Post by bluesnailok on Jan 20, 2023 19:37:38 GMT
Another night in Talcit, another night of bright lights and rolling dice in Natar’s big city. But in an unsuspecting little speakeasy, a meeting of great magnitude was set to occur in the coming minutes.
Imaginarium, a power to which Natar was known to have a certain cold-shoulder for, had been invited to discuss a potential agreement on the planet. But the offer had not come from any government, from no politician nor leader, but instead from a magnate. Logan Fermor of Fermor Enterprises had strangely requested an audience with someone with authority from the communard state, yet made it abundantly clear that everything was to be done unofficially. The only thing known about the proposal was that it ‘could determine the shape of the galaxy and the galactic war for years to come’.
The meeting spot was far from an officious, or even respectable outlet. Few would expect a negotiation or diplomatic engagement of any kind to transpire in a place like this. The place was nestled between an ill-reputed small-time casino and some sort of boarded up nightclub. Entering, one was immediately met by a smokescreen formed by the smorgasbord of narcotics in use. Scantily-clad dancers paraded themselves to onlookers upon a stage at the far end to silent, greasy onlookers. Every man here was sleazy, shady or simply trying to keep a low profile with their heads in their drinks.
Yet despite explicitly arranging for the meeting to transpire at this most insalubrious establishment of the planet’s greatest metropol, there was no sign of the wealthy industrialist anywhere, nor was there any sign of the place being staged to create a fake scandal against the invitees. Instead, a sturdy automaton of humanoid stock awaited patiently at an empty table in his stead. The only AI in the bar at the time, it waited patiently. At the very moment the diplomats hoved through the club’s door, the machine rose from its seat and approached the party.
“Greetings patrons!” The AI warbled to the representatives, “May I invite you for a drink?!” It cheerfully offered.
Admittedly, the invitation from a tycoon of business for discussions of “seismic” proportions was an unusual one, but then, these were unusual times for the Socialist Republics. The ‘colonisation’ of Ancerious territories had opened avenues a plenty, and with Premier Krupskaya’s new economic plans to break the decades of stagnation and isolation, Imaginarium was open to flirting with the world of capital, and as flirting went, an invitation to Talcit, in the heart of Natar was enough to cause a flurry of nervous heart palpitations.
The grime, lust and vice were every present. The atmosphere, approaching and within the unsavoury outlet was unsanitized, rough and ready. It offered objectification amongst a den of illicit smoke, where each of the questionable looking clientele nursed a drink so heavily laden with alcohol that Mikhail Novikovo was convinced that they should suffer with a nasty headache the day after, although he admitted, there was nothing to suggest these people did not live on the stuff.
Mikhail loved the chaos that Natar, and Talcit brought. Unrefined chaos he felt, was such madness that there was something to admire about it. A man in his mid-forties, he had been a young boy when the gates to the universe shut, and Imaginarium, the Jade Empire, and their Laptev neighbours were transported as part of the Merger. He had grown up in the culture of fear and conservativism that had dominated the Workers Party, and resented it, and now, as the youngest head of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (aka KOMITET), he embraced the new direction of the state, and the rebellion of cultural thought that now knocked on the door.
He pushed up his spectacles from the end of his nose as he caught a glance of one of the dancers, a sight he had heard of, but would never have dreamt of seeing within the Socialist Republics. He was dressed plainly, or as plainly as was believed necessary for the clandestine meeting in the heart of capitalism. A simplified black suit, tieless as standard, clung tightly to his form. No party or KOMITET badge or emblem adorned his lapel however, as would have been typical for a man of his position. Even still, Mikhail felt overdressed for the establishment. His guard, “Ivan”, was dressed similarly, however he had remained in the car outside, keeping a watch on the venue, his iron held in his lap in case ‘something’ went down. This ‘meeting’ however, was something best done alone had been Mikhail’s assumption.
Whilst Mikhail scanned the room for eyes on him, he was addressed by the AI barkeep, which gave a hearty welcome, much to Mikhail’s pleasant surprise. He spoke in his thick, accented voice.
“That would be wonderful, and a table if you have one? I am meeting someone…unless that someone is yourself?
