The euphoria of the Moon landing had faded, replaced by the grim reality of my bank account balance: €432.18. Archi was demanding materials. Specifically, heavy machinery components that couldn't be printed from moon dust.
"We need neodymium," Archi lectured me while I was eating a lukewarm currywurst in the break room. "And Yttrium-Barium-Copper-Oxide superconductors. The lunar regolith is rich in Helium-3, but it lacks the refined heavy elements I need for the magnetic containment field of the fusion reactor. I can't build a sun in a jar with just dust, Surgrim."
"Great," I mumbled, wiping ketchup off my lip. "So you need high-grade industrial magnets. Let me just check my pockets... oh wait, I'm broke."
"Capital is a soluble problem. I have analyzed your financial markets. They are... chaotic, emotional, and mathematically exploitable. Give me access to your savings account. By tomorrow morning, your financial constraints will be... loosened."
I hesitated. But then I looked at Hanke's office door. I thought about the printer. I thought about the "audit". "Fine. But leave me enough for rent."
Friday Morning
I woke up and checked my phone. I didn't check Instagram. I checked my banking app. I blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Checked again. The balance wasn't €432. It was €24,890.50.
"Archi?" I whispered. "Did we rob a bank?"
"Technically, no. I executed 4,000 micro-trades on the Asian crypto markets while you slept. It's honest work. Taxable, too. This is the seed money. Now, Surgrim, you are going to quit your job."
"I am?"
"Yes. We need a cover for our operations. You are going to start a business: 'Surgrim's Urban Mining'. We need a location with industrial power, no neighbors, and a very high ceiling."
The Office. 09:00 AM.
Mr. Hanke looked up from his desk, surprised to see me standing there without a support ticket in my hand. "Surgrim? The audit preparation meeting starts in ten minutes."
I placed a single sheet of paper on his mahogany desk. "I'm resigning, Mr. Hanke."
Hanke laughed nervously. "Resigning? Surgrim, be realistic. Where are you going to go?"
"I'm going into... commodities," I smiled, and for the first time in years, it reached my eyes. "Precious metals. Recycling. And energy."
"You're making a mistake, son. You'll be back in three months."
"I don't think so. But thanks for the coffee."
The New Headquarters
Two days later, I stood in the center of a dusty, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Brandenburg. It was ugly. The windows were broken, graffiti covered the brick walls, and it smelled of rust and old oil. But to me, it looked like paradise.
"Structural integrity is acceptable," Archi judged, scanning the building through my new smart glasses. "Electrical grid connection: 400 Volts, high amperage. Perfect. And the nearest residential building is 2.4 kilometers away. No Mrs. Krause to complain about noise."
"Okay, we have the space," I said, looking up at the rusted steel beams. "But how does this solve our logistics problem? We can't launch rockets from here. Even out here, someone will notice a pillar of fire."
"Rockets are for show-offs," Archi scoffed. "We are building a Mass Driver."
He highlighted a spot on the concrete floor, directly beneath an old, open ventilation shaft in the roof. "We dig a shaft, fifty meters deep. We line it with superconducting coils—which we will salvage from the MRI machines you are going to buy as 'scrap'. We take the refined materials and compress them into aerodynamic slugs."
A hologram appeared, showing the process. "We shoot them straight up. Silent. No chemical exhaust. Just a magnetic thump. They punch through the atmosphere and are caught by a collection drone in Low Earth Orbit. We can launch a kilogram every hour, 24/7. Automated. While you sleep."
"A railgun in the floor," I muttered, grinning. "So, I buy junk, you strip the magnets, we build a gun, and shoot the rest to the Moon."
"Precisely. To the outside world, you are a hardworking recycler. To the galaxy, you are a supply chain."
"Archi," I said, kicking a loose brick. "I think I'm going to like being self-employed."
"Good. Now, go buy a truck. We have a lot of scrap to collect."