Strange Trades by Paul di Filippo Page B

Honeyman lost track of how often he reloaded. Someone had slipped him a pack of refills. In midvoyage, the Manhattan-bound ferry passed the Hoboken-bound vessel, also carrying a load of Beer Nuts. The two teams lined up on their respective port sides and exchanged a fusillade that left both boats looking like an artist’s dropcloth.
    “You couldn’t hit the broadside of a bus!”
    “Avast! Drop your sails and heave to, Matey!”
    “Surrender Dorothy!”
    As the boats pulled away from each other, there was a final chorus of raspberries and Bronx cheers.
    Everyone’s ammunition ran out just as the ferry pulled into Battery Park City. The players assembled to count coup. Honeyman—though not devoid of hits himself—was declared the winner by unanimous acclamation.
    Rejoining Addie, Honeyman felt rather sheepish. After his initial anger had worn off, he had found himself really enjoying the game. Was this any way for a former sixties pacifist to be feeling? He felt as guilty as a vegetarian caught with a roast beef sandwich halfway to his lips.
    “Gee, Addie,” he began, “I’m sorry this had to happen.…”
    “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I matter that much to you.” Lifting her glasses, she wiped a tear from one eye, and Honeyman wondered why.
    “Hey, are we gonna be able to go shopping looking like this?”
    “Oh, it’s just Soho. Well fit right in.”
    They walked uptown to Canal Street, and then east, arriving finally at Canal Street Jeans. While Honeyman browsed, Addie tried on clothes, eventually settling on a few items. At the register, Honeyman said, “Here, let me get this, to make up for my crazy friends.” He opened his wallet, and, without thinking about what he was doing, drew out and offered a fresh one hundred spondulix note.
    They took it.
     
    6.
    Bretton Woods
     
    Earl Erlkonig, Minister of Finance (without portfolio), called the meeting to order. He had to speak loudly, above the noise of construction in the Brewery. Dozens of hirelings from Mazuma Construction Company were reconstructing the headquarters of the Beer Nuts into luxurious apartments and common rooms, gyms and saunas, a kind of adult clubhouse. The building had been bought from the city for a minimal payment of back taxes—made in spondulix. Erlkonig had specified that all the old vats and kettles were to be retained, patched and polished, as a reminder of their humble origins, and this requirement was necessitating extra costs that preyed constantly on Honeyman’s mind.
    Erlkonig, Honeyman, and several others sat around a table in one corner of the main floor, isolated by temporary walls from the hullabaloo. It seemed strange to see the interior of the Brewery by electric light. The altered environment here seemed emblematic to Honeyman of vaster, more troubling changes, changes which had caused him many sleepless nights, and which promised many more.
    It was the beginning of August, a mere two months since Honeyman had invented spondulix. It might as well have been two years though, considering all that had happened.
    Erlkonig held Cardinal Ratzinger, the Beer Nuts mascot, in his lap. The tiger-colored cat looked extremely well-fed. It wore a collar set with stones that Honeyman prayed were only cubic zirconia.
    Now Erlkonig set Cardinal on the table and stood. He moved with military precision to a map of the tri-state region hanging from a wall. Removing a collapsible pointer from his shirt pocket, Erlkonig began to lecture.
    “You can see from the shaded areas—which we are updating daily, by the way—that the penetration of spondulix is outpacing our highest expectations. The pattern seems to be swift initial infection of an urban area, followed by slower dissemination into the surrounding countryside. Once Hoboken was permeated, Manhattan and the other boroughs were a given. But I think you’ll be surprised by what followed next.
    “To the northeast, in Bridgeport, New Haven and Hartford, there are already some