“Good day, sir. How can we do business today?” The bank teller didn’t resemble any kind of bank teller you might think of. He was armoured from head to toe in the most advanced interplanetary Kevlar. A cleaver was hanging on the left side of his cubicle, perhaps 15 inches long. There were dry, crusted dark stains spotting the length of the blade, and the handle seemed rather worn. The teller was undoubtedly armed with more sophisticated weaponry within easy reach, but the visible cleaver was probably there as a visual deterrent as much as a weapon.
This bank was a clear sign that this planet was headed in an unseemly direction. It had been a long time since extortion, bribery and robbery were considered societal evils. The story was familiar across the galaxy. Criminal syndicates were being chased out of the planets where they were formed by ambitious Lords looking to build a healthy real estate market, only for them to assemble on little-known planets where there was a weak governing regime. Initial demonstrations of investment and infrastructure would bring people on board before the syndicates grew into planetary conglomerates that promoted criminality. Planet Schnitzel was now dominated by five master syndicates, with hundreds more vying to compete and take their place. The general population were unwilling participants in a corporate war that didn’t even pretend to care about them. For people like Giles, it was just a case of making the best of a bad situation.
The need for a bank to provide services that were required by these syndicates was well understood. Giles’ visits to this bank had increased further and further over the years until he was entirely too familiar with the nature and processes of the bank. “I’d like to go through with an extortion transaction, please”, he eventually replied to the teller.
“Of course, sir. What’s the nature of your extortion? Please be advised, sir, that we are temporarily refusing extortion requests that involve sensitive pictures; the advance of AI technology has meant that until we have a way of verifying whether a picture has been altered, this is no longer a reliable extortion method.”
“That’s no problem; my request is physical. If possible, I’d like access to one of the chambers.” Giles had realised a while back that digital media was unreliable. You could never tell anymore what was real and what was invented. Even if a picture was accurate, the extortee could claim it wasn’t, and people would believe him. Plus, the level of depravity on planet Veal these days meant that people were barely ashamed of anything. Much easier to carry out a physical transaction.
“Let me check for you, sir. There is indeed one room available, sir. Will you be needing the aid of one of our chamber professionals? You appear to be a silver card holder, which means that you’re entitled to half price on site services.” These bank clerks were very, you’d never think he’d just offered the use of a torturer. Giles nodded his assent. A professional would make this go quicker and would be significantly less messy. “Before I can complete the transaction, though, sir, we need to just carry out an identity check.”
“Oh”, Giles hesitated. “I’ve never needed to do that before.” He was surprised; the nature of the business the bank dealt with would surely mean that most people preferred their identities to be anonymous. “Not of you, sir. We need to check the identity of the extortionee. We’ve had a number of cases where extortion attempts have been made against low-value individuals. The client sometimes becomes angry and uncontrollable, and the bank is then forced to contain the situation. These checks are to prevent anything like that from happening in the future.”
“Oh”, said Giles, “yes, please go ahead.” He was fairly confident that he’d picked a ripe plum for extortion. The man was so entitled that he was behaving as if nothing was out of the ordinary, even going so far as to thank his captors when they offered him water or food. The poor man was in for a surprise. “I’ll go and grab him from the ship.”
Giles took a seat in torture chamber number 2. His victim was being prepared for processing, the bank torturer had secured him to the chair and was now removing a set of operating utensils from one of the storage cupboards. Throughout all of this, the victim, who was a man early in his middle age, well trimmed, salt and pepper hair, wearing a plain t-shirt over a barrel-chested physique and the stiffest pair of jeans known to humans, remained calm; if anything, he seemed optimistic. Giles was hoping that securing him to the table would elicit some sort of reaction, but so far, nothing. He looked amused. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m not sure you understand what’s happening here. This guy over here is about to start shoving sharp-ended objects in places where you don’t want them to go. Why are you laughing?”
The man had indeed begun to chuckle. He spoke now in the most conversational high lingo, ” I assume the identity check hasn’t been completed yet?” Giles narrowed his eyes. “Are you broke?”
“Far from it, my goodman, you’ll be hard pressed to find someone nearly so wealthy. But I dare say you haven’t read the bank’s policy around extortion attempts against account holders?”
Giles’ heart fluttered for a moment, and the bank teller from earlier chose this moment to arrive, having completed the previously mentioned background check. Omniously for Giles, he had come in with a short sawn-off shotgun hanging from his belt and the well-used cleaver in his hand. “It seems we have a problem, sir. Lord Pliska, here is an account holder at our bank. But more than this, his syndicate, EvilRus, is the organisation that offers us the violent protection we need to conduct our business across the planet. At this, the torturer stopped removing sharp utensils and abruptly turned back towards the constrained man and began undoing his straps, mumbling apologies and pleading for mercy. “No need to apologise, my good man. I’m pleased to see the bank continues to operate with the highest standards of professionalism.” He stood now, rotating his shoulders and stretching his back.
Giles’ stomach was now cramping out of fear. He thought he’d nabbed a plum, but this kind of fruit was poisonous.
