Chapter 11: Out of the World's Best Job

Agoraphobia. I’m a sufferer. Actually, agoraphobia is a fear of being helpless and can sometimes manifest as a fear of public places or open spaces. Not in my case. The syndrome manifests with me making me a control freak! I detest being vulnerable to anyone else’s decisions. Open Space? Sounds nice. Wide open spaces. Wonderful!My ambition to become a Starship captain is almost and soon will be realized. If. Big if.

If the lawsuit settlement isn’t all a lie and a trick. Why would I suspect trickery? Look at the evidence and you tell me the cash payout isn’t a planned fraud.

They are required to give me ten trillion Bippy credits. Is that a lot? Real-estate is real value. If I bought real-estate with that much money, I could acquire most of Europe and have change left, or all of North America and include a fair chunk of Central America. What did I get? A credit card with an infinite balance. Why?

Primarily because the three corporations I sued, don’t have ten trillion Bippys if you combined their total net worth. We agreed they could pay off the debt over time. Nobody bothered to calculate how much time would be required. Why?

They agreed to settle when they learned my final demand was a starship. I’m leaving and their obligation departs with me.

It’s obvious why hard cash wasn’t passed, that I could bequeath, or bury, or lock up in a foundation. Spend as I like, when I set sail for a far star, they simply cancel the credit card. Whomever I pass it to disappointedly discovers it doesn’t work anymore. In addition, they renege on any debt accrued on the credit card. Whose credit rating takes the hit? Mine. They get off cheap. If. Another big if.

If I let them! They have no idea whom they’re really dealing with.

My name is Mark Hest but it’s not my real name. It means dark horse in Norwegian and I’m not Norwegian. A dark horse is the least favorite who comes from behind, the rear of the pack to the amazement of all, finishing first and winning the sweepstakes or triple crown, the grand prize whatever it’s named.

That’s me Ike Collin’s, AKA, the unfavored nobody, Mark Hest, scion of a famous family of very astute business people. My success is the fruit of my own brain and hands. Never once did I trade on the family name for a single favor or concession. Did it MY way, all the way!

By the way, I’m currently in negotiations with a remote cousin, the CEO of Rick’s Repurpose Centers, Inc. RRCI is the largest scrap iron business in the southeastern USA, worth billions. Her name is Janet Little. She’s married to Donnie Little, but she was born Janet Collins, and we are related. We are not very friendly, though, Janet doesn’t trust me. I’m offering to buy billions of dollars worth of stock options on many of the family’s businesses. Why?

The options are tradable but really have little value until opted on for actual purchase at the option agreed price. I’m suggesting the agreed price is out of this world. A price no one would ever opt to pay. Better prices can be had on the stock market daily. Why?

My family gets the billions cash paid for the options, which are only the right to buy, not an actual purchase of stock. If the options are executed then the agreed price has to be paid to acquire the stocks.

In other words, my family receives billions of Bippys the guarantor depositors on the credit card can’t renege on paying for. If the options are confiscated as a recompense for the debt, what do they have? An opportunity to buy stocks at inflated prices? If they close the credit card before I leave, I can enforce the settlement in court and they have zero chance of winning that pissing contest.

It’s a shortfall of the ten trillion by magnitudes, but it’s only one of my schemes to screw those who are attempting to screw me.

What do I want in exchange for this “GIFT” of billions? Not much. Permission to recruit members for my crew and also recruit mothers to bear me children. And some monies, a portion of the billions, to be dedicated as trust funds for any kids I sire. That’s all.

Janet is skeptical. A deal that sounds too good to be true, usually is.

My argument is, by calling a family meeting, and allowing me to present my pitch for volunteers, costs the family practically nothing. What? A couple hours of their time, at most? I’ll even provide free food and drink, beer and pizzas for all, to sweeten the pot. What does she say?

Janet asks,

“Why are you asking for volunteers to bear you children? Aren’t you man enough to woo a woman, and acquire a wife the normal way? Why not just hire a whore for the evening, if that’s your need?”

I explain I want leafy branches added on my pathetic twig on the family tree graphic. That’s my intent. Artificial insemination is just fine by me. The mother volunteers aren’t required to have sex with me. I won’t be seeking visitation rights while the child grows up either. In truth, I’m only a sperm donor, but it’s important to me to pass my genes along, leave something of me behind, before I leave the Milkyway galaxy.

“You plan flying to another galaxy? I had no idea such technology exists.”

“Actually, Janet, I’m racing to an empty crossroads where I expect to be run over by the Andromeda galaxy, already colliding with the Milkyway. One of its stars in the Andromeda galaxy is really my target. While I’m racing at near light speed to get there first, The Andromeda galaxy star I intend to hitch a ride on, is also racing towards the same spot at more than a million miles per hour. The rendezvous needs to be critically timed and the arrival coordinated, and velocity matched, just right. “