Entrepreneurial Spirit - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Chapter 1:

Humans can't natively understand the concept of infinity.

Their, our, stupid little monkey brains optimized for running prey down to exhaustion and thinking up creative uses for sharp rocks, were never meant to. So when someone tells you there are infinite worlds out there, the human brain almost always jumps immediately to a binary comparison, usually with an already-established fact and an opposing counterfactual theory. Don't understand? Well, here's a simple one...

In one world, a world you might be living in, the Allies won World War Two.

The counterfactual, therefore, is to hypothesize a world where the Axis won World War Two.

Congratulations, your meager human thought processes have just proven themselves so reductive that they cut literally uncountable potential down to a simple either/or statement. I hope you're proud of yourselves.

The next stage of comprehension is brainstorming whacky ideas, where your conversation partner will have to entertain random questions along the lines of, 'Is there a world where...?' I'd congratulate you from moving beyond the binary, but you're still not rubbing more than two brain cells together, so I'll pass on that for now. I will answer your question, though.

It's 'yes.'

The answer is always 'yes.'

No, it doesn't matter what you were thinking about, what kind of weird alternate reality you're postulating. It exists. It has always existed, it will always exist, and it will exist forever into the future. There will always, always be a world out there that matches whatever unoriginal concept you come up with.

Is there a world where the isthmus of Panama never formed and North and South America never connected?

Yes, that's what 'infinite' means.

Is there a world where humanity only invented chocolate in the twenty-first century and it led to a complete societal collapse?

Of course there are. In fact, there are a lot. Oh, you want to know how many? You're not really paying attention, are you?

Is there a world out there where the various pantheons of ancient world religions facilitated a technological uplift and allowed traditionally bronze-age civilizations to reach the stars?

You're proving that there are, in fact, stupid questions. Because, yes, those realities exist. An infinite number of them exist. An infinite number of them are the exact same and an infinite number have miniscule differences and an infinite number have glaring differences between each other.

Yes, there are infinities within infinities within infinities...

Now you're starting to get it... and that's just the local neighborhood of alternate realities.

The next step is the real multiverse, where you get into the really strange shit that, itself, defies comprehension. Worlds where you, quite literally, can't understand how they're formed, what they're composed of, or even whether or not time exists. Yeah, this is where things get really alien.

Past that? That's the Omniverse. An infinity so vast and incomprehensible that... well, when I tried explaining it to someone, once, their head exploded. No, I'm not joking. There was brain matter everywhere. I had to use magic to get it up. Then more magic to fix the damage it had done, because the ideas had taken root in his thoughts before his brain exploded and started clawing their way into the local reality.

It was not fun. I don't want a repeat of that.

Just... take my word for it.

Anyway! Where I'm going with this is that, once you start to understand the idea of a multiverse, as a civilization, you start to suspect that the multiverse is actually crowded.

I mean, there's all these interdimensional megacorporations, right? The Company, The Agency, Slutlife, Theft Inc, the Inheritors, Deicide Unlimited, Gospel Charities, Vae Victis, The Legion of Cucked Heroes, Dreamscape Apostles, Knights of the Continuity, and so many more... all of them organizations that span so many realities in and of themselves that they might as well be infinite, too.

But, even as crowded as a local multiverse might seem, it's infinite too.

And there's always room for a few small businesses.

That's where I come in.

I don't go out and meddle in other worlds. Those kinds of stunts are for the big boys who have plenty of time, lives, and resources to waste deploying all kinds of people to tamper with timelines and causalities. No, I have a brick and mortar (for given definitions of those terms) facility where anyone who wants to can show up and bargain for whatever they think they want or need. It's pretty easy to find, all things considered.

Third star to the left and straight on till morning.

Take a shortcut through the backrooms.

Pray to Adam Smith and ritually burn a copy of The Wealth of Nations.

There's a lot of bells and whistles, is what I'm saying, but most people can find their way to me if they want or need something badly enough and they're close enough for the specific weirdness my shop runs on to reach them. That's all it really takes.