“A table you say? Why, sir. We have just the table for you and your private reservation!” The automaton chirped cheerfully before gesturing for the bureaucrat to follow. Despite much of the attire worn by the patrons in this place not being so dissimilar to Mikhail’s own, there were few eyes that didn’t flit or glare at the man. There was almost an aura that the locals could detect that set him apart from the regulars in such a place.
As the machine guided his invitee toward a door toward the back of a club, a woman of probably about 19 years of age, a Teliran, approached him.
“Hey there, fella…” She purred, her voice being both the synthesis of seductress and doped-up drug addict. Her eyes drooped far more than they should’ve been, and her red eyes were deeper in their magma haze than what was normal for a Teliran. With little more than a corset, bra and leggings, the girl seemed to scream “red light” in more ways than one, she began to giggle, “...You’re not from round here are ya…? Exotic I reckon…”
The robot guiding Mihkail gave no mind to the interception and instead simply waved for the Imaginese representative to ignore her and continue.
Guidance through to the backrooms led to a labyrinth of dark rooms with wilting wallpaper and the smell of must and black mould. Calling the place unkempt was an understatement. But the humanoid AI did not leave Mikhail in any room, but instead, outside via a backdoor. A short half-minute walk took them to a nearby warehouse. An old storage facility with loading bays that had been left locked up and unoccupied. There were no workers in sight of the place, but despite its industrial nature and hidden-away position, it was a damn lot tidier than the venue they had just come out of. A group of automobiles indicated that Mikhail’s hosts had already arrived.
Escorted inside, Mikhail was met by the sight of rows of boxes lined in the dozens far off into the distance. Between them all stood a single man.
The figure was that of a lanky Teliran. He was dressed in a baggy, yet light duster coat which covered over much of his body but did show a little of what looked to be some kind of bulletproof vest beneath. All that he wore were dull-shades of grey and brown and made him look a lot more suited to a frontier than the urban sprawl. The revolver holstered to his side didn’t make the situation look any friendlier. Despite his well-kept stature, which betrayed his profession as a man of action- not of idleness, his face did show signs of someone no longer in their youth, but instead someone aging with time.
“You’re the guy from Imaginarium, yes…? My name is Mernis Onoro.” His voice echoed out to his counterpart as he entered the warehouse, “...I must apologize for my benefactor's lack of presence… He prefers discretion; he doesn’t like to get out much… …Doesn’t trust people.”
The robot that had guided Mikhail now strutted to the side of the Teliran. After a second of the machine seemingly going into standby and powering it down, it suddenly straightened back up. This time its tone was clearly not a programmed one. It was the vocoded voice of someone in some unseen location, likely far away.
“Mr. Novikovo, I presume…?” Inquired the robot, now with the posture of someone far more cold and rigid than the robot had been before it was under control.
‘A private reservation? Of course. The meet would have made the arrangements, and not just left the venue to chance.’ Mikhail thought. He followed swiftly behind the automaton, moving through the guests and clientele of the dive bar, his eyes meeting those who rose their heads from their drink, or shifted their view from the dancers, before the pair were stopped in their tracks by the young Teliran woman. Whilst the Automaton drove them forward, Mikhail watched her face as they moved by. ‘The poor girl. Nothing more than a child.’ He sympathised. The ‘free hand of the market’ was cruel, of this he was certain.
They weaved through the back rooms, the smell of damp invasive. The venue was doing little to improve itself upon the impressions of Mikhail, though he marvelled in the ingenuity of their meeting within such a place. It would be the last place anyone would expect such a forum to occur. Soon, the bar was behind them, and the old storage facility loomed in front. A clandestine meeting place if ever Mikhail had seen one. Vehicles parked outside told Mikhail that his contacts were already in place.
Soon, he saw the lone figure, dressed in a long coat, framed by bright light, and contrasting shadows. He certainly seemed dressed for the occasion; his weapon clung proudly to his side.
Mikhail greeted him with a nod as he spoke, confirming that indeed he was ‘the guy from Imaginarium’. Mikhail moved to speak, but the action of the automaton distracted the conversation. ‘A proxy?’ Mikhail thought ‘This was the epitome of discretion.’
“That is correct.” He confirmed. “May I assume that I am speaking to the proxy for Logan Fermor?”
