Tomallen AI, Inc (@6M)

"Whew!" said Joon, closing the door behind her, snow swirling around her feet. Their new business was in the lower level of a consignment shop just off the lake. A great view, but the weather came right off the cold water. The shop itself was mostly uninsulated, unfinished really, but she wasn't complaining. It was nicer than the plywood hut their previous "business" had been in, just off the garbage dump where they'd come from. She set a greasy paper bag down on their only table, scarred and stained and with some old computer equipment on it. "Good news and bad news, Greg."

"I'll take the bad news first," he said, putting down his logic probe and pulling a troutburger out of the bag. "Secret police, maybe? Govies looking for bribes?"

"No, that's part of the good news," said Joon, and pulled out her own burger. She wrinkled her nose at the fishy smell, but she didn't have much choice; except for trout, food was expensive in Tomallen. At least it was healthy. "No secret police and the bureaucrats seem well-meaning, a little overwhelmed, really. This place seems serious about their motto. Also," she took a bite, and went on, "there are a few good techs around, mostly doing manual labor. Once we find a market, we should be able to expand. That's the good news." He raised his eyebrows, mouth full.

"The bad news," she said, "is there isn't that much of a market for IT here yet. The govies are trying to ramp up, but outside that new auto plant and the bio facility, our potential industry customers are struggling. It'll be a while before we get a real market for our merch."

"Could be worse," he said, shrugging, "I thought you were going to complain about how liberal the founders of this place are, for a bunch of ex-soldiers. They're all for equality, we're never going to be aristocracy or billionaires here, like we talked about." In their plywood shack next to the garbage dump, a couple of countries over. Before they escaped through the barbed wire and sentry towers.

"Yeah," she said, looking out the single pane glass window at the snow whistling in off the lake. The trees across the water were pine, covered with snow like a postcard, not sickly with pollution or twisted with radiation. On this side, a light blue police car with "To Serve and Protect" painted on the door was parked on new concrete, an officer giving directions to some tourists, and people bundled up in bright clothes hustled between shops and cars, laughing and pointing. There were no ominous black cars full of secret police, no armored cars of paramilitary enforcers, no clouds of poison, no criminal gangs. Just the deep blue lake, brightly colored shops, and happy people.

"I think we're rich enough right now," Joon said, turning to look around their fledgling business, "What we got here money can't buy. And maybe, in addition to thinking about money, we should be thinking about how to help this place keep it that way."

Greg smiled, nodding. "I've got some ideas," he said, and took a big bite of troutburger.