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Fractions_ The First Half of the Fall Revolution - Ken MacLeod [225]

By Root 1287 0
and still the same job. Different employers, a different college, the students ever younger and more unsure about their presence, let alone their futures. But at least now I had a business on the side, which in good months brought in as much as or more than the job. My polemics in obscure newsletters and journals, and later on obscure Internet newsgroups as well, had – according to my plan, but still to my surprise – resulted in some mainstream attention. A few think-tank commissions, one or two academic journal articles, a chapter in a forthcoming intermediate economics textbook…Annette and Eleanor had, or at least showed, more confidence in my eventually hitting the big time than I did. Sometimes I felt guilty about that.

I’d been online at my desk at home, setting up Web pages for the business, when Reid had called the previous week. After we’d exchanged pleasantries he’d said, ‘You coming up to this science fiction convention thingie in Glasgow?’

‘Yes! I’ve booked a stall there. Space Merchants. You coming?’

‘’Fraid not,’ he’d said regretfully. ‘Can’t manage the time off work. But – I’d like to meet you after it, in Edinburgh.’

‘That’s a nice idea, but…’

‘No, no, wait. It’s not just to see you socially. I’ve got a…a business proposition for you. Something you might be really interested in.’

‘Oh well, that’s different. What is it?’

‘Um, I’d rather not say at the moment. Sorry to be so cagey, but honestly this is serious and it could be well worth your while. We’ll just go out for a few drinks and talk it over. You can crash out with me, or in a hotel if you like – I can pick up the tab, and the fares –’

‘No, there’s no need –’

‘Really. You’ll understand when we’ve talked about it, OK?’

Intrigued at the thought of him offering me a job in insurance, I agreed to meet him. It must have been the heat.

Reid sauntered up from the Princes Street end of the bridge, for some reason the opposite direction from the one I’d expected him to.

‘Hi man, glad you made it.’

‘Good to see ya.’

His hair had grown long again. His clothes were casual but refined: soft black chinos, blue button-down shirt, silk tie, dark linen jacket. I felt a bit of a scruff in my denims and trainers and astronaut cut.

‘You’re looking smart.’

‘Thanks.’ We’d started walking in the same direction Reid had been taking, towards the Rock. ‘You’re looking…well.’

We both laughed.

‘It’s an illusion,’ I said. ‘Actually I feel a bit wrecked. Too many hangovers in the past four days.’

‘Ah, you’ll soon drink it off,’ he said. ‘But first – have you eaten?’

My stomach sharply confirmed that I hadn’t. ‘Not for ages,’ I said. We paused at a junction where the traffic came four ways. Reid glanced around, and behind him.

‘OK,’ he said, ‘Viva Mexico!’ This turned out to be a Mexican restaurant halfway up Cockburn Street and down some steps. It was quiet. Reid nodded at the waiter. ‘Table for three, please.’

The waiter guided us to a table well clear of anyone else and we sat down. Reid ordered three tall lagers. I looked around while he studied the menu. The faces of men with wide hats and long rifles glowered back at me from brown-and-white photographs of executions, funerals, weddings, train wrecks…I was scanning the wall idly for any photos of heavily armed christenings or graduations when the lagers arrived and Reid looked up.

‘How did the Worldcon go?’

‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘So I’m told. I was in the dealers’ room most of the time. Space Merchants did well, though.’

‘That’s your business?’

‘Yes.’ I took out my wallet and passed him one of my remaining cards, with email address, Web site, phone number and PO Box. ‘A coupla years ago I was looking for space memorabilia, videos of Earth from orbit, stuff like that, and I was surprised how hard it was to find. Especially all in one place. So I thought, hey, business opportunity! Started with mail order ads in SF magazines, then hawking stuff around conventions. Seems to have taken off now.’

Reid smiled. ‘Lifted off! Good. Cheers.’

‘Slainte.’

I glanced at the third glass fizzing quietly by itself.

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