The machine stayed silent, as though the man on the other end of the transmission weren’t dignifying the question with an answer. It took several moments before he broke the silence by simply asserting,
“I’m not a man for pleasantries, Mr. Novikovo. Especially when it is under such informal circumstances. I presume your first query is why I have arranged for this meeting.” He paused.
“...Put simply, I believe we have a converging interest.”
A robotic accomplice of Mernis emerged from the shadows with a briefcase in hand. Soon came another robot, then another, and another as they crawled and clambered from the nooks and crannies that they had awaited in. Suddenly there were a dozen robots facing down Novikovo; all repeating the same twitch and reanimation that Mr. Fermor’s had done as he took control. Some walks from catwalks, others mulled from a distance, but all quietly observed the meeting. The first of the automatons handed the briefcase over to the diplomat before returning to his mechanised brethren.
“I am here representing a group of likeminded business owners and magnates who have grown discontented by the current oligopoly the Rangvald clique holds over the galaxy. Their present clutch over the market has prevented our capacity to develop, invest and expand. Meanwhile, the cartel currently operates as the number one private organization within the native war effort. Both of us have a stake in seeing Rangvald collapse.”
Fermor waved his hand almost dismissively, “Now ordinarily we would simply watch and gamble on SAGA destroying the cartel and doing a job for us. But the stakes are too high; we must take a proactive stance. Tell me, Mr. Novikovo… Have you ever heard of ‘Social Terraforming’...?”
There was an appreciation from Mikhail towards the lack of curtesy. The meeting was an unknown and heading directly to the point of the matter felt more genuine than any attempts at niceties that either side could produce. The growing swarm of robots around the warehouse gave him a cause for concern, but the scenario seemed, on the face of it at least, less about the threat of violence, and more to give the impression of power. ‘If they wanted to kill me, they’d go to less elaborate plans than this’ he thought, over and over. ‘Strange to have so many here…’ he did wonder.
He listened, intently, to the words. If indeed the Socialist Republics and this corporate entity were to have any shared interests, then they would make the most unnatural of bed fellows. He admitted internally that he held doubts about the sincerity of Fermor’s offer but remained straight faced all the same.
“I am familiar with the term.” Mikhail began. “Or at least, I am familiar with a similar process which my country subscribes to…ideologically. The enforced change of society, accelerating the changes within a people. Some would call it ‘revolution’, though I’d argue, and forgive me if this is a blaring generalisation, that a businessman such as yourself is not typically looking for power to the masses.” He paused, taking stock, and measuring his words.
“But it is radical change within Rangvald that you desire?”
“My interest is purely pragmatic, Mr. Novikovo. Were this proposition not beneficial to me as it is to you, we would not be here.” Fermor retorted with the cold authority of an office boss.
“The Rangvald makes a great deal of its money through creating its own monopolised consumer bases from primitive civilisations. They, using investors and loans, fund an array of regimes, both left and right, to erase cultural entrenchments to pave the way for their complete absorption of these societies as neo-colonies.”
“My concern is not a radical change in Rangvald. I want to see its investments, promises and credit collapse from decades-worth of financing these regime-changes being dead-ended with no returns for the cartel. My goal is the complete destruction of the cartel.”
“You too have a mutual interest in this goal. Not only is Rangvald an existential threat to your government, but also because they run on the degeneration of the revolutions of your peers. I want you to dedicate your people’s resources, expertise and talent towards aiding these doomed regimes and prevent Rangvald from overturning them into the next phase of their indoctrination.”
He nodded to the case his partner had provided to Mikhail, “Inside your briefcase you will find electronic dossiers on all these leftist client-states and probable opposition groups that Rangvald may use to further integrate those civilizations into their hegemony. You do your job in protecting these statelets, and we will do our part by working to protect those non-leftist regimes involved in Rangvald’s social-engineering operations. So long as we all do our parts, we will all gain from this… Well, besides the cartel.”
Mikhail reached with his hands towards the briefcase, before purposely withdrawing, a theatrical finger placed over his mouth in contemplation of the proposal. There was a quiet pause of consideration before he launched into his cautious return to the assembled.
“The whole galaxy is a threat to one another at this current time. What makes Rangvald different to the Kel’thulians, or Orillians, or any other CONA state? They’ve all made threats against our very existence. Our people and our resources are already dedicated to the fight. Rangvald’s threat is seemingly existential, compared to the very real threat that we face on the galactic battleground.”
