Eric Olafson, Neoviking 001g

Prelude Part 7: XChange

5004, Year

Isegrim stood at the bar in the Xchange cafe, watching through the large windows into the large warehouse, as his men unloaded the last crates of Flicker fish and Fangsnapper meat. The door opened and along with a flurry of snow flakes and a gush of cold wind Leif Elhir stomped in, cleaning his heavy boots over the snow grate. He looked around to see who was there and then he noticed Isegrim. “I see the winds also dragged in the steward of the Ragnarsson riches, running errands for the Old Falcon, as the true lord of these boats and men out there is busy doing obscure things far away from Nilfeheim shores.”

Isegrim turned, this hand dropping on his whip. “It appears the Elhir star is falling further every season. Not able to defend his meager catch against the Black clan, now crawling and barking like a Nubhir pup, hoping to get attention of real men. I think this pup needs a lashing.”

Vémundr, the manager of the Xchange cafe came from behind the bar, holding a massive club. “You all know the rules, no fighting on Xchange property, this is Union territory. Unless you want to find yourselves before a Union Judge, you behave.”

Elhir snorted. “You are a Viking, you should not hide behind Union laws and Off-world judges.”

Vémundr who was clean shaven grinned cold. “I am also the second son of a Freeman and not associated to a clan. You are welcome to take your business elsewhere, Mister Elhir. To me you are just a customer and nothing else. Customer rights can be revoked.”

Isegrim turned back to look outside. “He is Elhir, they only risk insults when they know they can hide but come Elhir speak thy challenge if you dare and we will go where no Off-world laws interfere.”

“What good would a challenge be against a steward? I deal with Chiefs alone.”

Gunnar Peerson another clan chief sitting at a table with two of his men said. “Perhaps envy speaks, as Leif misses the strong arms of Olafson fishers aboard his boats, casting nets and harpoons is one thing. Casting axes and swing the sword against the boarders of a black clan boat is quite a different thing. I don’t recall an Elhir boat returning raided while mighty Volund had to hire on thy boats.”

Isegrim laughed. “Indeed, the masked devils of the Black clan fear the red banner and do not come near a boat sailing under the wolf heads.”

Elhir clenched his fists. “Instead of squabbling, all clans of the West should put every able man aboard a vessel and find the lair of the Black clan. We all know under their black guise are banners of the Eastern clans.”

A clan chief known as Sørensen the Silent and lord of the Holmquist clan, grunted. “The Black clan sails against the boats of the Eastern clans as well. It is the old feuds between the clans of West and East that keeps the Black clan safe and active.” Everyone turned to Sørensen, as this was more than he had ever said, as far as anyone present knew.

Isegrim quaffed the last swallow, swiped his Credit Strip across the bar, then went to the door and took his Fangsnapper coat from a hook at the wall. “Real Vikings would not come to a tavern to lament their losses, but sail to find revenge!”

With these words and an evil grin he stomped out and crossed the Duro-crete floor that stretched from one end to the other of this roofed area.

The Xchange was the largest building outside the space port. It was 600 meters long and 200 meters wide. It was completely open to the west side where it faced the wharf. A wide ramp led to the water, or right now to the ocean ice. A conveyor system in the ramp could pull entire Tyrannos onto the trade floor and another one was designed to carry the boxes of fish and what other trade items were delivered.

The building being open to one side was as cold as the rest of Nilfeheim and he cursed as he fumbled with his wolf shaped cold mask and it did not snap into place right away. Finally he managed and reached the trading floor. Yellow squares were painted on the Duro-Crete floor and whatever was to be sold stacked inside one such square area. Mr. Amundsen, the Xchange business manager stood next to two work robots.

Greifen, Reinhold and three more of Isegrim’s men laughed heartily as a little figure thickly wrapped in a Nubhir fur anorak struggled with a Blue Finner, almost as big as the toddler. Isegrim had taken his son for his first ice fishing trip and Reinhold, usually brooding and cold looked loving and proud at little Eric and said. “Lord Isegrim, your son decided to bring his own catch. He is strong already.”

Greifen agreed. “It won’t be long and little Eric will throw the harpoon.”

Isegrim felt fatherly pride and said. “Then Mr. Amundsen, go tally my sons catch first.”

The Xchange manager knelt before the toddler and said. “This is a mighty fine fish you got there. I think it will serve me as dinner. Will you accept two Nilfeheim Silvers?”

Two full Iridium coins for a fish like that was a steep offer and the little boy took the coins in XChange for the fish and then held out the silvery coins to Isegrim. “For father.”

Isegrim took the coins and swallowed. “You my son are the pride of my life.”

The rest of the business was conducted. The offered wares were presented via GalNet on the Xchange net and seafood buyers all across the Union could make offers for the catch after they had inspected the wares via sensors and scanners built in the robots. One of the robot snarled. “Tyson Seafood has offered 12,500 credits for the wares offered, do you accept?”

Isegrim did and he watched as the robots stacked the crates on a conveyor that took them to a stasis freezer. The monthly freighter would then take it and the rest of the local product to where ever the buyer was.

While his men received a load of empty crates and took them to the boat, the Xchange manager went to his office to get the print out and the money. While almost every business on Nilfeheim took Union Credits, it was tradition to pay Freemen and Low men with physical money. For this the Xchange always paid a part in Iridium coins.

Little Eric stood there and watched with awe the working robots and the conveyors.

Isegrim was startled as a female voice said. “So this is the little bastard? It seems you have completely forgotten about me.”

He turned to a woman wearing a red hooded anorak and a white fur face mask. It could have been anyone, but the almost sickening sweet perfume and the voice could only belong to Gretel. The cold air seemed to intensify the scent and only for a brief moment he wondered why he was attracted to her, even now as anyone, even ugly Harkun could have been behind that mask. “Yes this is my son. Watch your mouth, he is no bastard but my first born.”

She came closer and touched his arm. “I am your first love and I am your only love. I carry you a son. Now get rid of that child. A simple push and he falls into the shock freezers.”

“And lose all? If he dies before Erik Gustav, I am back casting nets from the decks of Elhir boats.” While a voice in him still asked questions and why he was taking to this woman, his resistance melted away and the old love and lust he had always felt for that wench was back and became stronger by the minute. He barely registered the needle prick sensation under all the fur and leather padding of his arm, just where Gretel’s hand was. “Then let us make sure he lives, I intend to live in luxury. Now what about his mother?”