TechJools

"One cannot win a game if the opponent is cheating; in fact, if the opponent is cheating, they are not even playing the same game."

Colette n’Kedi never thought about becoming a dissident. It happened before she’d even realized she was doing anything that might ruffle anyone’s feathers. She was just trying to find a different way to build her business. She didn’t know it at first, but she’d tapped into human instincts that had been tamped down over the generations by necessity, because people struggling to survive in space didn’t put jewelry as high on the hierarchy of needs as oxygen, food, energy production, transport, or shelter. Colette’s idea was very simple but had been largely forgotten. Wearable tech was ubiquitous throughout the Battery, just as it had been in the columns after humans left Earth. Colette had the idea to merge tech with jewelry, which had become a nearly lost art in space. But people on the Harper outpost didn’t live in space anymore, and their outpost, which was almost exclusively pod housing in the early company town days, had begun to take the first steps toward becoming a city. Ordinary people were building their own homes using stone and bot labor. So to Colette’s mind, there was nothing stopping the people from fully living like humans again, reclaiming some of their lost history and customs: statues; fabrics and fashion; visual arts; and, yes, jewelry. Colette was pushing back through history to look at the evolution of jewelry through human cultures on Earth. She was trying to make wearable tech shine in ways it never had before.

That was the idea, anyway. But to make that idea a reality required total dedication from Colette for several years. It began at a massive slag pile outside the engine foundry. She’d enlisted the help of a friend of a friend who was a metallurgist in Harper Corp.’s purification operation on the foundry. The company had plenty of uses for metals like titanium, lithium, nickel, iron, and cobalt. The shiny metals Colette was after—gold, silver, platinum, palladium—these were plentiful, both on the planet and on the asteroids. Harper Corp. had so few uses for them that they ended up accumulating in such massive slag piles that Colette couldn’t imagine sourcing materials would ever become a problem. Her metallurgist friend showed her around the slag pile, instructing her on how to tell the difference between the metals she wanted and elements that shared a similar appearance. He also helped her to develop a sense for judging purity with the naked eye. He found the idea of someone poking around the slag piles amusing. Before loading up the cargo carrier she’d hired for her first trip out, she asked the metallurgist how much she could take and what the price might be. He laughed at her, and then he realized she wasn’t joking.

“Everyone at the foundry thinks of this as a trash heap. The only cost will be the workers looking at you sideways for collecting garbage. If you can bear that, no one will mind you taking what you need.”

It wasn’t lost on Colette, who’d just begun studying the history of jewelry on Earth, that humans in earlier epochs—and in the future if she got her way—would find it very strange that she could just walk up to a pile of gold and platinum and load up her cargo carrier like it was a dirt pile. She took enough metal back with her in that first trip that she didn’t have to return to the slag pile for nearly a year.

Once she’d gathered her raw materials, Colette bumped up against several early barriers that she thought might become real problems later down the line. She had no idea how correct that feeling was. The first was sourcing a metal printer from one of the cylinder groups in Carrol’s system. But it wasn’t easy to get anyone to ship to the outpost. Colette began to realize the downsides of life on a company outpost. Everything she owned was valued in company credit, Harper Corp. controlled the price on transport completely—to and from the outpost—especially cargo. The cost to get a used industrial printing unit to the Harper outpost was nearly equivalent of five new workbots’ worth of company credit—nearly double the cost of the unit itself.

Colette spent weeks programming her first simple prints. The first piece she made was a sunflower necklace with a delicate gold chain. The flower itself was gold with platinum petals, its center had a hollowed cavity to accommodate the tech she envisioned it carrying, though that part of the operation was still in development. She was working to convince her friend Medi—one of Harper’s nano-robotics technicians—to do some side work or at least teach her how she might do some basic tech integration herself. He was skeptical but still hadn’t said no outright.

Relative to some of the garish designs she’d seen in files and photos, Colette’s sunflower was relatively modest. But when she put it around her neck, it instilled a peculiar feeling in her she didn’t know how to characterize. She became both self-conscious and excited at the same time, a sense of pride maybe. She couldn’t say. But she felt a mild exhilaration that induced an almost involuntary smile. She kept touching the flower with her thumb. Colette hoped people would notice when she went out.

She had no idea how correct she was. Everyone noticed. Most looked—stared even—and said nothing, but she could tell they were registering the existence of something new entering their world. A few people stopped to ask her about it and were very intrigued by the idea of a jewelry store opening on the outpost. Even though it was only a few extraverts who’d stopped her, Colette could see already. She’d found something. She had no doubt. It wasn’t the people who’d talked to her that told her the endeavor was going to succeed, it was the eyes. Eyes followed her everywhere she moved.

