Sven Holm walked back to his farm with a heavy step. The dies and casts he was carrying weighed a lot, and he also had a big load on his mind.
He was sure Blom was holding out on him. But this wasn't the right moment to get tough with Blom. He needed his services, needed Blom to be enthusiastically cooperative instead of sulking with a cast on a freshly broken finger. No, that was definitely out; his favorite negotiation tactic was out. It would be grossly counterproductive. Blom needed to have all his fingers in excellent working order. Sooner or later, Sven would be placing another order for coin dies.
He was passing by the town hall when its big double door opened, and a stream of people began flowing down the entrance steps. It looked as if the town's entire police force was involved. Some of the cops threw dirty glances in Holm's direction. He smiled at them, and waved with his free hand.
"Holm!"
He turned his head and saw that Stefan Sonberg was standing on the top step. He was wearing a fur coat that made him look like an overweight bear. Sven stopped and waited, looking at Sonberg. When it became clear to the mayor that he was the one who would have to make the first move, Sonberg puffed out his cheeks and descended the stairs in a very majestic manner. Sven decided to compromise, and walked a few steps towards the mayor.
Some stragglers were still in the process of leaving the town hall, and Sonberg glanced at them pointedly before saying in a loud voice:
"I want to discuss something with you. Serious accusations have been made." He broke off to glare at a couple of town clerks who had slowed down almost to a standstill, ears flapping.
"Have a nice day," Sonberg told them nastily. Within a moment, there was no one within earshot. He turned to Sven and said:
"That moron Dahl wants to arrest you. He says you got equipment from a cube that appeared on your farm, and that you have started a colony in the New World."
Sven smiled at the mayor, and said:
"So?"
"So make sure you're right at the front of the lineup to the Colonial Office when it opens for business. There'll be two hundred licenses waiting for you."
"Two hundred? Thank you very much. I'm really happy to hear that."
"You won't be so happy when you hear why you're getting an extra hundred. We've reestablished radio communications. Yes, wireless transmissions are possible again. And almost the first message we got was from the New World Colonial Council. They're limiting the number of implant kits received with every colonizer's license to just two, instead of ten."
"Shit," said Sven.
"There's also another change. Only licensed colonizers will be allowed to purchase individual colonist licenses, and then only up to eight, for a total of ten implant kits. You want to get more, you'll have to buy another colonizer's license."
"Aha," Sven said. "Smart. They're ten times as expensive, right?"
"Right. My guess is, they simply want to suck all the old money from the market. Colonial licenses are going to be the only thing old money can still buy. So they've found a way to make them more expensive without actually changing the price."
"It's still a hundred thousand crowns? For a colonizer's license? And ten thousand for the colonist's license?"
"Yes."
Sven did a quick calculation in his mind, and said:
"Sounds like I'll have to find an extra couple of million. Well, thanks for letting me know in advance."
"My pleasure."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
Sven resumed his journey, fuming inside. Yes, he could afford a couple of million crowns extra. But there were eighteen other chapters of the Viking Motorcycle Club, and they'd need more money, too. He'd already promised them a million each. That meant he was left with just ten million crowns' worth of wiggle room. With the other club chapters expecting a million each, he was already eight million crowns short.
He'd have to take along a lot of coins, more than he had planned. He was sure everyone would be only too happy to exchange their old money for the new currency. He would tell the presidents of the other club chapters to buy up old money if they came up short for the colonial license fees. But would they listen? They all needed to eat and drink. They needed all the new money they could get simply to satisfy their Old World needs.
He worried about it all the way back to the farm. The moment he got there, he was hit by new worries.
"We've lost communications with the New World," Olaf Berg told him the moment he got back.
The bag of dies clanged and tinkled as Sven dropped it on the floor. He stared at Olaf and said:
"One moment."
