Read Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra for Free Online Page B

tell you, Mr. Treet, that in tracking you down we found that your prospects are … shall we say, minimal? Isn't it true that you have been dodging bill collectors of one type or another for several years now?”
    Damn the man! Varro knew about his dismal financial prospects—that would bring the price down somewhat. Treet parried the thrust as best he could. “Occupational hazard.” Treet shrugged. “Writers get behind occasionally. Slump seasons, and all that. So what?”
    “What if I could guarantee that you'd never have to dodge another bill collector or suffer another slump season the rest of your life? Would that change your mind?”
    “Perhaps. But I'd have to see the guarantee.” Treet swallowed another sip of wine, eyeing the bottle carefully. Should he order another one? The first had arrived almost the instant Danielle left and was now nearly empty. He dismissed the idea: negotiating the deal of a lifetime while piffled on fine wine was not exactly in his own best interest. He placed his glass on the table, saying, “Why don't you just come right out and tell me what kind of terms we're talking about here?”
    “Very well.” Varro leaned forward slightly. “One million dollars in any currency you prefer. One third paid to you upon signature of a standard Cynetics service contract, one third paid to you upon completion of your assignment.”
    “And the remaining third?” Treet felt like pinching himself— a million dollars! Since the Currency Revaluation Act a few years ago, a million dollars was worth something again.
    “The remaining third will be placed in an interest-bearing trust account in your name, payable upon your return.”
    “I see. And if for some wild reason I fail to return, you keep the money, is that it?”
    “Not at all. Let's just say that it is an incentive for the swift completion of your assignment and a speedy return. In any case, you can designate a beneficiary.”
    Treet stared across the antique table at Varro. Was he telling the truth? There was absolutely no way to tell; the man's face gave away nothing. Treet decided to see how far he could push it. “No,” he said softly. He let silence grow between them.
    Varro only nodded. “You have another figure more to your liking, Mr. Treet?”
    “Three million,” he said slowly, watching Varro carefully. He saw no flinch, not even the slightest blink at the enormity of the figure, so he continued. “Plus a million in trust.”
    Varro got up from his chair and headed for the door. Treet felt panic skid crazily over him. He'd misjudged the situation and had insulted Varro by naming such a ridiculous figure; now Varro was leaving, and he'd be thrown out by security guards any minute. His mind spun as he frantically tried to think of something that would bring Varro back to the table. But before he could speak, Varro paused at the door and said, “I hope you understand, Mr. Treet, that since time is short, I have instructed the contract to be prepared.” The door opened, and a man held out a long white envelope. Varro took the envelope and came back to the table. He sat down and snapped the seal on the envelope, drawing out a pale yellow document. “I need only fill in the amount agreed upon, and—with your signature, of course—this contract is binding.” He handed the sheaf of paper to Treet.
    “Ordinarily my agent would handle all this,” Treet mumbled, taking the document. For several minutes he silently scanned the contract, reading all the pertinent clauses and subclauses— especially those having to do with forfeiture of payment for breach of contract. All in all, it was a fairly simple, straightforward agreement; Treet had read far more obtuse and difficult publishing contracts. But then, he reminded himself, Chairman Neviss was not interested in actually publishing the material, merely reading it. Besides, Cynetics probably had a flock of sharp-beaked legal eagles who did nothing but slice, dice, and fricassee