is the Federal Space Bureau, give up now and we won’t kill you.”

“Don’t tell them that, if you make them angry they could shoot a hostage,” came the first male voice.

“You Interplanetary Police Force guys are all the same, you spend all your time evaluating risk when action is needed!”

“Idiot, you’ll get them all killed.”

“Don’t call me an idiot, asshat. You’ll destabilize our entire economy. Don’t you know the Exchange could get destroyed.”

“Give me that mic.”

“Hey man, stop. We have jurisdiction here.”

“Tell that to mom at Thanksgiving.”

“Real mature, Michael, bringing mom into it, again.”

“Hey, you told her about how I apparently bungled up the Krasinksi case!”

“Can’t you forget that, that was eight years ago.”

“Why do you bring it up every time we see her then?”

Then there was the sound of rustling through the intercom, the sounds of two men struggling,

Then a third voice, “The intercom is still on.”

The sound of rustling stopped, only silence as if the men were thinking about how to salvage their intimidation. Yuri let out a great sigh, I’ll have to save myself, won’t I?

“Just think about it,” the first voice said.

“Yeah, think very strongly about it,” came the second voice.

Lenin 7 smiled as one does when they are in control. Yuri missed having that smile on his lips. The anarchist leader took a small communication device from its pocket and pressed some buttons on it.

“God damnit,” said Chaser, “We didn’t expect them for another few hours. “

“Relax. Remember, we have all the cards in our hands,” said Lenin 7.

Lenin turned to the spoke to the device it held, “Stand down, or we’ll blow this whole Exchange sky high. Unless our demands are met. We have a nuke with us.”

Then he understood what was in the covered metal box at the center of the Exchange.

“Are you crazy,” said Yuri, “That will send our entire civilization into shambles.” He could only imagine the chaos on the Earth below when the the very thing that was the economy was destroyed. For a brief second, Yuri thought that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to centralize so much. That, and of course, the electromagnetic pulse from the nuke that would disable all electronic devices.

“That would be the idea,” came the dual voice of Lenin 7.

“They’ll never give into their demands. You think they’ll willingly let go of power?” said Yuri.

“As we said, we have further assurance. You’re not the only hostages. The entire world is.”

“If you blow that thing, you’ll make everyone suffer!”

“For a while,” said Lenin, “Without electricity, even for a year, that will give us a chance to take over. Did you know, most of the MERC and Gov weapons rely on electricity to function. The fools, they never think forward.”

“Neither do you. Don’t you think —”

“This is my last warning,” the cyborg interrupted, “One less hostage won’t make any difference. ”

At that Yuri sat on the ground, his lips pursed lest he speak and he be blown into many bits by a ray blast. It was the situation he detested the most — one where he had no control. Will I die here? Or will I be able to see sweet Earth again? If he returned, he hoped the Earth he returned to was not one in shambles.

The sound of the Exchange doors opening drew everyone’s attention, hostage and captor alike, as all lifeforms took in one collective gasp — unsure at what would happen next.

A squad of several fully armored men, bearing the symbols of the Interplanetary Police Force, rushed into the Exchange, moving behind large screens and unresponsive robots to gain cover. The floor of the Exchange was then covered in a myriad of bright blast-rays: the red and black rays from the criminals contrasted with the clinical blue and white from the IPF’s rays.

Carnage filled the Exchange as both soldiers and criminals were felled by the horrid explosions from the ray-gun volleys. Chunks of charred flesh and bone were ripped apart from the still-living by blasts or falling shrapnel, sending victims into the void of death.

In the fight, Yuri saw Chaser fall down only a few feet away from him, a crater from a ray blast exposing half a brain. The crossfire all around him, Yuri crawled like a rat to Chaser’s body.

He looked down, patted himself to realize he was still alive, and grabbed the ray-gun at his feet. He then scurried back to the safety of cover. Well, as safe a cover as he could find.

“Get fucked, coppers,” said Grimlady firing her ray-gun with abandon. Then she was cut down by three blasts hitting the bandolier of ammunition she carried, obliterating the area between her neck and chest and sending her head bouncing across the floor of the Exchange. The unguarded ammo in the bandolier exploded, its blast decimating the very three men that felled her. The explosion was as hellfire itself and consumed half the floor of the Exchange, leaving nothing save the shreds of IPF battle armor, bits of gore and metal, and scorch marks. Yuri thanked the stars he was still breathing.

