“Hey, girl,” Mr. Hill greeted me in a low voice, not worried about Cain waking up. The man was out like a light. “Lost a few pounds on that magic diet, I see.”

I’d naturally let the Wrecker Buff go. Sure, it was nice being that tall, but eh. If I needed to reach something, I had Vier for TK, right?

“Hey, Mr. Hill. How was business?” I asked him, sliding over onto the arm of another seat made for someone at least four times my weight and twice my width.

His expression was content. “Made some good money off the betting, ‘specially on Red MJ, thanks for that tip. Beat the odds-makers time on my match with Champion. Best part is that some Isotopes are dirt cheap off the Galactic Exchanges.” He waved his hand at four crates stacked in the corner haphazardly, certainly not looking like anything important. “Electro-class volturium sold like hotcakes, just wish we had more. But that bloke Corsair is very interested in being a go-between for anything we want to sell.”

“If it’s more money, do it. It’ll bring the world price to GalStandard, which might just help with market integration. Standard volturium is cheaper off the exchange?”

“Enough that we can still double our money after treatment and selling it back if we want to.”

“You didn’t take them up on that?” I was a bit surprised. Getting the raw volturium was still the thing, although Thor making up tons of it certainly helped. Pissed off Midas, too.

“Oh, of course I did. I bought two thousand long tons of it.” My eyebrow climbed. “Asked Primus to secure it and store it, as I cut in the High Guard for a bunch of it. Turns out Doc Bronze needs about fifty tons of the stuff to do some upgrades. Primus agreed to deliver it to the shop when we need it.”

“Oh, that’s good news, good news,” I nodded absently. Certainly safer up there once it was delivered. Probably only had to front a token amount of his own money, just get some firm dates for deliveries. “I didn’t get a full debrief or anything from Doc Richards or Stark, but they were wheeling and dealing right up to the end. You get that processor you wanted?”

“Stark says he’s got a four-Sigma model on the way, and he can probably take it apart and make a five-Sigma out of it, six if he gets some real exotic Isotopes he suspects he needs.” Wong was heading over to a Grimm Materials storeroom right now to dump all the tech that had accidentally fallen into a non-dimensional space around him out for reverse-engineering. Stark was definitely going to protest not getting a first look, but it was closer for Wong. Stark could just send a truck.

“I’ma take your screen here.” He waved it off as I hooked in my Vaccine and went to the shared website established among the Terran interests there who’d cooperated on certain stuff, and of course our own branch of it going for personal and business interests.

The Tribes, Wakanda, and Russia certainly didn’t need Stater help on anything there, but the ‘active’ players had definitely been heavy on Stark, Richards’, and Strange’s side. I had the feeling Sama and Briggs had started profiteering before Champion had even arrived.

The big thing was the Galactic Credit account and what had been purchased with it. Every single thing purchased through it was recorded, and who it belonged to, while all the incoming Credits also had to be credited back to those who earned them, with gambling wins (many, and major) and losses (few and scattered) basically dispersed across the accounts.

Also, money was still flowing into those accounts. There was a single satellite relay to the Galactic Contacts center on LaGrange station, so we could see fairly current Galactic commodities data, and our Credit accounts.

A lot of the Terrans who’d participated in giving over their Credit earnings to the joint account had their media earnings bought out and funneled into the Terran Advancement account, which would be used to purchase what tech we could that could help the planet along. The constant revenue would ensure the Credit balance would continue to increase over time and allow further purchases.

Mr. Hill had done that, liking his earnings in more solid forms. I hadn’t, although for the duration of our stay, everything I earned had been available for them to use... and I had made a LOT of money.

Not as much as Dealer, however. Both of us were still going up, of course, but hers was much more active given what she was doing, and she’d gotten some big injections straight from Champion, too. Her Heal Cards were crazy expensive because you simply couldn’t find such things at our Caster Level, so she could charge whatever she wanted to for them.

I was more curious about the final purchases and stuff, of course. All properly accounted for in correct double-entry accounting.

I highlighted some things made for the business, and he grunted in approval, nodding as the stuff went by. A lot of it had to be rejiggered to human standards to work properly, but there it was... the processor for E-Germanium and E-Silicon, able to handle a dozen different standard Isotopes, including Lightning, Cold, Light, and Water.

“The real money,” Mr. Hill nodded once, and I could only agree.

The Wards beeped at me, and I looked around, then punched a button.

A camera fixed on a spot a block away and around the corner. The image swirled, and then the holoshield against cameras was seen through by the minor magic on the lens.

Mr. Hill lowered his beer and squinted narrowly. Today was a day to completely chill out. He hadn’t even gone in to check out the business. Dillon was coming over later to celebrate.

“You didn’t invite the Fixer over, did you?” I asked, squinting at the guy getting out of the back of his van.

Mr. Hill grumbled in a way that indicated he was Not Happy. “I got this.”

The entire floor here was Earthbound. He took a step as he got up, and was gone.

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Hopefully he's off to shake his fist at some people!

If you're not reading this on Royal Road, you're helping pay a thief. Please read it in its original home, it's still free! You get the foreword and afterword, author comments, and comments from people with questions! I have not given permission for this story to be posted ANYWHERE ELSE.

