Rand clucked his tongue, scanning his eyes back and forth across the labyrinthine notation which covered the cave wall. Occasionally, he would stop pacing to shake his chalk at one of the elements; then he would nod and resume moving, tattered strips of his suit trousers beginning to stir the dry dust once more.

“It all comes down to the radiation meds,” he mused. “I have to have enough spare meds to trade to the town council over at Silver Creek that I can keep them going for a month. That’ll be enough to tempt them into turning over their grain reserves, 80% of which I can trade straight to Old Man Arlington for his new calves.”

He clawed at his neck, yanking the frayed pinstripe collar to one side to allow more intensive scratching, before absent-mindly straightening and smoothing it again.

“That leaves me with a month’s food, and a fortnight’s meds… and the beasts that the Christian Frontiersmen have been crying out for to stick on their next damned expedition.”

Rand drifted past the Dactyl cages, cooing and petting at the creatures as he went. He stopped at XVI’s perch, reached in and grabbed the little reptile, pulling her into a gentle embrace as he fished around in his pocket for a scrap of paper.

“Those idiots have more ethanol than they know what to do with, so I’ll be able to squeeze an extra half drum out of them, which sorts out my fuel requirements for at least a fortnight… and the remainder clears my outstanding positions with the Lizard Eaters, PLUS gives me enough to take another couple of those scrap electrical components they’re hoarding and trade them to the Doc, which gets me my next supply of meds, and BAM!”

He threw his hands into the air. “I go infinite.”

XVI flapped irritably until Rand remembered himself, and restored her to the crook of his arm. Awkwardly pinning down the paper, trying to keep the Dactyl settled, he switched the chalk for a stick of charcoal lying on his desk and scrawled out his offer in cramped, barely legible scrip.

“All of this depends on getting Vermaelen to turn over his surplus meds, so we can get the wheel turning. And for that, we need something special. That crazy bastard is only interested in the kind of stuff that makes him feel like Kublai fucking Khan, like some old-school Pharoah who can collect the wonders of the world – or what’s left of it – and show it off to everyone as a reminder of his – ” (Rand paused to assume a booming, pantomime voice) “- EPIC POWEEEEERRRRR!”

Strolling up to the mouth of the cave, Rand tucked his note into XVI’s ankle bracelet, clipped it down and hurled the winged lizard into the air. Once he was satisfied that she was on her way, moving in the right direction, he turned his back on the arid landscape and made his way inside again.

“Yessir, something special is required. Something no-one else can offer. Something, I am betting, like you,” he said, kneeling down in front of the upturned and carefully perforated glass jar, peering in at the folded scrap of red cloth and the tiny, golden-furred creature that lay inside.

“The smallest goddamn dog,” Rand whispered with relish, “who ever lived.”

The miniscule labrador turned its head away from his gaze, moping.

“You know, someone like the Doc, he’d fall over himself to get a look at you,” Rand continued. “He’d waste his time trying to work out what happened to you, he’d write a hundred of those stupid journal entries raving about mutations and the marvel of nature overcoming man’s best efforts to render her barren…”

Chuckling to himself, he stood back up and collected his cup before moving to the water drum. Grimacing at the taste, he continued: “Just like the Dactyls. Only interested in where they came from, how they fit together… that’s not real smarts. That’s geek bullshit. A real bright guy, he doesn’t look at Dactyls and see a biology project – he sees long range communication for the modern age, he sees information superiority, he sees a trading advantage!”

Rand dipped a worn bottletop into the cool liquid, then moved back to sit beside the jar. He lifted it up just enough to slip the makeshift dish under, without giving the micro-dog an avenue of escape. Then he gazed up again at the cave walls, taking in their meticulously curated summaries of every meaningful resource and commodity holding in a thirty-mile radius.

“That’s why in two years, the Doc will still be mixing meds to earn his next meal – and I’ll be the richest guy in the American Remnant. Back on top. The new Wall Street,” he pronounced, stabbing his finger toward the floor between his knees, “begins right here.”

They sat for a time, the born-again Trader and the dog-in-a-jar, as the sky slowly dimmed. Eventually, in a sudden leathery din, XVI flapped her way back into the cave and touched down on the rocky floor, waddling the last few feet to Rand’s lap. Scooping the Dactyl up, Rand snapped open her ankle bracelet and extracted the tiny missive inside.

He held it between his fingers for a long moment, strangely nervous.

“This is it, guys,” he told his canine and reptilian companions. “The dice have been thrown, you know? Time to see where they landed.”