Which is why I don't usually get people all that famous or recognizable to this section of the multiverse. Every now and then a random bronze-age peasant will wander in and think I'm some kind of mythical creature or god when I let them buy refined sugar, a religious zealot filled with 'unclean urges' will pass through and ask for high-quality porn, or someone from a world suffering a zombie apocalypse will trade priceless art from a museum for water filters and food processors.

And, honestly? That's fine.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't get into this business with some aspirations of greatness, but there are perks to living a nice quiet life, too. I've been making a slow and steady income for the last hundred years, paid off the initial loans I took from the Ebon Mint, and I'm set for... well, however long 'life' is in my case. Probably a very long time once you take everything into consideration. Which, again, I'm okay with. 'Forever' might be a stretch, but 'almost forever' is a good starting point.

Which, speaking of starting points, I suppose this is as good as any...

I was relaxing, reading the latest import of Arasaka's retailer catalog I'd had a runner bring me, when I felt the trusty metaphysical jingle of a customer. Specifically, a new customer. My usual clientele knew the deal well enough that, unless they rang for service or needed something bespoke, I'd leave them to their affairs.

Newbies needed some hand-holding.

Yawning widely, I dropped the data slate and stood before stretching my arms over my head and taking one step, two steps, before-

-snapping out of existence in the backroom and appearing in one of the general near-future boutiques I'd set up to receive customers.

“-okay, okay, this is it. You've finally snapped. Full on psychotic break, Mark. Stay calm, do your breathing, don't go into a panic attack on top of everything else,” I heard from the front entrance to this section, a few isles away and I nodded happily. I took pains not to show up in direct line of sight or behind the newbies, they tended to react poorly when surprised.

I cleared my throat loudly enough for whoever had just come in to hear, the sound of heavy footsteps shuffling in place alerting me that they had before I marched out, my soft violet eyes taking in...

Definitely 'male,' very likely human. Long-sleeve blue shirt, same pants. Looking rather worn, somewhat dirty, but some visible effort into keeping up his appearance. His eyes were very very wide and locked onto me as I made my way towards him cautiously. “Welcome to Nova's. I'm Nova Sterling, owner, operator, and proprietor. We pride ourselves on being the one-stop-shop for all your-”

Then I got close enough to catch a whiff of him and gagged.

Hck! “Fucking-Fuck! Ugh, stars and stones! How the-” Uchk-cak! “-I've met literal medieval peasants that smell better than you! What, do you bathe in feces daily or something?!”

The man's jaw worked up and down, clearly trying to form some kind of words, but failing as he stared blankly at me. “Uhh...'

I snapped my fingers and fast-cast a gas mask spell. “Ugh, it's in my mouth, it's in my fucking mouth!” I shook myself and pointed at him. “You! Bath! Now!”

He remained staring vacantly and unmoving.

Shifting my finger, I fast-cast another spell and popped open a neon-green portal. “Look, you can have your existential crisis or whatever later. Go through the spooky portal and clean yourself up while I activate decon protocols, okay?”

He was still blinking at me in a dazed state of confusion, so I swept the portal across him and ignored the subsequent cry of alarm. Instead, I focused on getting the smell out of the room, then tossed back some sriracha-flavored vodka to get it out of me.

The pain was worth it.

…

Mark Whatney, the Greatest Botanist in the Entire World, was worried.

Well, no, worried was something of an understatement at this point.

He'd been having an entirely mundane sol on Mars, a period of time consisting of monotonous and tedious tasks each designed to make sure he would wake tomorrow to do the same thing all over again. Checking the water reclaimer, running a diagnostic on the oxygen recycler, checking the seal he'd placed on the rupture where the airlock used to be...

In his darker moments, he would just sit there and wait for something to break.

Then he'd have to decide whether or not to fix it.

Failure to do so, of course, meant death. Depending on the problem, it might be a quick and relatively painless one. Or it might be a slow and lingering demise that would leave him at least enough time to write his parents one last message. Maybe the crew, too. Yeah, they'd need the morale boost to finish the trip back to Earth.