He stopped once more, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, and looking the main automaton directly in the eyes. “Let us say that the destruction of the Cartel is of mutual interest. Imaginarium puts up the capital, in this case, the manpower, resources, expertise, protection even. In return we receive what? If successful, a weakened set of allies who we would continue to have to support, even in these times of conflict.”
“And what do you receive? Your enemies in the cartel are destroyed, you can sweep in to pick up the rewards? If I were a businessman, I would see this as a very unfavourable deal.”
The metallic figure cocked its head to Mikhail’s response, the body language of the mechanical humanoid seemed to portray either disbelief or a frustrated glare to his proposal. Fermor’s robot shook its head,
“...And I thought I was meeting with an international socialist, not a profit-motivated capitalist.” He quipped, “Your depiction of the balance of gain omits one minor aspect to this situation: We aren’t at war with the cartel; you are. Your self-gain is our immediate participation. Decline and we will bide our time; we’ll allow your state to combat the full brunt of the cartel’s unimpeded economic machine without our aid. If the cartel is destroyed by the end of this conflict, we will swoop in to fill its market vaccuum. If it isn’t, it will be atrified, exhausted and with a fracturing alliance system no longer backed by a unifying incentive. We will still gain.”
“Look at it this way…” The mercenary added, stepping forward into the warehouse lights, “...Right now your people and their people have to duke’t out… Mostly on equal terms as far as I can see. Don’tcher thing havin’ our help also assisting against Rangvald just makes yer odds all the more better? Means your alliance won’t be havin’ to fight them all by yerselves. You’ll get a propaganda victory from rescuin’ ‘em Reds, you expand your territory, it’ll make the enemy alliance look bad in the news, and you’ll no longer be havin’ the biggest private conglomerate in the galaxy battin’ for the other side.”
“...But like the man said.” Mernis finished by concluding, “...We don’t have to be doin’ anything until this war is over. You do.”
"Of course, if your primary concern is the economic drag that those liberated collectivist governments will have on your peoples economy, we could ease the burden by taking them under the wing of our own conglomerate..." Fermor suggested in a tone that indicated that he was consciously implying that it would be as good as conquering them for the ASN itself.
Mikhail smiled, a smile to break the tension, and shrugged. “Sure, you could do that. Take them under your wing. Bring the glorious liberation of the corporation to these worlds. If you have the ability, the want and desire, they are yours.”
He drummed his finger against his face, before pointing at both addressed parties.
“Why not do that from the start? Why offer us this position in the first place? I do not believe you are doing so, simply out of the kindness of your heart for the Socialist Republics? No, your priority is the cartel, and with respect, and in the most direct manner that I can politely offer, I feel you are low balling us, to use another ‘capitalist’ phrase. International Solidarity is for devotees and idealists. My country has survived for 400 years amongst the sway of counterrevolutionaries by being practical.”
“You’re right. The Cartel backs CONA, and we back SAGA, and so naturally, The Socialist Republics of Imaginarium would like the Cartel gone. So would you. You could bide your time, sure. But you haven’t. You’ve come to me with this ‘opportunity’, which suggests you would like this done sooner rather than later. You know, so would I. Any enemy gone from CONA is a win for us in this war.”
“We do this, and you hold back the ‘economic might’ of the cartel.” Mikhail said, in a mocking tone of the cartel’s grandiose might. “But there’s plenty of rich parties in CONA. Not that I doubt your abilities to control the markets, but ‘the free hand’ being what it is, someone else could surely fill the gap? Support the cartel.”
He paused, looking from the automaton to the mercenary, and back.
“As you say, we are already ‘duking it out’ with the Cartel, in a manner of speaking. Plainly put, you want us to concentrate on them more, in exchange for propaganda victories, and your firewall on their economy. I on the other hand do not see this as an easy to win unless you point your economic leavers at the rest of CONA. I know, I know…you are neutral, you need not come out in support of one side or the other. I’d even prefer such measures to be clandestine. But, take your market battle beyond the Cartel, and we could negotiate something, here and now.”
At the inquiry at why Fermor’s conclave had not acted singularly, the machine representing the entrepreneur simply raised his hands and stated,
“The more the merrier. More guns might mean less of the cake, but I find that ten guns against one makes for much cheaper costs for each party… The same rationale as to why my aid would be in your own best interest too.”
