Page 60 of Exit Strategy

“Good, we get in contact with this Tate woman and Fallout, and see if she can help Callie. We clean this mess up a bit tidier than the Escadrille business,” Roan said.

“I would like it if it didn’t require gun battles and borderline international incidents.” I smiled.

“Me too, lad. Me too.”

We finished up at the Black Watch and drove back to the captain’s house. The view across the bay did something to me. Seeing the land fall away to the water, and the stands of trees almost erupting from the ground, it seemed almost primal. And to think it was his backyard. By the time the Aston was tucked away in the garage, we had switched from New Eden and raid tactics to something different, cryptocurrencies. There was something that the captain wasn’t an expert on, and he was fascinated as I explained the intricacies of investing in one of the big offerings like CryptoCoin, and how it differed from the smaller more impulsive outfits like MemeCoin or one I had noticed during a fit of insomnia the night before, TwitCoin.

“So, what you are telling me is that a TwitCoin is blockchained from social media, and each coin is specifically a what now?” he asked, tapping the key fob, and locking the Aston.

“It’s a non-fungible token, a digital copy of the tweet or status or whatever you posted, and the more it circulates and interacts with things on the internet, the more valuable it becomes,” I said.

“So normally they’re worthless?”

“Yes. My first TwitCoin this morning was worth one millionth of a cent.”

“So how does this at any point become money?”

“I flipped one MemeCoin, and bought something like twelve million TwitCoins, which made the base price move, and other people started buying into it. I figure if the price gets as high as one thousandths of a cent, I cash out and have turned a sixty-cent MemeCoin into something like… seven grand?”

“That’s insane.” He let out a huff.

“If I stay in at a cent, a laughable goal, my sixty cents turns into one-hundred-and-twenty grand, American, if I converted it to dollars.”

“But you don’t convert into dollars,” he said.

“Almost never a physical currency. I tend to roll profits into CryptoCoin itself. It is the dog’s bollocks. The only downside is that it’s big enough that at this point, unless you are a high roller, you’re buying fractions of a coin and not actual coins itself.”

“And you have part of one?”

“God no, I have almost a hundred CryptoCoins. I got in when they were about seventy pounds each, and now,” I made a gesture mimicking a rocket taking off, “they’re stupid money now.”

“What happens if a real bug-out happens?”

“Like what, nuke war or zombies?” I asked.

“Sure, what happens to all of that digital money?”

“Oh, it’s fucking gone, mate,” I said. “Then the only currencies worth a fuck are NATO .223 and cans of beans.” We walked into the house, and the mood was greatly changed and much relaxed. I held the door as a pair of highly attractive professional-looking people in unisex scrubs left and found that the captain had another new guest.

Callie looked radiant, sitting at the table by the windows overlooking the bay. She had a rosy glow to her cheeks, and her fiery hair was clean and braided. I had the feeling that under the plump-looking robe she had on, she was nude. I felt something stick in my throat, and twitch in my pants. Miss Brooks looked equally content and almost bronzed in her matching robe.

“You just missed the masseuses, love,” Sadie said with a languid smile. “But there is still plenty of mimosa in the pitcher.”

“How’s the leg, Mr. Roan?” the new guest, an older black woman, asked.

“It’s doing well,” he said. “Introductions though. Doc Max, this is a former Marine I served with, back in Afghanistan. Owen Worthington, but for some arsed reason we all call him Kurt. He remembers when I had two feet and would get into a fight with anything that had a pulse.”

“Aye, that’s Captain Roan, always ready for a bloody good scrap,” I said. I had a moment to remember how he had been before the IED took out his vehicle and turned his leg into bolognaise. He had been a wild man. “Pleasure,” I said.

“Doc Max is one of our specialized physicians, and has taken care of us more than once,” Roan said. “When Sadie came into our lives, it was Max who patched her back together and got her through a serious case of double pneumonia. Saved her life, really.”

“How are you feeling, Callie?” I asked. She held a cup of something in her hands, and knowing the captain and the company he kept, they could have given her a cup full of vodka as easily as herbal tea or plain American coffee.

“Better.” She smiled. “Miss Brooks is a splendid and polite hostess.”

“You don’t need to call me Miss Brooks, we’re friends here,” Sadie said. Callie gave her a small nod. I saw a flash of color in her cheeks, and saw thatclickin her expression, that self-correcting behavior that Arik had beaten into her with his fists and his words.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sadie,” she said. I saw Sadie give a small sigh and an accepting posture.

---