revised scene: using betting markets for real time tactical data
*** 195
== 2064: Boardroom Group Headquarters in Tunnel 1,288, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Javier looked at the wallscreen sourly. The disposition of lunar forces was marked clearly, but the locations of the invaders were less clear – the icons expressed guesses at units, and in some cases just question marks as Dewitt’s staff struggled to pull sensible data out of reports from commanders reporting contact, civilians calling in and reporting gun fire, and a deluge of other, even less useful information.
From time to time an enemy contact would blink out when it was destroyed by the defenders or, more often, revealed to be misinformation. More often, though, the opposite happened – an enemy unit popped up where none was expected. Worst of all was when an ADF unit turned red and disappeared.
Dewitt and his senior staff were huddled near the wall screen. Dewitt burst out, “Damnit – I need to know where the hell the forces are?”
Karina Roth whispered, to no one in particular, “If we lose, what do you think they’ll do to us?”
Rob Wehrmann scowled. “I’m not going to find out. If it comes to that, they’re not going to take me alive.”
Karina turned to him. “You’ve got poison?”
Rob turned to her, the disdain showing on his face. “Fuck, no. I’ve got a pistol and three magazines.”
Mark Soldner pushed his chair back and began to pace.
Javier ignored the drama and pulled his slate from his bag. The table had untouched plates of brownies, cookies, sandwiches and carafes from the last meeting before the invasion fleet arrived. Javier reached our with two hands and pushed the mess away from him, clearing space, then put his slate down on the table.
He logged into FuTrade and created a new account, then initiated a transfer of 10,000 grams from his personal checking account. A small spinner appeared on his slate as the brokerage talked to his bank. From the front of the room he heard an outburst “Where the fuck did those rovers come from? Why didn’t we have a contact report? Fuck!”
He breathed deeply. People were dying defending Aristillus right now. And he was sitting her, waiting for a damn bank transfer. Hurry. Hurry. At the front of the room someone yelled “I’m not going to split the tanks – I need to know where they are!”
Javier’s slate beeped. He looked down – it was done; his funds were in. He leaned forward typed furiously. He created a new bet, then another, then another. Underneath “Themba Johnson to be reelected president”, “New Emilio-X album to feature Sister Rosalinda” and “WHO confirmed deaths in Taiyuan over 10k by 31 December” his new wagers popped up one at a time:
“PK forces sighted in Dockside”
“PK forces sighted in Lower Landing”
“PK forces sighted in Conveyor Belt District”
“PK forces sighted in Warehouse District”
Each got a 500 gram bet on the “no” side. He looked at his account total. 18,000 grams left unallocated. What bet should he create next? He looked up at the wallscreen where Dewitt and his aides were pointing and gesticulating. What information did they seem to be missing? He heard someone say something about Little Niger. He typed “PK forces sighted in Little Nigeria” and hit return. The slate beeped at him.
What? He looked down. There was error an error on the screen: “a bet by that name already exists.” Huh? He hadn’t created that one yet, had he? He looked at his list of bets and positions. No – he’d only created four so far. Wait. Was someone else –
Yes. It must be. His screen refreshed. Other people were creating bets. “PK forces in High Deseret”. “PK forces in Little Boston”. “HKL attack – more than 100 dead”. “Lai Docks seized.”
He smiled. Damn it, this just might workd! – but that last bet worried him. The Grace Under Pressure was at Lai Docks, and that ship had a year’s worth of air – maybe more. Had the docks really been seized? He clicked for more detail. Huh. Just one bet riding on it, and only 10 grams at that. He quickly bet 500 grams on the “no” side and waited for movement. There was none. After a moment he tabbed back to the master bet list and continued placing wagers – big wagers. He wanted these prizes to be juicy. That’d bring people out of the woodwork. He ran out of money before he’d purchased positions on every topic. After a moment of thought he transferred another 10,000 grams over. Why not? If this didn’t work, he wouldn’t be alive to spend it anyway.
There were dozens of bets now. “E-p-door #2 broached”. “Power out in tunnel #118”. “E-p-door #4 broached.” Those e-p-door bets worried him – the betting was heavy on the “yes” side, and the prices were starting to converge on certainty. He cleared his throat. “General?”
Dewitt was pacing, looking at the screen.
“General?”
Dewitt didn’t hear him. Javier stood and bellowed. “General Dewitt!”
Dewitt turned to look at him – as did everyone else in the boardroom group. “What?”
“I know where the PK forces are.”
Dewitt looked at him uncomprehendingly. “I don’t have time for your guesses.”
“They’re not guesses. And they’re not mine.”
… That’s badass. No joke.
Thanks!