She invited Medi to come out with her, and she wore the sunflower. Only this time, she also wore a shiny gold bracelet she’d printed the previous day. Medi, too, was surprised by the reaction. She offered to show him the workspace, and when they arrived, she printed a second hook bracelet for Medi.

“Wear it and let me know what you think,” Colette told him. “See what people say, and if you like it, think about what sort of innovations you could sneak inside.”

“You could put a lot into a piece like this,” he said. “Along the inner band, you could run almost anything.”

“Think about it,” she said.

Two days later, Colette had a business partner. She began designing new patterns for the printer to make—stars, planets, angels, birds, flowers, symbols and words. The possibilities were almost limitless. Colette would design and print, and Medi would specify what types of cavities to leave in the jewelry so he could install the tech. Within a few months, Colette and Medi had sold enough jewelry, simply by word of mouth, that they’d made back her initial investment on the printer and had begun to plan a storefront where Colette’s niece was going to sell their pieces for company credit.

There had always been underground markets on the outpost, but mostly, if people didn’t buy necessities through Harper Corp. using company credit, they bartered. There was no other currency on the Harper outpost. Colette was beginning to realize what a problem this was. Sourcing the tech from either Carrol’s or Dreeson’s systems became the immediate limiting factor. And it wasn’t the expense of the tech itself, it was getting that tech to the outpost. She began to look into the cost of import for other items on the outpost as well. There was no other way to describe the company’s cargo prices than predatory. So too were the company exchange rates from Harper credit to Ringcoin, for Carrol’s and Dreeson’s systems, and even higher rates for other currencies in the outer Battery. Colette could see the outlines of the battlefield taking shape, but she didn’t know exactly how and when these issues would materialize. She was on the leading edge of a change she didn’t fully understand.

The rates didn’t stop them. Whenever Colette and Medi had the credits to expand their operation, they ordered more industrial printers, expanded their workspace, opened additional storefronts, and hired new assistants and retail personnel. Colette insisted on humans in the storefronts. Jewelry was a human business.

Within a few years of her first sunflower, Colette’s vision was present everywhere in the cobblestone streets of the “old city” as people were beginning to call the growing collection of new stone structures spreading out on the lower plain of the outpost. As well as everything was going, Colette was beginning to see market saturation. But with the response they were getting here, Colette and Medi both saw the potential of a near-limitless market on the rings of Athos and Iophos in Dreeson’s and on Hellenia in Carrol’s system. There were only two major problems—finding vendors in the greater Battery and shipping costs to get the products there.

Colette began paying university students who’d gone out into the Battery systems to put together networks for market research, banking, and franchise opportunities. She couldn’t compete with the venture firms on Athos or Iophos if her idea got out before she’d built her infrastructure. They could spin up massive corporations in a heartbeat compared to her and Medi. She knew she was going to have to build a presence back in the Battery before moving into those markets, and students from the outpost were already out there in most of the major cities of the Battery systems, they were smart and loyal, and they were also young and looking for that first opportunity in life, regardless of what they were studying in school.

Within the first year of planning and exploration, they’d done the groundwork to begin shipping out to physical storefronts in three systems, and they called their franchises TechJools. The only major hurdle to clear was the freight. Harper Corp.’s freight shipping, at list rates for Colette’s products, weren’t just prohibitive, they were absurd to the point of impossibility.

One of Medi’s cousins, Arwan, told Colette he could get the merchandise out for nothing. He coordinated delivery in the shipyards. Most of the vessels Harper constructed in the dry docks orbiting the outpost were local ships—ferries and work vessels—but they all got loaded on interstellar cargo freighters for delivery. All Arwan needed was a list of destinations and a contact point to arrange transfer on the other end. Arwan had people on the other side in every shipyard, so as long as Colette could arrange for someone to pick up the merchandise, he could move it without any charge. It amounted to a suitcase or two per franchise riding in what would otherwise be an empty ship anyway. All Arwan wanted out of the deal was a favorable price when he invested in a franchise on Athos if business went well in their first few stores.

Within a few weeks of speaking to Arwan, TechJools franchises began to open all over the Battery, and Colette and Medi could hardly keep up with the demand. It didn’t take long for their small operation on the Harper outpost to reach their production limits. Colette couldn’t buy new printers and shop space nearly fast enough. Medi was barely getting tech derivatives fast enough from Hellenia. She paid a product consultant to model market potential and growth. He also identified the barrier as transport, but his solution was far more ambitious than anything Colette ever would have considered on her own. He told her she should buy a fleet of ships and start her own dual-purpose transport service—passenger and small cargo freight.

“Even if you lose, say, five, ten percent on the transport venture, it’ll still put you way ahead in your capacity to deliver product to market all over the Battery. And you could change the face of this outpost by dropping the cost of transport to-and-from. You probably haven’t considered it, but people who live on megastructures, especially an ecumenopolis like Hellenia, they’d pay a decent price to take a vacation here if there were amenities. The lake outside the city, the mountains—people would come. I could put you in touch with some investors if you’re interested.”

