Part 82 (1/2)
”Sometimes you get a forest where a few trees end up winning, they form a canopy that keeps all the sunlight from reaching the floor. Now, this is stable for forests, but stability is the *last*
thing you want in a market. Just look at what happens when one of those big trees falls over: whoos.h.!.+ A million kinds of life are sp.a.w.ned on the floor, fighting for the light that tree had hogged for itself. In a market, when you topple a company that's come to complacently control some part of the ecosystem, you free up that niche for new innovators.”
”And why is that better than stability? Don't the workers at these companies deserve the security that comes from their employers'
survival?”
”Oh come on, Freddy. Stop beating that drum. If you're an employee and you want to get a good deal out of an employer, you're better off if you've got fifty companies you could work for than just one.”
”So you're saying that if you destroy Disney with your lawsuit, the fifty thousand people who work at Walt Disney World will be able to, what, work for those little rides like your friends have built?”
”They'll find lots of work, Freddy. If we make it possible for anyone to open an innovative little ride without worrying about getting clobbered by a big old monopolist. You like big corporations so much?”
”Yes, but it's not little innovative startups that invest in these funds, is it?”
”It's they who benefit once the fund takes up their cause.”
”And how's that working out for the ride people you're meant to be helping out? They rejected you, didn't they?”
Kettlewell really hated Freddy, he realized. Not just a little -- he had a deep and genuine loathing. ”Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake. You don't like little companies. You don't like big companies. You don't like workers' co-ops. What do you want us to do, Freddy? You want us to just curl up under a rock and die? You sit there and make up your funny names for things; you make your snarky little commentaries, but how much good have *you* done for the world, you complaining, sniping little troll?”
The line got very quiet. ”Can I quote you?”
”You certainly can,” Kettlewell huffed. In for a penny, in for a pound. ”You can print that, and you can kiss my a.s.s.”
”Thank you, Mr Kettlewell,” Freddy said. ”I'll certainly take the suggestion under advis.e.m.e.nt.”
Kettlewell stood in his home office and stared at the four walls. Upstairs, Pascal was crying. He did that a lot lately. Kettlewell breathed deeply and tried to chill out.
Someone was knocking at his door, though. He answered it tentatively. The kid he found there was well-scrubbed, black, in his twenties, and smiling amiably.
”Landon Kettlewell?”
”Who's suing me?” Kettlewell could spot a process server a mile away.
The guy shrugged and made a little you-got-me smile. ”Couldn't say, sir,” he said, and handed Kettlewell the envelope, holding it so that the header was clearly visible to the camera set into the lapel of his s.h.i.+rt.
”You want me to sign something?” Kettlewell said.
”It's all right, sir,” the kid said and pointed at the camera. ”It's all caught on video.”
”Oh, right,” Kettlewell said. ”Want a cup of water? Coffee?”
”I expect you're going to be too busy to entertain, sir,” the kid said, and ticked a little salute off his forehead. ”But you seem like a nice guy. Good luck with it all.”
Kettlewell watched him go, then closed the door and walked back to his office, opening the envelope and scanning it. No surprises there -- the shareholders in the investment syndicate that had backed Lester and Perry were suing him for making false representations about his ability to speak for them.
Tjan called him a minute later.
”They got you too, huh?” Kettlewell said.