Pushing wistful and angry thoughts of green fields and blue skies to the back of his mind, Mark looked around the large white wet room he'd found himself in. There was a large pit of a tub filled with clear water with tiny tendrils of steam wafting off it to one side. On the other was a small row of wash basins, faucets, and bathing implements, with one long mirror running the length of the wall above them. Against the far side was a series of shelves stacked with what looked to be very fluffy towels. The entire room was primarily done up in white tile with a mural of what looked to be Mt. Fuji's twin brother with immense metal plating on one of its faces.

The final wall bore a large opening barred with frosted glass double-doors of the sliding kind.

Mark pinched himself, hard.

“Ow,” he muttered, looking around the room to see if anything had changed. Regardless, he remained standing in the large white room, still stunned by his sudden change in circumstances.

“So... either I've gone completely insane or I really did open the airlock to the living area and see a big futuristic store with all kinds of stuff being run by a very pretty guy with glowing orange eyes, hair, two tails, and pointed fox ears.”

He paused for a long moment, still looking around at the environment of the bathing room.

“Occam's razor says crazy,” he noted aloud, then slowly began slipping off his clothing. “But... I guess roll with it? Maybe this is a dream? See if I wake up in a bit, then.”

For lack of anything better to do, Mark stripped down and began washing himself off. The feel of warm water on his skin, using actual soap on something other than his hands for the first time in months, and being able to wash his hair... if this was some sort of hallucination, he didn't want it to stop. The entire experience was heavenly. Doubly-so for the long soak in the tub afterwards and the cloud-like softness of the towels he used afterwards.

Grimacing at the thought of putting his old, near-ragged, and disgusting clothing back on, Mark blinked as he found an entirely new set of everything by the door. Including boxers. His old stuff was boxed up neatly as well, smelling like detergent and flowers. He hadn't even noticed his clothes being removed from the room, but that was easily explainable by being completely preoccupied with bathing.

“Huh,” he grunted, shaking his head before getting dressed.

Tears came to his eyes as he stood in the new clothing, feeling human for what had to be the first time since Sol 6. Sniffling slightly, he grabbed at the still-damp towel and used it to mop his eyes a bit... then a bit more.

It... might have taken him a few minutes to get himself back together after that.

Once he was ready, or at least thought himself so, he swallowed deeply and rolled the door back... taking in the view of the room he'd been in before. It was a lot of pale white panels, each studded with old-school neon bars in a way that wasn't quite fifties-style Americana, but came close. Each shelf held various items he could almost recognize... although a few were more familiar. In particular, one wall had a series of small satellite dishes.

If I had one of those bad boys I wouldn't have had to haul Pathfinder back. My back, specifically. Ouch.

He tore his eyes away from the... merchandise? Whatever, and looked back at the young-ish person? Behind the counter. Black bodysuit with various attachment points highlighted in orange neon, glowing kinda' Tron-esque symbol on the chest. Short hair, pale skin, fuzzy triangular ears jutting out on top of his? Head. Glowing orange eyes. Two near-flourescent orange tails with white tips moving slowly behind him. Hands with five fingers, but gloves? That were glowing orange at the end of black gauntlets with a neon underside. Also orange.

He? It? Looked Mark over with slit irises, up and down, then his nose twitched.

“Taking this from the top, then,” the... being nodded, clapping their hands together once. “I'm Nova Sterling. This is Nova's. It's my store. A one-stop-shop for all your mundane, supernatural, and technological needs.”

Mark cleared his throat, swallowing compulsively. “I'm-ah... Mark Whatney, King of Mars.”

One delicate neon-orange eyebrow rose, but they-Nova seemed to roll with it. “Alright, your highness, so what can I do for you?”

That's good Whatney, that's good. You don't want to have to deal with a humorless asshole. Remember how that one professor made your life hell back in junior year?

