Rule Number One: It is not acceptable to dominate a culture because of superior technology.
"What do you mean you don't know who is buying all the stock!" Sam yelled into the telephone to one of his many assistants. "Groups are out there buying up millions of shares in all the major companies and you don't know who they are?"
"We are trying to find out," the young, apologetic voice replied, "but the trail is difficult to follow or trace. They have hidden themselves very thoroughly from detection."
"If you don't find out, maybe you should just find yourself another job there B-U-C-K-O!" Sam screamed, as he slammed the phone into the receiver, causing it to chime in a stressed electronic voice.
"Idiots," Sam gritted under his breath. "I have told them time and time again to be more thorough and keep records."
He rubbed his temples as he scanned the numerous monitors that displayed all the latest stock information. He tried to calm his temper, and reminded himself to breath in and out, in and out.
He thought about the reason he had gotten to where he was today. Sam Spurry had worked his way up through the ranks of one of the largest brokerage houses in the country, who was now a sectional leader in trends and analysis. He tugged on his tie, straightening it from his earlier moments of frustration.
His eyes roamed his office and settled upon the placard, which held his philosophy, he shared with his employees. He kept the words clearly in sight at all times: "Bring me information and I can make a quick decisive decision, bring me nothing and that is what I pay you for your efforts". Plain and simple. Information was the key to success in this business and when someone had more than you, that was not good.
Rule Number Two: The only tools available are those supplied by the existing and current environment.
What Sam saw in the latest market reports disturbed him tremendously. His people were compiling what information they could about the mysterious buyers.
"Some kind of consortium doing something that doesn't make sense," Sam read out-loud. "Buying a lot of stock. Which in itself is not that big of a surprise, but with no discrimination or pattern. They've bought some of this, some of that, and all that was available."
Not everyone would see the market fluctuation, because there is something or someone behind the scenes covering up to make it appear that there is more than just one organization.
Sam knew this because he employed people who knew the ways around roadblocks in the market. But, he paid them to watch out for those scenarios instead of initiating them. However, as good as his people were, no one had been able to crack the code yet and pin down who it was making the huge buys.
"This must be a very experienced group. They haven't made any mistakes yet that would expose them," Sam had said in a meeting with his associates. "Keep beating the bushes on this one. At the rate at which they are accumulating stock, the prognosis is frightening."
"Where on Earth can they get that much capital from?" Sam asked to no one in particular. "But however they are doing it, I'm sure we are not the only firm that sees what is going on. Talk to the others, talk to whomever you have to, but find out. Fast."
Rule Number Three: Individual thinking and innovative moves can be made throughout the entire process, however they must remain in the confines of Rule Number One and Two.
"Thanks Joe. Keep your eyes open. If you should hear anything, let me know, okay? Bye," Sam said as replaced the phone and marked off another name from his long list of contacts.
Sam had called in a lot of favors that day. Many owed Sam and would have been happy to have an easy payback, but no one on his list knew who was out there dominating the market.
As he drove home to his apartment late that evening, already dreading tomorrow because he knew, that this was only just the beginning. The news on the car's radio did not reflect what he knew was happening. The announcer just commented on the large activity in the market and how there had been heavy trading that day.
"How could this be happening?" Sam asked himself out-loud, to the surprise of the homeless person attempting to gather enough spit to clean the windshield of his Mercedes.
Sam handed a dollar bill to the old bum through a small opening in the window and drove on.
This kind of mysterious trading in the market was something that was only theorized in conversations at bars after the market had closed. People shared opinions when the talk became loose with the proliferation of the alcohol.
Sam knew that if someone or some group were able to control a large portion of the stock market, they would have the potential to wreak havoc on the whole system. It could even be taken to the point of a potential collapse of the entire market and the country's economy. But, why and more importantly, how?
Rule Number Four: There is a natural order that must be established at the beginning of the endeavor and followed throughout.
The market began to stutter on Wednesday. Only slightly but it was there if one knew what to look for. Sam knew. The heavy buying continued. He had been in this business long enough to recognize an early disease settling in.
Many brokers were becoming secretive, not knowing whom to trust. People talked in shadows away from the main trading floor. It was as if a disturbing silence had settled on the floor of a normally brisk and bustling stock exchange. The market closed low that day, and rumors of dramatic changes in the output of several large manufacturing firms had been leaked. Source unknown.
As Sam sat with his gin and tonic in hand at the first rate establishment he frequented, "The Market Plunge Bar", he recognized an old friend.
"Bob! Bob Sanderson!" Sam shouted, while waving his hand. "Over here."
A middle-aged man with prominent gray streaks in his hair waved back to Sam and headed over to the bar. He appeared almost nervous as his gaze swept the establishment.
