Chapter 2: Supply & Demands

This couldn't be happening. It was impossible. Of all the time for something to go wrong, why now? The crowd surrounding him, oblivious to the situation now clearly and defiantly present before his eyes, were dispersing at a slow pace. People, walking so close to him, were yet so far from understanding the gravity of what was happening right under their noses. People like me had steered Illium off the Omega path since it first became an independent world. The security, the public transportation and Government funding all started because of me – and a few other men like me, who shared the prospect of a nation free to do what it pleases. But it would be these people who would condemn us, who would cast us out as dangerous and immoral. What do they know about morality?

Soon this crowd would be gone, though. Soon it would be just me and me alone. How to rectify the mistake was the only train of thought travelling through his mind. First, he needed help. Second, he needed to call his guards. And third, most importantly, he needed to find out who was responsible for the screw-up, and make sure they too would know what it meant to fail Tiberius Stern.

He looked down at his datapad once more. Knowing for certain that the words printed on the screen wouldn't have changed in the brief two seconds he looked up, he did pray for some inalienable mistake to have caused the message to appear wrong and to have fixed itself.

But it didn't. The words he dreaded continued to resonate on the datapad, unchanged, and mocking him:

Mister Stern,

We wish to inform you that your latest endeavour into the dealings of Omega's drug trafficking system were a complete failure. The incompetency of the transaction and, may I say, the absolute stupidity of trying to bribe a high-ranking official of Madam Farice's private guard has met with the assassination of your men on Omega, as well as a complete inquiry by the nearby Blue Suns of the Purgatory station, who were, by admission of Madam Farice herself, spying on her, thinking she was the main weapons dealer of the Blood Pack. You have now caught their eye, and they will soon be coming to Illium with no doubt about their intentions. They now know it was you.

You have served us loyally with arms and other array of weapons in the 16 years we have been associated with you. We regret, with complete sincerity, that we will be – from this moment on – no longer associated with you or your dealings (for however long you remain to be alive).

Do not contact us again.

##!^!%^#

'Absolute stupidity' met Stern's eyes. 'Stupidity?' he thought to himself. Inquiries, questions, and investigations, were made beforehand. He was told this would be one of the smoothest and most financially lucrative ventures he would make. His advisors assured him of success. What could have gone wrong?

First things first: he needed help. Stern attached the datapad to his belt and began to exit the courtyard he was standing in. He was going for his evening walk when he got the message. This news entirely overshadowed the fact that, prior to him receiving the summary of his failed mission, he was beginning to get that eerie suspicion that he was not alone on this walk; that someone was following him. He didn't care about this now. He needed to make a call.

Stern reached for the module in his pocket but then stopped. Too dangerous, he thought. What if it was already tapped by the Blue Suns? He couldn't risk it. He would make the call using a public phone. Those wouldn't be tapped, at least not yet. There was still time, he was sure of it.

He reached the archway that signalled the exit of the courtyard, and then turned around. He looked at the crowd slowly but surely dispersing. They were all wearing evening attire; no sign of armour or weapons among them – especially Blue Suns armour or weaponry. Stern turned the corner and began to jog down the street. The quicker he made this call the better. His advisors would know what to do next. He had to reach them.

Turning left into an alleyway, he knew that this was a quicker route to the nearest public phones. He would know of course. All the times his employees would call him from those phones (to inform him of success in contracts and other assignments), he had to know where the phones are so his hitmen could take out the employees so no one could ever trace their deeds to him. The best employees he kept though. The ones he knew wouldn't betray him or break under pressure. The ones he knew he could call on at the last moment if he ever needed them. Well, he needed them now.

Taking a right into the avenue, he was taken aback by all the civilians walking down the street. Surely for this time of the evening there would be at least half of what there is now. Why so many? Stern thought. Then he remembered. Aynhitov Sharab was playing at the theatre tonight. His wife had pleaded him to take her, and he finally gave in. She would be waiting at home right now for him to take her. It began in a few hours. But now there were much more serious workings that needed to be done and required his time, rather than some soppy opera singer.

Walking for a few more minutes down the crowded avenue, occasionally passing an advertisement for Sharab or the six-thirty news bulletin, Stern reached the small block of public phones that stood against the wall of the Serrice Technology Headquarters building. There was a Salarian making a call on the end, talking extremely fast, but also remarkably cautiously. He was standing in the manner of someone who knew he had important news, but didn't know what to do next. This reminded Stern of his current situation. He walked past the Salarian and over to the other end, so the Salarian couldn't hear him.

Stern picked up the receiver and placed three credits in the payment slot. Dialling the number of his top advisor, Stern stood, waiting for the opposite end to pick up. He knew he was the man to call, and he would know what to do next. He always knew what to do, and, after a whole minute of waiting, he heard the click of the receiver and a voice answered.

"Hello?" croaked the voice of Sherman Vale. Stern noticed that he seemed panicked.

"It's Stern," he replied, coldly, "have you heard?"

"Uh… yes, sir. We, uh, we were just-" Vale began.

"Listen carefully," Stern interrupted. "If you have heard about the screw-up then you know the Blue Suns are after us now."

"Yes, sir. We were just-".

"And usually this wouldn't be the case. But because of your stupid mistake to supply the Blood Pack with weapons that they used on the Blue Suns, killing god knows how many, they want blood!"

Stern tried to keep his voice soft so no one would hear him. This was harder than he thought. He could feel the rage building up inside him, as every syllable he spoke issued a new meaning and a new possibility that this phone call might be the last he ever made; this one phone call carried all the significance of every act he had ever done put together.

"Yes, sir," Vale replied in the same panicked voice, obviously aware of the situation and its importance. "We understand. It's just… well… we were just-".

"All of you are going to meet me at the corner of Academy Drive and Biddulph Place in the Outskirts in twenty minutes! Do you understand?"

"But, sir, we were-"

Vale didn't have time to respond before Stern slammed the phone back down. He needed answers, and he needed them now. If there was any way to save his skin from the Blue Suns, he would take it. And his advisors would know how to get it. If they didn't, then he knew he wasn't going down alone.