He took off his thermal jacket and boots and went to his desk in the main room and got a flat bottle of aquavit from a locked drawer. He had a good swig, and sat down and lit a cigarette. He said:
"Okay. One step at a time. What happened?"
"Well, Henrik noticed his guy had stopped transmitting right after you were gone. He woke me up and I couldn't get in touch with my guy, too. I asked around, and it's the same for everyone. We've all lost the ability to communicate with our people in the New World."
"Hang on."
Sven put his fingers over the implant in his head and rubbed it gently in a circular motion for a while, drinking and smoking with his other hand. He looked up at Olaf and said:
"You're right. I didn't know about it. I'd muted my guy for the trip into town, and now he isn't there. The signal's completely gone. Something funny is going on. Did you try the hiber bed? Can you enter your guy in the New World?"
"No, I didn't. Just didn't have the time."
"Then find out," said Sven. "Find out right away. Go to my room, and use my bed. I'll wake you in a few minutes."
He sat at his desk and drank and smoked. People constantly entered the house, made to approach him, then saw his face and quickly changed their minds. A couple of idiots called out his name. He gave each of them a look that sent them scurrying out of sight.
He was getting really fucking tired of this whole business. It wasn't fun any more. It had been nearly two months since he'd last got properly drunk. Instead, he was increasingly relying on crystal meth to get through the day while attending to most of the things requiring his attention. Most of them, because there was no way he could attend to them all. Not even while working eighteen-hour days.
Time was short! March was around the corner. And following the official launch of his colonial venture he would be gone for almost a month, visiting the other club chapters. He had to make sure everything was running well before he left. Praise heavens for Olaf! Berg was the best organizer he'd ever met or heard of. In a way, he was wasting his talents with the Vikings: he would be a priceless asset to any organization in the world.
That reminded him: it was time to wake up Olaf, and find out if the transition between the two worlds worked as usual. More work! Sven upended the bottle of aquavit in his mouth and killed it - there were just a couple of gulps left, anyway. Feeling refreshed, he went to wake Olaf.
Olaf was sleeping like a baby, and no wonder: he had big dark circles under his eyes. Like everyone else, he wasn't getting enough rest and enough food. He didn't really need the hiber bed to sleep, he could probably lie down anywhere and go out like a light.
It took a while to wake him. When he did, it was another while before he was coherent.
"The transition is fine, but there is a small panic in Svenborg," he said eventually. "Everyone is upset because they lost contact. I tried to calm things down but I think you need to get over there. It's probably a good idea to visit Sellberg, too. It's been a while since you went there, and they've been sending less and less salt and iron ore. You need to kick some ass over there, Sven."
Sven groaned and shut his eyes.
"Sven?"
"Go and see Ulla and bring me a bowl of whatever she's got going," said Sven, without opening his eyes.
"Of course! All that walking you did today - I won't be a minute." Olaf bustled out of the room. Sven opened his eyes and stepped over to the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. He took out a fresh, full bottle of aquavit from the bottom drawer.
He was going to eat the food Olaf brought, and he would tell him to take over. Then he would lock the bedroom door, and get drunk and pass out.
And when that happened, he would pass into the New World and the whole business would start all over again. Running around and fixing things and taking care of a hundred different little issues.
He was beginning to miss normal sleep, sleep without an implant in his head. His brain felt close to bursting with everything it had to process constantly, without a moment's break.
When Olaf entered bearing a bowl of watery soup and a hunk of ancient bread, Sven said:
"You know, I think I've worked it out why we can't talk to our guys in the New World. The mayor told me today that radio transmissions are possible again. I think it's connected."
"Radio? Great! Why do you think those two things are connected?"
"Work it out for yourself," Sven said wearily. "I'm putting you in charge of everything for the next twelve hours. During that time, I'll kill anyone who tries to speak at me. If they just look at me, I'll stop at breaking an arm or a leg."
"You're tired."
"I'm more than tired," said Sven. "Now, fuck off. Please. And shut the door."
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