Free Strange Trades by Paul di Filippo Page B

these arguments and more had Erlkonig adduced to Honeyman shortly after the disastrous conclusion to the Outlaw Party, as he tried to convince him of the necessity of this step. Honeyman had not been easily swayed.
    “C’mon, Rory, loosen up. What’re you worrying about anyway? There’s nothing illegal in what we’re doing. Just look at these things as coupons, like. Yeah, manufacturer’s coupons, that’s all they are. When Kellogg’s gives you thirty-five cents off on Raisin Bran, are they trying to subvert the government, like you claim we are? And what about when the supermarket doubles the coupon? They’re adding some incremental value to that piece of paper—which, by the way, even says on the back in fine print, ‘Redeemable for one-tenth of a cent.’”
    Honeyman shook his head in weary dissent. He knew in his bones that all this was wrong, and that they were going to have to pay the piper one day, but he just couldn’t summon up the logic to counter Erlkonig’s snaky persuasiveness.
    “Look,” Erlkonig continued, “even if these things are money, so what? Don’t look so shocked, I mean it. So what? You gotta get some historical perspective on this, my moll. You know, the government wasn’t always the only one who minted money in this country. Right up to the mid-1800s, private banks issued notes that were supposedly backed by their deposits, and which circulated as legal tender. And lots of times a bank printed so much that the collective value of the paper was two or three times the bank’s holdings. Of course, the whole system eventually went bust, causing quite a shitstorm, but that doesn’t apply to us, since we’re going to keep tighter reins on things.”
    The phrase “went bust” made Honeyman’s vision waver. “Earl, I just don’t feel right about—”
    Erlkonig brooked no naysayers. “And during the Depression, all across the country individual stores issued scrip redeemable only at their establishments. Same thing we’re doing. And the Confederacy—don’t forget about them. What was the first thing they did? Right, issue their own money.”
    “They were seceding from the Union, Earl. We’re not doing that, are we?”
    “No, of course not. But you must admit that these are uncertain times, Rory. A few years ago we went through the worst depression since the thirties. The homeless, the unemployed, the people whose jobs went to Asia—this government is fiscally fucked up. If we can help people by printing spondulix, why shouldn’t we?”
    Honeyman found it hard to speak out against such a liberal cause. “But how is one little sandwich shop supposed to float so many notes?”
    “Well, remember what I said before. Not all of them are going to come back at once. But you are right in thinking that your present operation isn’t set up to handle such volume. That’s why I’ve got to talk to you about these plans for expansion I’ve got here—”
    At that moment Honeyman was jolted from his reverie by several demands on his attention. The customer whose spondulix, tendered in payment, had set Honeyman drifting now said, “Hey, can I get my change?” At the same time a workman stuck his head through the raw, unframed passage in the wall that led to the adjacent storefront and asked, “Rory, which wall did you want the counter on?” And an argument broke out between Beatbox and another customer.
    “What’s that you’re putting on my peanut butter? I asked for orange marmalade, not horseradish.”
    “Hey, man, you got to try something new in your life now and then. Experiment, like.”
    “I don’t want an experiment, I want a good sandwich.”
    “This is gonna be el supremo, man. Just give it a shot.”
    “There is no way I am going to bite into that—”
    Hurriedly making change (forty-one spondulix), and shouting out, “North wall,” to the carpenter, Honeyman intervened on the customer’s behalf and convinced Beatbox to assemble the sandwich as