As to Novikovo’s own comment on Imaginarium’s persistency through its own conservatism, the automaton let out a grated chuckle,
“A fine doctrine, and one that I am surely thankful for. A stagnated revolution is much more predictable; less… Confused, than an idealist one. Which is why I am bothering to try and deal with you today.” Shaking his head, he added, “...I see no low-ball in you receiving gains equal to your own effort. You save a socialist republic; you receive that socialist republic. You acquire a planet; you keep that planet. Contrary to that being a lowball, i’d say that is the very essence of a fair deal.”
Brewing in silence, as if he was trying to find words to express his own feelings, the robotic figure, with great animation, abruptly inquired,
“Instead. You come here, accuse me of trying to cheat you, and then demand I use my assets to wage war against a galactic alliance… In exchange for you fighting a power you’re already at war with?!” The automation adjusted its demeanour.
“With all due respect, Mr. Novikovo. I believe the words ‘Pot’, ‘Kettle’, and ‘Black’ are apt here… If you want my help, then your people need to go beyond helping yourself. If you were to actually do something exclusively for our gain then we would have a basis for a quid pro quo that could only be done exclusively for your gain.”
Mikhail felt a rise of adrenaline and excitement, one he hoped his conversational partner was also experiencing. He placed his tongue in the inside of his cheek before letting slip once more to a warm smile, the kind he could not help but share.
“Mr Fermor. For a man raised in what some would consider to be the heart of the galactic market, I thought you would be able to take a little bit of competitive negotiation.” He jibed, letting the words emerge playfully, as to give the gentle nature of the comment its true jovial nature.
“Let me speak directly. The political situation back home is finely balanced between an array of differing interests. Our Premier represents a new brand of politics; one which wishes us to focus outward. For her and her ilk, supporting revolutionaries, well that is part and parcel of our ever-increasing interest. In those people, you’d find like minded supporters of this deal.”
“However, opposite, we have the older, conservative members of the political theatre. They are frightened geriatrics who see any increase in our efforts out here in Ancerious as a disaster waiting to tear down the state. Any deal we strike must appease them, because whilst they do not control policy right now, they are large enough to cause…issues.”
“Why do I bring this up? Well, whatever we agree on, today, (and I do believe we CAN agree on something), will have to be able to stand up to the scrutiny of these naysayers. To that end, let us say I would leave here happy if I could guarantee your organisation could provide us with extra support elsewhere in the war. How would you want us to go “beyond” helping just ourselves? If I can promote the grand “deal” we reach today within the halls of power, well the costs can be negated with some positive spins. But, I cannot simply return home with just the basic package, so to speak.”
Logan immediately shook his head, raising a hand in intervention,
“Your reactionary political bloc need not be a concern because they cannot be involved. There cannot be any public announcement of this deal, not to anyone beyond those executives who can be trusted with our understanding of coordination. Make such a declaration and Rangvald will not only know of our strategy, and can prepare to countenance it accordingly, but it will also know who to place their crosshairs on for the future.”
There was a short period of quiet within the warehouse.
“At any rate, we don’t want you to go beyond helping just yourselves. We don’t want Imaginarium as a friend, or to provide us funds. All we want is for you to covertly aid those socialist minor powers currently under Rangvald’s thumb. We, and certain other foreign powers…” Fermor robotically coughed dismissively, “...Will focus on the non-left minor states. With effective collective coordination, we can slay Goliath for a cost less than a pebble… Or a direct military campaign, to be more accurate. No grand political declarations of a united front, no military offensives… Just an implicit, quiet, alliance of convenience to stab the emperor in the Senate Room, so to speak.”
Mikhail sighed.
“Ah, if only it was that simple. Obviously, we wouldn’t go around shouting from the roof tops our intent. But when Imaginese weapons are found, when Imaginese personnel are on site, when any number of ways of linking our aid back to us are discovered, then the conservatives have their information, and then questions, etcetera, etcetera. Wouldn’t be long before there are questions as to why we are prioritising strategically difficult positions in a war where the fighting is already spread across the galaxy.”
He paused again, placing his next words carefully.