Rule Number Five: Utilization of members of the target culture is authorized within the confines of Rule Number One.
Sam shook hands with Bob as he escorted him back to the spot he had been occupying at the bar.
"Gosh it's been what? Five years? How have you been?" Sam asked.
Bob tapped the bar nervously, "Probably been more like six or so. Been good. Can't complain. Staying busy and out of trouble. How about yourself?"
Sam shrugged and replied, "Okay, still working at the Jones and Witaker Agency. You?"
Bob looked around the bar furtively, "Independent stock broker. I work for, well, uh, selective groups on retainer."
"Interesting. Hadn't heard of that type of arrangement before. Sounds almost secretive," Sam paused. "Is it?"
Bob answered with a small nervous chuckle, "Sort of, yes. I represent clients that wish to remain, uh, how should I say, in the background."
Sam smiled wryly, "Cloak and dagger stuff, eh, Bob?"
The hackles on the back of Sam's neck stood up abruptly.
"Uh, hey, Bob," Sam began seriously, "Speaking of cloak and dagger stuff, I've been watching some unusual buying going on here lately. Very indiscriminate, but high volume. It's almost like a couple of kids in a candy store racing each other to see who could buy the place out first. You wouldn't have any info there for me Bob, would you?"
"No...of course not," Bob stammered, then continued, "And if I did, I wouldn't be discussing it with you."
Bob abruptly downed his drink and stood up to leave, "Uh, I'll give you a call one day next week, Sam. Maybe we can do lunch."
Sam never even had a chance to answer, but somehow he knew lunch was never going to happen.
Rule Number Six: There can only be one winner, collaboration although allowed is not encouraged.
"Now that's a change," Sam said out-loud in his office as he studied the trading monitors.
"Before it appeared that different parties were making the buys, now it looks like maybe it's only one or two. Does that indicate a falling out amongst these secret partners, or is it a signal of a change in the game? Or is it maybe the end of the game?" He pondered.
The intercom suddenly blared, interrupting his thoughts, "Bob Sanderson on line three."
Sam cleared his throat and answered, "Is this the disappearing artist, Bob from last night?
Bob whispered fiercely, "Sam, for God sakes just listen to me. They know everything that is going on. They may even be taping this call as we speak."
Sam, breathed inward, "Who, Bob? Who might be taping this call and why?"
Bob was silent for a moment, but then replied, "Remember yesterday when you mentioned that you knew something strange is happening in the market? Well you were right. Stock is being bought up like mad. They came to me for advice at first and then to make some buys for them."
Bob rushed on, still whispering, "It just kept getting bigger and bigger. I told them to slow down but they were so damn impatient, like little kids or something. They couldn't sit back and wait. They want it all and they want it now."
Sam's stomach began to churn
Bob continued, the fear obvious in his voice, "But I see their plan now. It's not just about getting rich, it's about control. It's like they're playing a game or something. They want to..."
Sam yelled into the suddenly silent phone, "What, Bob? They want to what?"
The dead phone suddenly issued only a dial tone for an answer.
Rule Number Seven: You can manipulate events and people, but may not cause harm to the inhabitants of a culture either directly or indirectly unless it is a natural occurrence in a chain of events of their own cycle.
Sam slammed the phone down, and said out-loud, "What the heck was Bob talking about? Could it be true? Control of what? The markets, the economy, the world?"
Sam called his secretary, "Joan, try and get Bob Sanderson back on the phone. We were just disconnected."
"Yes, sir. But, there is another call for you on line one. Wouldn't give a name," His secretary informed him.
Sam picked up the phone hesitantly, "Sam, here."
"Hi there, Sam. Bob Sanderson is no longer available to take calls," The metallic voice said without emotion. "However, I now need a man of your potential in an organization that could be very profitable to you."
"Who is this?" Sam asked in anger. "And why are you disguising your voice. I can tell it is not yours. What do you have to hide?"
"Who I am is not important." The monotone voice answered. "What I represent is. You are a smart man, you see what is going on. I am giving you a chance to play on my team before the others are all eliminated."
Sam asked, hoping the bile that rose in his throat would allow him to speak, "Eliminated? What do you mean..."
The voice said flatly, "I mean just that. I don't have all day to explain things, Sam. You are just going to have to trust me."
"I don't trust people that hide their voices and talk in riddles," Sam answered, his anger now returning.
"Okay already, how's this," a very young voice said.
Then in an even more childish tone, the voice said petulantly, "And if it makes you feel better, Sam, you can call me MISTER Kuida. So what's the answer, I don't have all day."
"You're a child. Just a child?" Sam said, incredulous. "What are you 11, 12 years old?"