“Investors for what?”

“To build up the outpost. Hotels, resorts, space cruises. The city would need more of these beautiful stone structures, but I could envision shopping, restaurants, especially down by the waterfront. This place could be special now that it’s starting to break away from total company control.”

“I don’t know how to make any of that stuff happen,” Colette said.

“They do. And, really, I know people on Athos who would give up everything to get on-world in a place like this and run a resort. Are you kidding? It’s a hotelier’s dream.”

“Let me know,” Colette said. “I’m interested as long as I’m not expected to figure it all out. I’m just trying to find a way to sell jewelry around the Battery.”

“It’s all connected,” the young man said. “All business is the business of connections—what people can do for each other.”

When the early returns from the franchises started coming back, Colette’s wildest dreams were far surpassed. TechJools was growing faster than she’d imagined was possible. They were emptying inventory faster than Colette could get it to them, but that meant her problems were the kind of problems an entrepreneur wanted to have. And the credits that came with selling out meant that they had the funds to invest in more printers, new product lines, and onboarding additional franchisees in cities throughout the systems. Colette and Medi were themselves becoming a corporation.

TechJools enjoyed a period of astronomical growth in the early years following their branching out into the nearby systems in the Battery, especially Dreeson’s, where trillions resided on the rings. Around them on the outpost, while Harper Corp. seemed to maintain their status quo, churning out ships at a steady rate, the outpost was changing. As the use rate on bot labor remained steady, the need for human labor was well outstripped by a growing population, and work in the shipyards became difficult to secure among people. With growing families and less reliable sources of company credit, businesses like Colette’s began to spring up, some financed by credit co-ops that were backed by burgeoning businesses like TechJools. And, as the population continued to grow at the outpost, the people began to pool their shares in bot labor to use robots to build residences, retail centers, and private commercial spaces from the quarried stone in the nearby mountains. The south city began to take on the look of an elegant classical city. By the time the venture capitalists began visiting the outpost, they saw opportunity around every corner. Each had their own ideas about how to turn the planet into a destination, but there was one point of consensus. The people of the outpost were going to need a better name than B-323 Harper Shipyards, as the outpost was presently called.

In the third year of TechJools’ incorporation, Colette became one of the major shareholders in a new transport company that ran a circuit throughout the Battery systems. BCC—the Battery Circuit Corp.—changed the fabric of the entire sector, dropping the cost of interstellar travel to a tenth of its former rate nearly overnight, while dropping the rates of light freight to a twentieth of what Harper Corp. was charging. Nearly overnight, adventurous travelers from the rings and Hellenia were turning up in the city, which was appearing as Harper’s Harbor on itineraries and tickets.

BCC did well enough in its first year that the transport company nearly broke even. The major investors, Colette included, set rates primarily to support their investments in cities like Harper’s Harbor. Several stakeholders were building resorts in the countryside and city. Others were major tour outlets on Dreeson’s rings and Hellenia looking for long-term returns in BCC and short-term profit spikes in their primary businesses.

Colette, meanwhile, was finally able to ship her products efficiently at scale to her franchisees all over the Battery. TechJools grew tenfold in the first two quarters after BCC began running a regular schedule. She had no idea her success had caught the attention of management at Harper Corp., but when an observant regional VP on Athos developed an affinity for TechJools necklaces, she did a little research after she began to wonder how so much merchandise was showing up on the ring from such a small outpost. Even with copycat jewelers popping up all over Athos, Colette’s work was conspicuous enough that it was clear an enormous amount had been shipped from the outpost all over the Battery.

Colette was in the design studios, where she kept her main offices, which supported a twenty-person design team, when a Harper Corp. security team stormed into her offices. There were three uniformed officers, five military-grade police bots, and a team of black-suited inspectors that demanded to be brought before Colette n’Kedi. She came to them.

“What is the meaning of this?” she said, stepping out of her office to the design floor.

“Colette n’Kedi, you are being detained,” the male officer said.

“Who are you?” Colette said.

“J.P. Donkler, Lead Investigator, Harper Corp. internal inspector’s office.”

“You’re on my property. I demand you leave immediately and contact my counsel through the proper legal channels. This is an outrage.”

“You can come with us willingly, or we’ll arrest you and take you by force. Medi Almena is already in custody.”

“Leave immediately,” Colette said.

“Last chance,” Donkler replied. “I’d rather this be as calm and orderly as possible.”

“Then calmly leave the premises.”

Donkler gave a signal to the uniformed officers, who quickly surrounded Colette, grabbed her arms, cuffed her, and marched her down the stairs, out the front door, and into the vehicle they’d parked in the courtyard outside the TechJools corporate offices. Colette couldn’t believe it was happening. She kept shouting at them, “You can’t do this! You have no right!”