“I'm... gonna' be honest,” Mark stated slowly, still looking around at the room and holding the box of old, washed clothing. “I have no idea what's happening, so... um, can I just... have one of those satellite dishes or something? My kingly finances are a bit...”

Nova chuckled. “Sorry, Mr. Whatney-”

“Mark, please. Or, Your Grace, ya'know.” Mark rattled on, internally dismayed at how his interpersonal skills had degraded.

“Alright, Mark,” Nova nodded. “As I was saying, this is a store. So I'll need some form of equivalent exchange.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table in front of him and interlacing his glowing fingers. “So, why don't I get a light meal together and we can have a chat about what you want to buy and how we can make arrangements for it.”

Mark worked his mouth for a moment, trying to think of what he could say as much as what he should say. Eventually, something strange and stupid came out, as it usually did when he didn't control himself. “Is this, like... one of those fairy tale things? Where I shouldn't eat or drink anything you offer me?”

Nova snorted, standing as he did so. “No, Mark. I'm technically a trickster spirit, but I get most of my jollies out of the faces newbies make when I introduce them to the supernatural. What I'm offering falls under the broad overlap of 'guest rights' and 'complimentary services.'”

Mark frowned just a bit. “Complimentary... meaning, I don't have to pay?” A spark of humor ignited within him. “I thought you were a capitalist?”

The fox-man chuckled. “Hmm... in effect, yes, but in spirit I'm actually quite flexible.”

“Pun intended?” Mark couldn't help himself but to ask, a small part of the tension he was constantly carrying slipping away as the conversation continued.

“Very much so,” Nova replied, showing off sharp teeth as he did so. “Now, let's get you something to eat. Any preferences?”

Despite the nagging suspicion that this was either a waking delusion or a startlingly lucid dream, the thought of actual food made his stomach rumble. Right, he'd been putting off dinner. “Anything that isn't potatoes. Literally anything.”

Nova spared him a meaningful look up and down with a knowing gaze before nodding. “Very well. Given your appearance, I'll stay away from anything too rich, but I think something protein-heavy might be in order.”

Mark looked away, unwilling to engage on that subject as baseless shame welled up. He knew how he looked. He had to live with the asshole in the mirror reminding him every day.

…

I watched as Mark fought off tears as he tried to eat the thin beef stew I'd prepared for him slowly. I'd used an especially lean order of beef and hoped the subtle enchantments for health and wellbeing I'd placed on the cutlery and chair would help him. Giving him something that was especially spicy, sugary, or high in fats could cause serious problems with the state he was in. He wasn't quite at starvation levels, in my estimation, but he'd definitely lost enough weight at this point that he was bordering on a dangerous lack of fat and muscle.

Best not to take any chances.

“S-sorry, I just-” Mark tried, his frame shaking as he spoke.

“It's fine, Mark. You may not believe me, but you're far from the first hungry person to find their way into my shop. You're handling yourself better than most, in fact.” The less said about exactly what conditions those people came in from, the better.

With a sigh, I dipped into my own bowl and hummed as I chewed.

Mark seemed to hesitate as he looked longingly at his food before turning his attention back to me. “What... I mean, assuming this isn't a dream or anything, no offense, how does that happen to people, exactly? Finding themselves here, I mean?”

I swallowed and took a drink from my soda. Mark had made puppy eyes and pouted, but I'd firmly refused his pleas and handed him flavored water instead. For all his protests, he seemed to enjoy it just fine. “Deliberately knocking at my door requires some expertise and know-how in some flavor of magic or mysticism, but doing so accidentally as you have done is much simpler, if much less likely to succeed. All it requires is the right combination of want and need when opening a door. There are a lot of other factors that raise or lower your chances, but I've found selfish desire rather than altruistic works better.”

While I'd been talking, Mark had cut himself more food and was swallowing by the time I'd finished.

“And... where is here, exactly?”