He unfurled the note and read it, then paused for a moment before leaping to his feet and hooting with joy.

“HE ACCEPTS!” he cried, suddenly overcome with emotion. Beating his ribs with a fist, Rand told the animals: “This is the turning point, this trade. This is where my destiny was locked down. Never forget. The comeback starts here!”

The Dactyl stared at him in uncomprehending admiration. The dog sighed.

Rand shook his head in disgust.

“You know what I miss? Having someone around to appreciate me. I’m going to fix that. In a few months time, once I’ve built up some serious reserves, I’m heading on over to Silver Creek and I’m going to pick me a wife. I’m sure as hell not waiting the rest of my life for a fucking, a Dactyl to give me a pat on the back!”

The sky bruised and darkened for a time, then grew pink with the dawn.

The sound of ethanol engines heralded the approach of Vermaelen’s forces. Rand strolled out of the cave mouth and down the sandy slope, jar held securely against his flank.

There were six of them this time; less than usual, but still a sight to intimidate most amongst the nearby survivor communities. At the head of the bike squadron rode a small figure, wrapped in battered leathers and sporting an ostentatious set of goggles to protect his eyes from the onslaught of the dust.

“Hey, Leo!” called Rand in greeting. “I thought your old man might come for this one himself.”

“Nope,” Leo responded matter-of-factly. “It’s me. Is there a dog in that bottle? Lemme see.”

“Sure,” said Rand, cautiously. He held the glass jar aloft as Leo approached, squinting in the rising glare.

“That is one hell of a thing,” Leo told him, whistling his appreciation. “But I don’t have no use for that.”

“Just as well I’m in business with your Daddy!” Rand laughed, slightly nervous.

Leo grinned, dipping his head forward almost shyly, before shaking it. “No you ain’t, Rand.”

Frowning, Rand protested: “But we had a deal! He sent me by Dactyl last night – he’s going to trade me meds for it.”

“See, the thing is, me and my Daddy had a little disagreement last night,” Leo explained, unzipping his leathers just enough that Rand could see a flash of skin and blood. A new ear adorned Leo’s necklace.

“A disagreement?” Rand asked, mouth bone dry.

“About his tendency to waste meds on bullshit,” Leo confirmed.

“Look, Leo – ”

“I decided it was time we did things a little different,” said Leo. “Put what we learned into practice, if you catch my drift.” He reached down and drew forth something from his boot.

Behind him, the other riders started to dismount. From within the jar, the dog whined.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I was thinking that we could come on over here, and instead of giving you stuff for a dumb dog-on-a-keyring, we could just head on up to that cave of yours -” Leo gestured with the object, a stained, flat blade, “- and just take whatever you got.”

“Come on Leo,” Rand pleaded. “That doesn’t make any sense. Think of everything I do for your… for you. I get hold of anything you need, don’t I? I’ve got the connections!”

“Now that is the thing, right there,” Leo told him. “The thing I was thinking about when your little lizard arrived last night. I thought to myself, Leo, if he has a lizard that can find its way to your ranch… he probably has lizards that can fly on over to these little towns, and tribes and such like that he picks up all these supplies and – what do you call them? – co-mmodities from.”

Rand stood perfectly still as Leo began to circle him, swinging his weapon lazily by a leather loop on the handle.

“And if he does, why shouldn’t we just get hold of those lizards, and make ’em fly… and then follow them?”

Leo completed his circuit, stopping again in Rand’s eyeline.

“Those lizards could lead us right to all the yellow rats who been hiding from us all these years… and then we could take what they got, too. And then we’d have no need for a man with connections.”

Leo crashed a fist into Rand’s jaw, sprawling him out on the dirt. The loose crowd of bikers laughed as the jar and its tiny occupant rolled away from Rand’s prone form.

“Leo… please…” he begged. “Don’t do this.”

“This ain’t personal, Rand,” Leo assured him as he towered over the older man. “It’s just… it’s like you say, it’s me disrupting the traditional player in the market.”

He swung a boot hard into Rand’s gut.

“I realised you been making a lot of sense, these last few years, Rand. I been listening, when you and my Daddy got talking. I realised you were right about regulation being bad for business. I got to get rid of my regulator!”

Rand stared up at him in terror and bewilderment. “What regulator?”

“Oh, you know, Rand,” Leo chuckled, waving his machete in whimsical loops as he smiled downward. “Civilisation.”

***

This was a Story Generator entry, based on the formula: Cave, day-trader, trepidation, ‘the world’s smallest labrador’