"Excuse me, Sam," Sam's secretary, interrupted on the intercom, "there is another call for you. A Mr. Serbaw on line two. He says that it is very important."
The voice on line one spat out, "Watch it buddy. I may be a lot younger than you, but I am in control here. If you know what's good for you, you'll ignore the other call. I know that person and the deal he has is not as good as mine."
Sam thought he could here stamping on the ground, like a kid having a temper tantrum.
The child screamed into the phone, "I'm still waiting for an answer."
"This is all very interesting," Sam began skeptically. "How am I to know that what you say is true and that you are behind all the unusual market activity?"
"Watch your screen, there will be a large buy in a couple of seconds for the Blue Steel Corporation," The child answered smugly. "All public stock will be off the market in a matter of seconds."
"What is the..." Sam began.
"Shut up, Sam and watch. Don't you ever listen!" The child screamed in annoyance.
Sam recoiled from the voice. His eyes widened as the data unfolded on the screen.
"There," The child said condescendingly, "Satisfied now Sam?"
"Okay...it happened just the way you said it would," Sam replied, his mind frozen. "Now what?"
"Jeez...do I have to go through this again?" The child said in an impatient voice, "I need someone to broker my efforts. Someone who doesn't ask questions and does what he's told. I reward real well, but I punish twice as well. So do we have a deal?"
Sam felt his stomach sicken as he continued to listen to the voice. This was all wrong.
"And what do you plan to do with all of this stock?" Sam asked warily.
"I said no more questions!" The child yelled, now enraged. "It is none of your business! I want an answer and I want it now!"
Sam summoned his courage, and said in a dead calm voice. "Sorry, little boy, not interested. But, I think the Securities and Exchange Commission might be interested in your little dealings and games. I have all my calls recorded, and your parents..."
"You fool!" The child hissed, "You don't want to play with me? Fine then don't. I warned you earlier!"
As the phone went dead, Sam heard what at first almost sounded like a quiet roar begin to build. Sam instinctively jerked the receiver away from his head and dropped it on his desk. The sound soon became deafening. Sam felt a tremendous pressure envelope his whole body.
"UUGGGGGHHHHHH..." Sam screamed.
He fell to the floor his hands clawing at his ears. His head suddenly exploded in a torrent of tissue, blood and bone.
The phone was suddenly silent except for the sound of a laughing child.
Rule Number Eight: Defiance of any of the rules constitutes forfeiture of the game and possible parental suspension of playtime.
"That's not fair!" Serbaw yelled and stamped his feet.
They both sat in a room with a large video screen on the wall that reflected a myriad of visual as well as written data, seemingly about the stock market.
"Sore loser!" Kuida screamed back. "I won fair and square by the rules of planetary acquisition from our planet Quert. I beat you. The game and the planet, what's the name, er, Earth is mine. All mine and I don't have to share."
Serbaw thrust his finger in Kuida's face and continued to yell, "But you cheated! You K-I-L-L-E-D T-W-O of them and that's against the R-U-L-E-S! OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH I'm going to tell! You're going to be in a L-O-T of trouble now."
Kuida thought it over quickly and realized he was in fact in trouble. He had cheated, but it was just enough to make sure he would win, that's all. So what if one or two of the life forms from the planet had expired? It was just part of the game.
"Okay...Okay, Serbaw," Kuida said pouting, "Sure, I admit it but you have to be quiet about it, because if Mom or Dad hear what I did, I will be grounded for a long time. We won't be able to play anymore. What do you say there...friend?"
"Alright, but its going to cost ya," Serbaw said as he smiled ruthlessly.
"How much?" Kuida asked.
"Don't want money," Serbaw said, still smiling.
"What do you want then?" Kuida asked again, his lips in a full pout.
"I want the two planets you won from me last week," Serbaw said, quiet pleased with himself.
"Uh-uh," Kuida yelled. "They're worth too much. I'm not going..."
"I guess I'll have to tell then," Serbaw said smugly.
"Okay...Okay you can have the planets," Kuida said putting his hands on his hips. "Now you're not playing fair. What ever happened to 'it's just a game'?"
"Do we have a deal?" Serbaw asked.
"Deal."
Serbaw pushed Kuida toward the computer keyboard, "Hurry up and press the delete key on the planet Earth before you raise your price. I don't want to leave any evidence that we were ever there."
Rule Number Nine: Use of the Delete key without parental consent is strictly forbidden.
Bio: Tony Ruggiero, a Commander in the United States Navy, was born in Irvington, New Jersey and currently resides in Suffolk Virginia. Tony has published in Promart Magazine's "Just Because" and "The Fifth Dimension", as well as in the "Barefoot Grass Journal".
E-mail: ARUGGS@AOL.COM
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