Whether they did or didn’t, they’d brought military bots with them. There was nothing to stop Harper security from arresting Colette, or, in her mind, abducting her.

Before Colette knew what was happening, she was being escorted off world, through the space-station by way of the space elevator, and finally, she was placed in a holding cell on a Harper Corp. ship in high orbit.

When the doors shut behind her, Colette had no idea what could be going on. The officers had left the cuffs on her, behind her back, so she couldn’t even sit naturally on the cold metal bench in the tiny, enclosed room. She soon began to shiver in the cool ship’s atmosphere, as she was dressed for the warmth of the planet.

She had no idea how long she was left in that cell, but the only blessing in the circumstances was that the rotating arms of the ship seemed to be at a lower gravity level than planetside, so the metal bench, cold as it was, didn’t feel as hard as it looked. She was lying on her side shivering, her hands still locked behind her when the investigator finally opened the door. Colette turned her head, but she couldn’t sit herself up from that awkward position, even in lower gravity.

“Ms. n’Kedi,” he said, “had some time to cool off, have we?”

She didn’t respond.

“Sit up for me please, and I’ll uncuff you.”

“I can’t.”

J.P. Donkler came over and pulled her up by the shoulder to a seated position. She shook her hair away from her eyes. He reached behind her to uncuff her wrists. She immediately brought her arms in front of her, curling up for warmth as she rubbed her hands together. She’d never felt so cold.

“I don’t know how you think you can abduct me like this,” she said. “I demand to speak with my attorneys.”

“You don’t know, because you don’t know the law, Ms. n’Kedi. We didn’t abduct you. We have arrested you for theft of services. You will be held in our custody until you are criminally charged under the corporate charter.”

“Theft of services?”

“Yes, Ms. n’Kedi, and conspiracy as well. You, Arwan, and Medi conspired to transport cargo illicitly in Harper Corp. ships. Under the criminal charter, you’ll be facing up to twenty years incarcerated unless you’re willing to outlay your operation in detail, including the names of every one of your co-conspirators on Athos, Iophos, and Hellenia. Tell me how you moved your merchandise, exactly how much, where, everything. Then we can talk about meeting with your attorneys.”

“I’m not going to talk to you without representation. Even your employees are entitled to that, and I’m a private citizen.”

“Again, you don’t understand the law. Employees don’t have rights on the outpost. They have privileges. Non-employees have even fewer privileges.”

“You don’t own the planet.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Then my lawyers will debate it.”

“No doubt they will. That could take years to litigate. And then when that finally gets decided, it could take years to decide where you’ll be held pre-trial. You might actually get to trial in five years if you’re lucky. Or we could talk about your compatriots. They’re certainly going to talk about you.”

Colette took a deep breath. “Mr. Donkler…”

“Ms. n’Kedi?”

“Get me my lawyers or you can go to hell.”

“If that’s the way you want it to be, so be it. I’m actually going to go home to my family. You, on the other hand are going to stay right here for a long, long time. Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

She shook her head.

“Very well. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

Colette didn’t lose control of her emotions until the lights went out. She didn’t want to give anyone watching her the satisfaction on the video feed. She was cold, helpless, and in the darkness, she began to doubt. Theft of services. Had she done that? If so, was it unjustified, considering Harper had deliberately made shipping between systems impossible? She curled up on the bench with her arms tucked inside her shirt. She didn’t close her eyes all night. Finally, as her internal clock registered that the morning was approaching, she fell asleep only to be immediately awakened by the daylight glare of the harsh neon bulbs in her cell.

In the city, news of Colette and Medi’s arrest came as a total shock to company employees and non-employees alike. Initially, the mood was disbelief and confusion. Nothing like it had ever happened on the outpost before. On infrequent occasions, Harper security had arrested and charged employees for minor infractions. They’d never arrested a non-employee before. No one had any information except for Colette’s design team, who had very little indication of the reason Harper security had arrested her. Workers were angry. Management were puzzled and left scrambling to offer what little information they could about the situation to the people on the outpost.

After the confusion of the first several days had settled, the TechJools board held a meeting to discuss temporary management of the company until Colette and Medi returned. No one had any indication of when that might be. They were about an hour into the meeting when Colette’s younger brother Makai n’Kedi forced his way passed the assistant in the waiting area and crashed the meeting.

“This company has resources,” he said. “I want to know immediately how you’re deploying them to get my sister back.”

“I’ve been inquiring daily with the Harper Corp. legal department and filing protest briefs with the Inner Battery Commerce Bureau. Unfortunately, not much more can be done,” said Jamie Alba, TechJools lead attorney.

