Quincy had pages and pages of documents on his desk. He had documents on his screen, two spreadsheets and a handheld calculator, to check his math.
He'd been running risk/reward scenarios through his financial software for hours, and things were just piling up.
If you've got three ships on complicated contracts, each one mortgaged twice over for a third deal that was just barely hanging on… It had been a hard day. He had lots of situations which might just pan out, and he had to show it all to his partner, his co-founder, hope nobody cracked, not him, and not Nunes. Why should anyone crack?
Perry's Steakhouse and Grill, main concourse, America Freeport, was an experience from the first step inside. Quincy stepped through the arched door from America's second concourse and was met by a middle-aged host standing in front elaborate dark wooden wine racks.
"Can I help you?" "Table for two, under Halloran" "Right you are, sir, come this way." The host led him around the wine rack, into a chamber that opened to showcase blown glass chandeliers lighting table after table, and through door in a smoked glass wall to a booth, where his partner Brandon Nunes sat. Quincy slid into a booth and eyed the menu. Prices, for fresh meats, and at a steakhouses markup, an entire system away from a terrestrial world.
His partner spoke up "last time we did one of these, you told me that budget we're putting toward meetings isn't a significant contribution to our burn, but you're still looking at that menu like you're broke on a first date. So, what's the damage?"
The walls were some sort of woven leather, of all things. Quincy picked at it with his left hand while he tried to swallow his tongue. "Well" he laughed. "its not... I mean, if you figure, we're currently out about a hundred and twenty million...what's another week's worth of basic? that...doesn't mean this isn't expensive, and who're you trying to impress, me?"
Nunes chuckled, and tried to smooth over it. "Just, try to ignore it and enjoy yourself, will you"
"excuse me, can I get you anything to drink?"
Quincy startled, not having noticed the server approaching. "uuh... I'll start with a mule and a water…" "The house Port for me, and an order of the Escargot, also, please." "gotcha, a mule, a water, a port, and the Escargot. Right away, sirs" "Thank you"
Quincy watched the waitress retreat to the kitchens, through...through a bank's vault door, of all things. "right. Well, the balance this week is, of course, worse than last week. We've got the whole licensing fiasco with the Elephant, and the Thaddeus continues to be behind schedule, which is… well, it costs about three hundred thousand a day to run the Elephant, and as long as we're not paid for the new modules..."
"It's on Amber Witch credit. I know."
"Well, this week we're… whatever this dinner costs and 98 million credits in debt. We're burning about five million a week, so long as nothing goes wrong and we need, probably, a few more million on top of that to get the Mastodon out of…" "Well...We've Adrianna working on finding us a shipyard."
"what?"
"uh, gateway. We're signing it on Gateway, if they'll have us, and once they respond, I'll have Maria headed over there on the next liner to sign the papers"
"How long until she's back and its underway?"
"I'd say two weeks journey, whenever Gateway gets back to us. I'll try ALG after that."
Quincy pulls out his tablet, and is tapping on that when the server returns, carrying a heaping tray of what look like glistening doughnuts with deep brown tongues, smelling of butter, thyme and garlic.
"Are you gentlemen ready to order?"
Brandon picks up his menu and turns to the waitress. "Sure, I'll have the steak and a brandy"
"and for your salad?"
"the Chef's, please.
"And you sir?"
Quincy stumbled. He hadn't looked at the menu since he'd checked the prices. “Uhm. Well"
"He'll have the porkchop." Quincy had looked at the porkchop, which...wasn't really pork, but rather some sort of ruminant on Guadalajara, but...well, he did enjoy porkchops, and the photo looked very appealing. "Sure"
"Ok, it'll be out shortly, gentlemen, enjoy the Escargot"
Watching the server retreat, he noticed that the kitchen was through a bank-vault door. Another reason why this place might be expensive. Antiques.
"Until the mastodon is up, we're burning at about 6 million a week, all things considered. It'll take us a long while to claw out of the hole it put us in, and we have yet to find an insurance company which will work with us."
"Aetherworld will underwrite us"
"Those rates come with strings attached, John."
"You can't get Amber-Witch to write a contract?"
"Not until their original investment makes good, no, family or not."
Their meals arrived through the same vault door, two plates of greens and starches arranged to highlight the glistening reds and browns of wonderfully cooked meats. The porkchop just resisted Quincy's knife, and then parted, revealing a pink interior, seared to warmth and on just the rare side of raw. His mouth watered as he raised his fork, and the "Pork" smelled of char and garlic and butter, of salt and umami. The taste was sweet and thick, and hard to describe other than not at all like chicken, and not at all like pork.
"Souh..." He says, around a mouthful "wah is a sxochel?"
John snorts and looks up.
"Think… between a giant turtle and a giant starfish in appearance. They're an apex predator in the equatorial jungles of Guadalajara."