I shrugged. “South of the Never-Never, north of the Everafter? Betwixt good nightmares and bad dreams? Just behind that last box of your favorite cereal on the shelf?” He stared blankly at me, not understanding. Or not wanting to. He was a fairly intelligent man. “Somewhere between here and there. Here being wherever you left from and there being wherever the thing you wanted enough to open the door is.”

“Okay, I'll pretend that makes sense, sure,” Mark quipped, taking another bite of his food.

“I could explain all of the very technical multi-dimensional math, Mark, but unless your civilization is much more advanced than I believe it to be, it wouldn't mean anything to you. Half-assed poetic descriptions are all you're rated for without a downpayment.”

He gave a startled laugh with a full mouth, eyes widening and reaching for his drink to choke down the mouthful of food. “Ah-ha, okay... yeah, I guess I'm out of my depth, then. Assuming you're real, again. But... since you brought it up...”

My own mouth full now, I rolled my wrist in a silent motion to continue.

“I know you said it's complimentary, and not that I'm not grateful or anything, I really am,” Mark stated with all the awkwardness of someone bringing up finances, or their own lack thereof. “But... I meant it when I said I couldn't pay for this. You're not going to make me sign a contract for my firstborn or anything, are you? Cause, uh... total honesty? That might be a bad investment on your part right now.”

I replied with a small smile. “Excuse me for being crass, Mark, but have you ever thought about how much free shit a rich person gets? Or a well-connected person?”

Mark blinked, then opened his mouth. “But, I'm not-”

I held up a glowing hand. “Not in a conventional sense, no. But... just as a hypothetical example, I'd be perfectly happy to buy some Martian rocks and soil. I have plenty of people who come through here looking for scientific discoveries, thaumaturgical reagents, or really cool paperweights.”

Mark snorted in disbelief and I grinned. “No, really. You'd be surprised how many of my customers are rich idiots who decided that their life is just so boring that they desperately need something interesting to spice it up.”

My guest grunted, looking interested despite himself. “Oof, but... okay. I can do that. How much would it... get me?”

“Couple thousand in store credit,” I replied, his eyes widening. I shrugged, another loaded spoonful making its way down my gullet before I responded. “Say... ten freedom units of weight per thousand credits? Up to a ton. If and when I sell that much off, we can make another deal.”

“I'm probably supposed to haggle here, but that sounds great if it gets me one of those satellite dishes and some decent meals,” Mark contemplated.

I nodded. “I'm willing to extend one meal per visit as a courtesy between business associates as long as you don't attempt to abuse said privilege. Perhaps, once every... three days? And, of course, you would be able to use the bathing facilities while here. I would, in fact, insist on it.” After a second's humorous hesitation, he nodded as well. “If you wish to increase your profit margins, though, I have other propositions.”

Mark swallowed, then looked back at his nearly-empty bowl and eyed me cautiously. “I'm, uhh... I'll hear you out, at least?”

I considered his options before deciding to go ahead and offer the most extreme one first. “How do you feel about donating blood?”

The Martian blinked. “Uhh... sure? I mean, for like, blood drives?”

“While you're not likely to believe what I'm about to tell you... there is an old phrase which has a variant across many of the worlds I've been to. 'Blood is the currency of the soul.' That is, to many, a bit more literal than most are aware of.” I allowed that thought to digest while Mark finished off his bowl of soup, tearing off a piece of bread to sop up the dregs.

He made a thoughtful and vaguely disapproving face. “For, like... curses and stuff? I'm not sure if I'd be okay with that.”

“I won't lie and say that's a possibility, but your blood would be far more useful in summoning and enhancement rituals.” With him chewing, I continued on rather than allow him the time to respond. “You see, when an individual goes through great trials and tribulations, it endows their spirit, and therefore their blood, with a certain potency a normal person's might lack. Yours would be especially relevant to a mage looking to enchant themselves or an object to harden it against energy damage, the vacuum of space, or increasing a person's stamina, focus, and survivability.”

Mark contemplated the offer, rubbing his chin.

“I'd be willing to offer ten thousand per pint,” I added.