“I figured as much,” Makai said. “I want you to know that I don’t care how the business gets run in Colette’s absence, but I’m here to take charge of the efforts to get her back. I would like to hire a strategist who will secure my sister’s release.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” the acting CEO, Mr. Armicross said.

“And you have no standing here, Makai.” Colette’s personal assistant said.

“Maybe not,” Makai said. “But if she were dead, I’m her beneficiary—me and my children. Do any of you care more about Colette than we do? I’m not asking for any say in how the company runs. I’m sure Ms. Alba is great at her job, but that doesn’t mean she’s equipped to handle this situation. Filing complaints with the very people who are holding her isn’t going to get Colette back. I’d like to hire a person or agency who will. That’s all. Let me do that.”

The board decided to take a vote on Makai’s proposal and agreed that a more aggressive strategy was appropriate. They assigned Trace Greenlaw to help Makai.

Over several weeks of round-the-clock research, negotiations, and communications back to Athos and Hellenia, Makai and Trace finally decided to hire a law firm from Hellenia that employed AI gaming strategists. The representative who showed up to the outpost two weeks later went only by Mr. Hamm.

Mr. Hamm was a tall, well-built man with long, dark, well-groomed hair in a ponytail, and his eyes bore the telltale white ring of ocular implants. He also wore a pair of plain gold TechJools audiobars that sat across his ear canals. Makai and Trace took that as a good sign.

Mr. Hamm very rarely made eye contact while Makai and Trace showed him around the city. He was constantly scanning every area they entered and speaking his notes aloud, presumably to an AI assistant onboarded in his neural implants. He asked few questions at first, more making demands to proceed to the next destination on his itinerary.

After three days of inspecting every aspect of the outpost and meeting with as many Harper Corp. executives as would take a meeting with him, Mr. Hamm sat down with Makai and Trace to explain the situation as he and his firm saw it.

“Unfortunately, the legal result here is clear. It is a game neither you, Mr. n’Kedi, nor TechJools can win. Harper Corp. hold all the cards.”

“But this isn’t a game,” Makai said. “We need to get my sister back.”

“Indeed, it is a game,” Mr. Hamm said, “as are all human endeavors. In this case, Harper has written the rules everyone else is required to play by, and they are enforcing them selectively and in an opportunistic manner. In simpler terms, they are cheating. One cannot win a game if the opponent is cheating; in fact, if the opponent is cheating, they are not even playing the same game. The first order of business is to figure out what game they’re playing. Then we break the rules of that game before they even guess we’re playing it. We play on our terms, not theirs. That’s the only way to get your sister back according to Strategy. We estimate six years based on modeling. We suggest you prepare for a long fight. However unfortunate for your family and Colette’s co-workers here at TechJools, there is good news.”

“Six years?” Makai said.

“We project that there is a ninety percent chance of both working and living conditions improving markedly at this outpost over that six-year interval as a byproduct of the political fist fight we intend to undertake. The strategies in our models vary, so we cannot chart an exact map presently. But we can provide a general plan.

“We intend to play the game on a larger board than Harper Harbor and on multiple fronts. We will win powerful allies around the Battery, capture hearts and minds that will benefit the n’Kedi family and TechJools, and we will change the monolithic nature of commerce here on this outpost, for none of you will be remotely secure until you have a stake in your currency. But we are getting ahead of the game.”

“Six years?” Makai said.

“Before her release,” Mr. Hamm said. “In the shorter term, we anticipate visitation rights and regular lines of communication.”

“It’s unacceptable.”

“It’s reality.”

“What’s the first move, then?”

“I will need to speak to the top executives of the TechJools corporation. We will leverage that platform to create sympathetic allies across the Battery. I’d like to begin today.”

Makai insisted on being read in to the strategy at every turn. Their first major victory came from public pressure elsewhere in the Battery. The issue they leveraged was Colette’s isolation from her family, which was perceived as unjust and inhumane in light of the charges. Small groups on Iophos were able to lobby local governments and businesses by targeting Harper Corp. ferry contracts. No contracts were actually inhibited on Iophos, but fear that the small protest could spread to Athos, prompted Harper Corp. to allow Colette visitation rights with Makai on a monthly basis, as well as weekly communication with TechJools and her legal representation.

Mr. Hamm, who hadn’t been seen on the outpost since the initial consultation, sent a brief video message to Makai with a new estimate.

“This concession comes three months earlier than anticipated. Odds have shifted to a release in year five being the highest likelihood now.”

Mr. Hamm, as the liaison for his firm, communicated directly through a set of bulleted weekly instructions. For Makai, these amounted to written orders. They would say things like: “Post minimum of five trained protestors on Richman corner for morning and evening rush on workdays.” Such instructions were specific to the sentences to be displayed, the clothing to be worn, and the specific phrases to be uttered. Though most of the passersby were employees who drew their livelihood from Harper, there were many who sympathized with Colette. Most thought the punishment was extreme and could easily be settled by repayment, especially in light of TechJools’ success.