Lenin was truly a fighting machine. The gears in its robotic body sang with joy and precision, firing a barrage of ray-gun blasts which felled many of the IPF members. Pure carnage. No wonder they outlawed robotic soldiers so long ago.

Then there was none left alive on the floor of the Exchange, save a handful of hostages which hadn’t been killed by the ray-gun crossfire as well as Yuri, Bono, and Lenin 7.

Lenin 7 grabbed its intercom device — robotic voice now filled with rage, “If you do that, again, I will blow us all sky high, I have a fucking atomic weapon ready to detonate. ”

“Fuck,” was the first reply from the intercom.

“I told you so,” came the other voice, “Mom is not going to be happy with an EMP disrupting Thanksgiving dinner.” They then heard the click as they cut their connection

Taking this moment of distraction, Yuri stood up, aiming his stolen ray-gun straight at Lenin 7. Lenin was quick, it must have heard him with supersonic ears. Maybe I should become a machine, if it means gaining so many advantages over others. He wondered if there was any module he could install that would increase profits.

“Do it, capitalist, pull the damned trigger! I bet I’m the better aim.”

“We both know it’ll be hard to miss at this range. It doesn’t matter if we’re both dead. Even your robotic implants won’t save you. What happens to your cause when you’re dead?”

Yuri saw the sad figure from down the barrel of his gun, ready to pull the trigger. Ready to draw his last breath.

“Stop! Both of you! None of this matters anymore, every human is fucking toast now, ” said Bono. Yuri saw that she was at a trading console, rapidly hitting the screen and bringing about various red and green charts. Like a good worker she wouldn’t let a small hostage crisis and death struggle stop her from doing her damn job! That employee is worth every penny, thought Yuri.

Yuri’s heart flickered. He had only once heard a we’re toast from her once, and that’s when the Red Virus had escaped the Martian labs causing the one year plague. He could only imagine how bad things were by adding fucking to toast.

“What is it, Bono? Tell me quick, I’m about to shoot this Anarchist.”

“It’s the Telari, they sold all their stocks a few hours ago before the crisis, and with the hostage crisis all the markets went into a downward spiral from panicking people using automatic trades. After this artificial depression, the Telari used their profits to buy 51 percent…” said Bono, her voice trailing off.

“Of our company?” asked Yuri.

“No sir, of everything. ”

"What do you mean everything?" asked Yuri again.

“Everything, sir. Every single company.”

“You and your stupid capitalist system,” exclaimed Lenin 7, the carnage of battle around her, “You had to put everything on the market didn’t you. Even the United Earth Government military is privatized. That means they have a controlling interest in the very thing supposed to guard humanity.”

“I know what 51 percent means,” said Yuri.

“Fuck, I knew we shouldn’t have trusted the intel,” said Lenin.

“What do you mean?” asked Yuri.

“We’ve had a contact this whole time, a Telari contact with all the funding to pull off this plan —”

“You mean they set you up! Needed help with your revolution, did you? You, you’ve doomed us all!”

“No I — “

Lenin 7 was interrupted again as the doors opened to the Exchange and three Telari appeared. They were a blue-orange gas, with an almost solid looking core.

“Your new masters have arrived,” came a commanding, booming, voice. It was mangled as if a Human spoke with stretched out lungs and a robotic larynx. Yuri wondered how the Telari sounded in their native tongue.

“Stupid humans, by your own laws we own everything, and everyone,” said one of the Telari.

“Everything, fools!” said another.

“Good job on the Ganymede deal, though,” said the third voice, blob-eyes peering over to Yuri, “You’ve made us a lot of money.”

He half expected all three to burst out laughing in villainous unison. But the Telari had no sense of humor that Yuri could understand.

“Now, shoot the Cyborg, this anarchist has outlived its usefulness,” said the first gas.

“We command you,” said the second.

“You command me? Nobody commands me, except me!” said Yuri. In that moment, it was as if Lenin and Yuri shared some sort of telepathic link. They had one thought, one action.

Turn off your stupid telepathic unit. I don’t want my mind to be probed by you, thought Yuri.

Sorry, came the voice of Lenin.

Ugh, Cyborgs.

With that, both Lenin and Yuri turned around to face the Telari, their ray-guns aiming at the creatures. They fired in unison, two blasts as one, speaking for humanity.

He wondered what a Telari would sound like when they screamed, not in the vacuum of space, but while human air filled their gaseous lungs.