He inhaled sharply, then took his time replying despite the temptation in his eyes. “I'd... like to see some prices before I agree to anything like that. Plus, I'd only be able to do that... once a month? Maybe? I wouldn't be able to do much hard labor while I recuperated and Houston is already on my ass for health updates...”

“That is a reasonable factor to take into account,” I nodded slowly, not having considered that. “Once you look over the wares I have on offer, provided you are still interested of course, I'd be willing to raise my bid to fifteen-thousand per pint as well as increase your meal and bathing allotment to once every other day to assuage concerns over your health.”

Mark's eyebrows rose, but he merely nodded carefully. “Okay, blood and rocks... anything else I can do?”

“I'll have a full list drawn up, but in contrast with my previous offer, I'll extend the possibility of signing an agreement with me regarding signed merchandise.” My statement was met with open disbelief as Mark stared at me blankly. “A person in your position is very, very famous, Mark. If you get home, you'll be an incredible hero to the entire world. Even if you fail, though, having a stack of memorialized t-shirts would be extremely valuable.”

Mark frowned thoughtfully again, then stilled abruptly before snapping his gaze up to mine and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I... never told you I was stranded on Mars, did I?”

I leaned back and chuckled. “There were quite a few context clues that might have given me enough information to make the proper inferences.”

“Uh-huh,” Mark nodded doubtfully. “But that's not what you did, was it?”

I smiled, showing just a hint of predatory fang and making him shiver. “No, it isn't.”

Mark was silent, considering me in a new light. A dangerous one. “Should I be worried that you seem to know who I am and what's happening to me? Or is that just magical mumbo-jumbo?”

“It's entirely possible that you aren't the first 'Mark Whatney' I've had the pleasure of serving, you know?” I grunted as I felt the hypothetical question brush up against the boundary of one of the shop's Rules. Not a violation, not even a true warning, but a comparatively gentle reminder. “The multiverse is a wide and weird place, Mark, and I could know your story from any number of people, places, or things.”

A compulsion not to deceive others was different than a compulsion to honesty.

“You're telling me... like, the theory of many worlds?” Mark stumbled over the question, his eyes wide but intent.

I shrugged.

“Then... if you've me me before... or a version of me, you know-”

I held up a hand solemnly, my voice painted with honest regret when I spoke. “Don't ask questions I can't answer, Mark.” He opened his mouth again. “And I do mean can't, in the sense that I am not allowed the capacity to divulge the information you want. While this may all seem fantastical and beyond the bounds of physics or reason to you, like many fantasies my little corner shop of wonders has its own internal consistency and rules that I can't violate. Even now my capacity to discuss your... situation is limited due to my lack of knowledge on exactly when you come from, lest I accidentally warn you of something you have not yet encountered and receive suitable punishment in exchange.”

After a long moment of thinking the warning over, Mark grimaced, seeming unnerved by my admission. “I know you said this isn't one of those fairy tales, but it really feels like one.”

“I've unloaded quite a bit on you, this visit.” I replied, my tone slightly apologetic. “Even if it was necessary to properly introduce you to things, I feel that I've been unfair. We'll go ahead and end things here. I'll box up the remainder of the soup for you to take with you and eat at your leisure.”

“That... yeah,” Mark nodded, a touch of gratitude on his face. “I'd appreciate it. I... need to think about some things.”

I nodded, rising to do just that as I walked towards the stove in the small room we'd claimed to have dinner in. “I'll also include a printed list of items and services you might be interested in, both for acquiring currency and spending it. You'll need a doorknocker too, don't let me forget.”

“A doorknocker?” Mark asked.

I nodded, looking over my shoulder at him. “Finding your way here unintentionally is a rather large miracle on your part. Once you close the portal on the other side, it will be cut. A doorknocker is what I call a small charm that will enable you to reopen the door to my shop.”

It was a matter of minutes before I bagged up Mark's soup, ensured he had a way back, and reminded him about his laundered clothes. Once Mark was gone, I sighed and snapped off a few spells to clean things up.

After that, it was time to wait for my next customer.