After several months without contact, Makai and Colette were grateful to be able to see each other again. She was anxious to strategize ways to hasten her release, but Makai would assure her that the trillions of simulations Mr. Hamm’s firm were running would devise the best solution. “I know, Makai, but I have nothing else to think about in here,” she would say. He decided, after hearing her say this each of their first five visits, that he would approach Mr. Hamm about getting her access to rudimentary design software so she could draw up specs for new jewelry while confined. Mr. Hamm liked the idea and began to run it in the models.

“You will broach the subject in exactly four weeks with the assistant to the undersecretary of outpost security via a correspondence we have drafted on Ms. Jamie Alba’s behalf. The file is included here.”

Initially, Harper Corp. refused on principle. Incarceration, from their standpoint, represented punishment for the crime. Allowing Colette to work while in custody negated much of the point of the punishment. Makai began to see the logic of pushing in small increments like this. By denying Colette access to simple drawing tools, they once again played the part of the bully for the entire Battery to see.

Once TechJools had received Colette’s first designs from captivity, Mr. Hamm sent specific marketing instructions for that piece. Franchisees were instructed to centrally display these items with their story as a main selling point. They were wildly successful and raised awareness in the wearers. One necklace in particular, a flying bird, quickly became symbolic of the burgeoning movement to liberate Colette.

Several months later, Mr. Hamm began directing TechJools to leverage the technological platform in the jewelry to communicate liberation messages directly to wearers. Each user was reminded of Colette’s plight at an interval that fell slightly below that user’s threshold of tolerance for it. Positive respondents were organized into political action groups. Soon, there were thousands of members on Athos, Iophos, Hellenia, and many of the smaller outposts and cylinder groups everywhere in the Battery systems.

“For now,” Mr. Hamm said, “we will work to build numbers of sympathizers. Actions come later.”

Makai was surprised several months later to receive an outsized set of bullet points from Mr. Hamm, nearly fifty times the usual amount. This set of instructions was the foundation for a strategic development plan for privatization of the outpost’s economy: tourism, entertainment, manufacturing, real estate, agriculture, and most especially, banking. Makai waited nearly two weeks for an explanation from Mr. Hamm, who was onboarding several more small companies to his already substantial client list. “You must reduce the leverage the company has over the people of the outpost. To do this, the people need to have financial and professional options, the most critical of which is a separate currency. Send the enclosed correspondences and host these investors according to our directions when they arrive.”

Makai worked around the clock to host prospective investors when they appeared. Most of them said the same things. The stone architecture in the new city was excellent, and the people of the outpost needed to expand the new city. The prospect of vacationing on such a temperate planet with a breathable atmosphere would bring as many visitors as the accommodations allowed if they were properly constructed and managed. And the outpost needed a new name, because nobody wanted to vacation on a corporate mining outpost and shipyard. People want to vacation somewhere that sounds exotic and pleasant.

Soon, the investors were signing contracts, bringing financial backing, jobs, and more people to the planet. It was the newcomers who quickly began to bring attention to the outsized power Harper Corp. had over the population of the outpost. As buildings went up around the city, the people’s eyes opened.

Mr. Hamm began directing Makai and Trace on a media campaign through the TechJools platform, which he described as the “real weapon” that would prompt the release of Colette and Medi as the legal battle continued to stall. The campaign consisted of direct messages from Colette from her cell, which Mr. Hamm’s firm fabricated using an avatar compiled from a lifelong library of Colette’s digital image and voice. It called on TechJools users to avoid using Harper Corp.’s service—from transport to raw metals to engines to robotics. That image of a lone, imprisoned, defiant speaker, separated from her family, isolated from her livelihood, it took a significant portion of the shine off Harper’s otherwise solid reputation.

For her part, Colette continued to design jewelry pieces at a rate she’d never otherwise have done. That and her visits with Makai and her attorney Jamie Alba were now her only release from the monotony of incarceration. All Makai could say to alleviate her sadness was that they were doing everything possible to affect her release.

“You know what I miss,” she told him on a visit near the end of her fourth year in custody, “the lime trees down by the waterfront. I miss the mingling of citrus scent with the fresh air on a sunny day.”

Makai visited one of the shop owners the following afternoon. He asked if he could pick a few limes to bring to Colette on his next visit. “Let me think about it,” the shop owner said.

When Makai returned to the waterfront before his next visit, the shop owner had picked every lime on his trees, arranged them in two baskets, and brought two bots to carry them for Makai.

“If Colette wants to smell lime, we give them enough to make the whole damn ship smell like a margarita!”

“I doubt they’ll take that many,” Makai said.