The teller saluted, “Lord Pliskas, the bank offers you its deepest apologies. Would you like us to call upon any of our Ogres to provide some retribution? Perhaps you’d like to take a few swings at this imprudent man with my cleaver?”
“No, no, he’s done nothing wrong. I occasionally like to observe how the local bounty hunters and aspiring extortionists are faring. This young man has actually done me a world of favour in exposing my security systems and highlighting some gaps. In fact, I have a proposition for the fellow if he cares to hear it. It’s probably best delivered whilst he’s strapped to the chair, maybe missing a few fingers.”
Giles’ stomach had now dropped out from under him. There was no question about the bank’s lack of morality, but he didn’t think the ground would shift from under him in quite such a manner. Giles was used to violence, and despite being shocked, he shifted his body weight in readiness to defend himself. The odds were, of course, entirely against him, but he’d be damned if he’d lose a few limbs without causing as much damage as he could.
“Ho ho, how quaint, he intends to fight back.” Lord Pliska seemed to be overbearingly jolly now. Giles decided that he’d go for him first. He readied himself to spring forward, but before he could, the door of the torture chamber opened and two cultured Ogres walked in. They weren’t nearly as well armoured as the bank teller, but the intimidation of their sheer intelligence and physicality was enough to provide sufficient menace.
“Ah, Lord Pliska”, the first one clanked. Ogres communicated natively with each other by banging their tusks together to create quite elegant tones. When they spoke our language, it sounded quite mechanical.
“Stephen! Great to see you again! I haven’t employed your services in years, unfortunately. Lord Peabody has been keeping me busy with planetary warfare. If I tried to hire an army of Ogres, I’d be bankrupt in days.”
“Such is the price for quality,” clanked Stephen the Ogre. The familiarity between the two didn’t bode well for Gilesl. Ogres were notoriously expensive, and frankly, I wouldn’t have a chance against one of them. Any thought of violence was now moot.
“Could you please take care of this gentleman, Stephen? I have a proposition for him, and I think it would be best delivered whilst he’s strapped to a chair.”
The Ogre eyed me expertly “he looks like a reasonable sort, Lord Pliska. Violence isn’t always needed. Why don’t you propose it to him like he was a businessman?” Sometimes when we’re over-eager, that can lead to resentment.”
Giles nodded vigorously. Lord Pliska appeared to think about it. “Oh, very well, these past few months have been quite violent, it makes a fellow assume that’s the only option.” He turned to Giles now and fixed his gaze predatorily on him. “Here’s the situation, Mr….I do apologise, what is your name?”
“Kreele”, Giles offered. It wasn’t his real name, but he’d used it as an alias in the past, and he was sure this was the name the bank thought he was called.
“Mr Kreele, my situation is that a colleague of mine, a certain Lord Peabody, has fixed his gaze upon the industrial planets that fall under my realm. These planets are a steady form of income, and frankly, I don’t want to think about losing them. Whilst I have spent the last few years turning these planets into profitable ventures, Peabody has been investing in a modern army with a quite competent General.”
The conversation was so far beyond what he was expecting that his mouth hung open in dumbfounded surprise.
Pliska chose to ignore this blank look. “Now, it seems this General, Omnircon, I think his name is, appears to have the beating of my armies, and so far he’s defeated us on two occasions. He is yet to capture any major revenue streams, but it’s only a matter of time. However, my well-placed sources have led me to believe that this Omnicron might be amenable to a change of employment. I hear there was an incident where he nearly ordered an attack on the personal shuttle of Lord Peabody. This is where you come in.”
“I want you to do one of two things. I want you to offer this Omnicron the opportunity for his contract to be commandeered. Peabody would, of course, never let me purchase his contract outright without trading some of my planets. But, I’m banking on the man not being too familiar with the legalities around treachery and contracts, and I’m hoping I can turn him by offering him a grander position. The other option is for you to do what you’ve done today and bring him in to this bank where we can convince him at our leisure.”
Giles considered.
These military types tended to be loyal, and Peabody must have spent a pretty penny in building and training a modern army; he assumed he wouldn’t be tempted so easily. The kidnap option was more straightforward, but surely a man like that was surrounded by security.
This was a minor risk for Lord Pliska; this man had no association with him, so under torture, he couldn’t reveal any secrets. Secondly, if Omnicron proved loyal, then spending this man’s life was no big thing. “I’ll pay handsomely, of course. Also, to make things easier, I’d be willing to contract out Stephen or one of his acquaintances to give you a hand.”
Well well. Now that did make a difference, thought Giles. No one was quite sure how cunning and powerful Ogres were, but it seemed Pliska was interested enough in this outcome to put some real money behind it. He still wasn’t sure, but a ray of sunshine reflecting off the worn cleaver still being held by the bank clerk reminded him this wasn’t much of a negotiation. A quick glance at Stephen’s tusks further reinforced the point.
“Sounds like we have a deal, Lord Pliska.”