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Norbert Ebersol gave his gear a once-over. He was pretty sure he’d be able to send a good, solid message to those bastards about taking advantage of him. They didn’t have any defenses he could read on that townhouse, and the cameras covering the surrounding area were easy to fool with his tech. He’d just go in and wreck as much stuff as he could fast, get out fast, and things would be-

His force field flared red at him, but it was too late, because at the same time his weight increased by a factor of five, and only the servos in his suit kept him from falling over.

A very heavy hand came down on his shoulder. Metal crunched, and his force field emitter whimpered and died. “Ebersol,” said a very, very deep voice made up of cracking rocks.

The Fixer slowly turned around and looked up at The Mountain.

Mr. Hill did not look happy. The knuckles on his fist cracked like splitting stones. Norbert had played repeats of his duel with the blue alien, just to slow down the videos and time those punches.

Those supersonic punches. When he’d just lost his force field. He wouldn’t even see it, and he’d be blood spray.

“Hill,” he replied, trying his damnedest to keep his voice level in the face of death staring down at him.

“Ebersol, if you’re coming to see us, you phone ahead, you park out front in a normal manner, you dress in civvies, and you knock on the door.” Hill’s stony eyes narrowed sharply. “You got any problems with that?”

“Um, no, Mr. Hill, sir.” Try as he might, the honorific escaped him nonetheless.

“This is about the money.” Hill stared at him, and Ebersol squirmed despite himself.

“Yes, sir?” he admitted, hoping he wasn’t about to die.

“You know my rep, Ebersol. I take money damn seriously. You weren’t planning on anything stupid, were you?”

“N-no, sir!” he lied quickly. “Just wanted to back my rep, Mr. Hill!” he blurted out even faster.

“Your rep is already made, Ebersol, you don’t have to show off to me.” For the goddamn strangest of reasons, Ebersol actually found himself standing up straighter at those words. “You’re in luck. Dynamo’s in right now.

“Go get parked and change outta the working clothes. We’ll see ya in a few minutes.”

He took a step and fell away into the concrete there like it was water. Ebersol stared at the spot.

Right, right! Mr. Hill took money seriously, everyone knew that. He never cheated anyone, and if you cheated him, by God you paid for it. Nobody who had any brains at all screwed The Mountain of his money, and he would go to enormous steps to make sure you got yours if he owed you. Word was he was holding onto millions of dollars for those who’d gone missing, were in prison, or simply didn’t trust themselves with it.

What he did with it and who gave it to him always changed and nobody really knew, but that was the rumor.

Did they really cheat him out of his money? The Fixer began to doubt what he’d uncovered, then bent down, picked up the crushed force field emitter that had fallen off his suit, stepped back into his van, and closed the door.

It was a few minutes before it pulled around the block, parked in the empty driveway next to Hill’s townhouse, and shut off. Norbert Ebersol got out, dressed in casual khakis and a polo shirt, a single techno kit on his hip to confirm his bona fides, and headed for the door.

------

Dynamo was much more gorgeous in person than on the videos he’d seen. It was probably because she wasn’t over six feet tall and built like a martial goddess, as he’d never been attracted to overly physical women.

She had all the curves in all the right places, moved as gracefully as a dancer, and was exactly his own height. If he had the nerve he totally would have used chemicals to seduce her and take her for a wild night, but after seeing the way she had handled so many of the individuals in the Colosseum, he did not dare.

He had also seen the footage where she had used one punch to SHRED multiple panels of two-inch-thick proto-adamantium plates. He had done the horrifying math on how much force that was, and he was pretty sure she could kill The Mountain with a punch if she was of a mind to.

In a true brawl, she would have butchered that blue guy, and his facial analysis software showed the blue guy knew it, too.

“Three goddamn years, Ebersol.” There was absolutely no give in her eyes at all. “I can’t believe it took you that long to check your own damn tech. Are all supervillains that lax in their financial matters? Don’t answer that.”

He flushed despite himself. “I wouldn’t have found it at all if I hadn’t ordered a power coupling from Nirvantech, and it was my own bloody design!” he muttered, trying to get angry and gain a psychological advantage, and instead finding himself withering under Mr. Hill’s eye roll and Dynamo’s scornful stare.

He knew she was smart. Really, really smart. He’d seen some of the papers. He’d seen the way she goaded Stark, and was Always Fucking Right when she posted critiques on his stuff. That right there was what turned him on the most about her.

“Did you get a listing of the patents we filed for the tech you left all over the place?” she asked him after sighing and looking away.

“I got some of them,” he began, and started to pull out a flexi-screen of his own devising when she just waved him to stop, slapped a holo-emitter on the table between them, and flicked up a big translucent display in front of him. He tried really hard not to twitch in envy when it turned on.

A list of patents filed soon filled the semi-transparent light screen. He looked at them, and chewed his lip. There were quite a few more there than he had expected, and they were all listed under Dynamic Engineering, with Mr. Hill signing off.

“You stole my tech, patented it, and started selling the rights!” he accused them both, the evidence right in front of him. Somehow, it didn’t sound as angry as he wanted it to.