“That’s not the point,” the shopkeeper said.

When he left the shop with the bots, Makai found that the shopkeeper was walking with him toward the space elevator. Others began to follow. By the time they’d arrived at the foot of the space elevator, the group walking with Makai numbered in the hundreds. They were singing and chanting, and many of them were carrying baskets of limes too. Makai was stunned by the strange and unexpected outpouring of support. Images of the spontaneous protest were disseminated throughout the Battery, especially on the TechJools platform.

 As animosity grew against Harper Corp. outside the outpost, the people of the city called a constitutional convention. Mr. Hamm was instrumental in setting an agenda that included a charter of rights, the founding of a citizen-backed local currency, the adoption of a new name for the outpost, rules for real estate claims outside of Harper controlled areas, and the establishment of a citizen-run government and legal system to govern the solar system. He also sent copies of provisional documents his firm predicted had the highest likelihood of adoption. The founding documents emphasized fairness, freedom, financial advancement, and human flourishing.

This convention drew Harper Corp.’s production on the outpost to a standstill. Upper-level executives were drawn into a choice between reporting for work and rejecting the outcome or supporting the process so that the company might have some influence. Ultimately, most of the corporation’s executives joined the convention only to find their influence rejected at nearly every turn by the people of the newly formed nation of Lime Harbor.

The constitutional convention was a near absolute defeat for Harper Corporation. Workers, who once had privileges bestowed by the corporation, now had inalienable rights guaranteed by a sovereign government of the people. Harper was now required to pay their employees in LH Cronors, the outpost’s new currency, instead of company credit. And they were bound by law to report security matters of a criminal nature to the federal courts for adjudication.

This last piece forced Harper Corp. to decide how they would handle Colette’s case under the newly-established government of Lime Harbor. There were legal avenues to pursue if they insisted on prosecuting her in the federal court system, but it was becoming increasingly unclear what they gained from continuing to hold her.

Mr. Hamm, after four years, suddenly appeared in Lime Harbor. He surprised Makai by strolling into one of the TechJools board meetings as though he’d been invited. Jamie Alba seemed to have no idea what had prompted him to come.

“I have a matter regarding the CEO and her CTO if business here is concluded,” Mr. Hamm said. “I’ll need to borrow Mr. n’Kedi and Ms. Alba for several days.”

“Regarding what?” the acting CEO Mr. Armicross asked.

“The time has come to bring your boss home,” Mr. Hamm said. “We’re going to get Colette.”

Initially Makai mistook Mr. Hamm’s statement to mean that an arrangement had already been negotiated. But Mr. Hamm told him and Jamie Alba to pack for at least a week, for they’d be traveling to Iophos to meet with Harper Corp.’s representatives.

“The models suggest that now is the time to deal them an ultimatum. There’s a seventy-percent chance they’ll fold.”

Neither Makai nor Jamie had ever left the system. Like always, Mr. Hamm insisted that he’d do all the negotiating. Everything expected of Makai and Jamie would be prepared for them and spelled out in perfect detail.

Four days later, they were ushered into an executive suite at Harper Corp.’s main headquarters on Iophos where they met with the CFO, the Head of Strategy, and the CEO—even one of the Harpers was there.

Mr. Hamm held back nothing.

“The outpost,” he began, “which Harper once owned outright, no longer exists. It is now a sovereign planet. Harper’s stake on the planet is now a shared one. Releasing Ms. n’Kedi would send a message to the people of the outpost that you are willing to participate in the legitimate political process. On the other hand, holding her could damage your corporation’s prospects far beyond Lime Harbor. Indeed, every civilization in the Battery now hosts Ms. n’Kedi’s products and the tech platform that runs on those products. Billions of people love her jewelry, and we have hardly begun to leverage that favorability to affect Harper Corp.’s standing across the systems. At this point, I’d ask you to consider what you gain by continuing to hold Ms. n’Kedi, because you certainly have much to lose.”

“This is extortion,” the CEO said.

Mr. Hamm shrugged. “And what would you call abducting a private citizen and holding her for nearly five years because she started a rival transportation company, a company whose share of that market constituted roughly three percent of your total business on the outpost? Is that sound business?”

The elderly Mr. Harper rubbed his chin but didn’t say anything.

“You’ll have our answer through our legal team shortly,” the CEO said.

“Rest assured,” Mr. Hamm said. “We’re well positioned for a fist fight. Answer poorly and Harper Corp. will bleed.”

They were met that evening at their ship by a currier who conveyed the documents via encrypted files from Harper’s legal division. The files contained instructions to the outpost’s executives to release Colette and Medi immediately and to pursue no further charges. The currier, a young employee of a Harper contractor, smiled as she transferred the files to Mr. Hamm, ironically from a necklace both Makai and Jamie recognized as Colette’s golden bird.

Mr. Hamm didn’t return with them to Lime Harbor. He took his leave at the skyport, merely continuing on to his next client engagement. He wouldn’t even allow Makai to buy him dinner to thank him for his services. “Thousands more in the Battery are in need of strategic help, Mr. n’Kedi,” he said. “It’s shocking how many people try to do such consequential things on their own. They lose money, influence, their reputation, years of their life, all because they make the mistake of never asking for professional help. I’m glad you didn’t make that mistake.”

“As am I,” Makai said.

He didn’t know how else to thank Mr. Hamm, so he just said thank you. Then he and Jamie Alba boarded their ship to return home.

When they arrived at the space station atop the Lime Harbor space elevator, Makai called the corporate administrator. She couldn’t be bothered to come see Makai in person, asking instead that he transmit the documents. She promised to review them right away.

“The key part is in the Findings & Directives file,” Makai said. “Page 18.”

A few minutes later, the administrator called Makai back. Neither he nor Jamie had even taken a step toward the elevator car. They weren’t going down without Colette and Medi.

“I’ve called for the ship to return to the station. Mr. Donkler will meet you at airlock 5, Mr. n’Kedi,” the administrator said.

Makai caught himself. He almost said thank you. “Understood,” he said instead.

He and Jamie Alba made their way to Bay 5. While they were waiting, Jamie got word to everyone at TechJools. They were coming home.

When the ship docked, Makai couldn’t help but think—as he had so many times over five years—how much money Harper had wasted holding two people incarcerated in the brig of an empty ship that otherwise should have been sold years ago.

When the doors opened, there was J.P. Donkler with Medi and Colette walking behind him handcuffed. Colette’s eyes got bigger when she saw Makai and Jamie.

“Makai, what’s happening?” she said.

“You’re being released.”

Donkler hadn’t told them anything. Makai expected him to release them at the airlock, but he didn’t. He continued to march them toward the skycar at the center of the station. Makai glared at him.

“Can you take these off now, James?” Medi said to Donkler.

“You are in my custody until I release you from my custody,” he said.

J.P. Donkler walked them to a segmented cubicle in the corner of the skycar. Makai was surprised he even allowed them to ride down together. Makai noticed Colette actively trying to control her breathing. Tears began to escape from her eyes. He made a motion to embrace his sister and was told, “Do not make contact with the detainees.” As much as Makai wanted more than anything to defy that order, he also didn’t need to test such a spiteful man.

“You must be so proud of the work you do,” Makai said.

“I’m just doing my job,” he said. “No more, no less.”

“Everyone has a job to do, James,” Medi said. “We all still have to live with ourselves each day, and no one but you makes the choice to put on your uniform and report to your job.”

J.P. Donkler scoffed.

When they reached the bottom of the elevator and the doors opened, they were surprised to see the concourse populated with groups of supporters, some carrying the signs they’d held for years along the waterfront, on street corners, in parks, and right there outside the concourse itself. Donkler still wouldn’t release them, instead marching them from inside the building all the way through the atrium to the last millimeter of Harper Corp.’s property. Only then, at the edge of the sidewalk, surrounded by a crowd of chanting supporters, did J.P. Donkler reach for Medi’s wrists and unlock his cuffs. He was immediately pulled into the crowd and embraced by his mother, his siblings, and his friends, who began to jump about jubilantly. Finally, reluctantly, Colette n’Kedi was freed. As Makai and Jamie Alba embraced her, the crowd encircled them, and it seemed they were carried off by the crowd without even having to take a step of their own accord.

Colette could hardly believe the sight. It seemed that thousands were there escorting them back to the city now called Lime Harbor. She saw so many of her drawings on the wrists, ears, and around the necks of the people escorting them. Hook bracelets, earbars, earloops, necklaces, rings, and eyeglass frames. And this was just home. All those pictures she’d drawn in her cell had become jewelry spread across the entire sector.

The new cityscape was almost foreign to her. Grand hotels had sprung up around the city square. Magnificent stone buildings lined the main road to the space elevator, which was now paved in cobblestones. There was a beautiful stone bridge spanning across the water where there used to be a floating metal pontoon. Her world had changed.

They walked all the way to the small studio where their business was born years before. In the stone piazza, people crowded everywhere to welcome them home. Colette stood with her brother and friends, encircled by thousands as they began to sing. For Colette it was finally all too much. The people, the air, the feel of the ground beneath her feet. She stooped to her knees, and as she did, the circle of people surrounding her stepped back, leaving space for her to breathe. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and listened to the people sing. She remained there as long as she could stand the pressure on her knees and reminded herself to breathe. The pulsing of the air hinted at a force much bigger that had been born in her absence. Behind each breath was a heartbeat, a people and a nation coming alive.