“All you want is for us to support minor socialist powers? Heh, all I want is for you to recognise that there is a deal on the table, if only you reach for it. We have no interest in being friends either, but the truth of the matter is that we are already at war, you are not. Would I take means of shortening it, lessening the body count as it were? Sure, but I’m not coming here to accept the terms that you dictate outright, Mr Fermor. That is bad business, especially when everything about this meeting so far suggests far from trustworthy relations.” He looked around the darkly lit warehouse.
“There will not be enough interest in supporting these ‘minor’ powers, certainly not to enter this deal. The cons outweigh the pros. It is redirecting resources that we can vitally use elsewhere, in a fight already happening, against a coalition of enemy forces spread across the galaxy, all equally a threat to my people. But you brought me here because you want to target the Cartel, specifically. You’re not in the game, but have an interest in which side wins, in this fight at least. So hear me when I say that I need the terms to be more favourable.”
The machine looked over to Mernis, and then back to his Soviet counterpart. He seemed to be thinking; planning. He eventually returned to Mikhail’s assertions with a robotic, yet still smarmy, retort.
“It’s even worse business acumen to leave a deal with less than you could otherwise have.”
Looking around him, the businessman shook his head.
“I assure you, Mr. Novikovo. My entourage here are not for intimidation. They are here for observation and verification of proper procedure and negotiation. Each of them is a stakeholder in this plan just as much as I am. We are in a place like this because a pact of belligerency would have the ASN shut our plan down at a moment’s notice. Our venue is evidence of our seriosity, not the lack of it.”
“At any rate…” He continued, “...I am prepared to find some means of channeling resources commensurate with those expended in your aid towards the plighted minor states. Do not consider this a blank cheque, any direct or official operations by Imaginarium against Rangvald will not be bankrolled by us. But we can help to support you intelligence departments in their covert operations to help pull the rug of substates from beneath Rangvald. Furthermore we have access to any array of machines, weapons and automatons on the market which our companies will be allowed to sell to your state with the financial channels we provide you, which you in turn may shuttle on to these socialist states. We will bankroll this covert front on Rangvald and allow your state to do this without cost. Is this permissible?”
“That is music to my ears, Mr Fermor.” Mikhail finally relented, smiling broadly as an agreement could be met. They’d make for strange bedfellows, but it was a relationship that would prove fruitful, at least to Mikhail’s mind.
“We have ourselves a deal. The how’s and when’s are now the main question. We would move quickly, yes? I am sure Rangvald have strong methods of dealing with insurrection. We must get our support to the movements before they realise quite the level of opposition they are facing.”
“Of course, any intelligence you have would be appreciated the earlier the better.” He continued. “I can orchestrate the boots on the ground within the coming days, though if we are going to want any more expertise from Laptev, that will take a while longer.”
The machine nodded, “Coordination is paramount. We can have no trickle-down of supplies to their underlings, it must be a coincided and overwhelming tide.”
Fermor gestured to the dossiers that Mernis had provided, “You will find ample intelligence summarised within your package. We will have middlemen of middlemen provide what else is worth knowing. But frankly I believe the better aid in facilitating your operations will come from cooperation with your clients rather than us. Few know the unique complexities of those societal situations than those societies themselves… Imaginarium would do well to reach out to their natives… I am certain you shall find it enlightening for your strategic planning.”
With that, the automaton gave nought more than a nod after adding, “We shall be in touch.”
Twisting around, the mechanical elites of the planet each departed into the shadows of the warehouse. Their metallic footsteps echoing as one by one they disappeared until the only figure left was Mernis. The only biological person that had come to meet the Soviet, the mercenary stared silently at Mikhail until all others had left.
“...You ever think of gettin’ a change of scenery… Come to Natar… You’re the perfect kinda guy for a world like this.” With that, he took his exit and left the diplomat to prepare.
Imaginarium, a power to which Natar was known to have a certain cold-shoulder for, had been invited to discuss a potential agreement on the planet. But the offer had not come from any government, from no politician nor leader, but instead from a magnate. Logan Fermor of Fermor Enterprises had strangely requested an audience with someone with authority from the communard state, yet made it abundantly clear that everything was to be done unofficially. The only thing known about the proposal was that it ‘could determine the shape of the galaxy and the galactic war for years to come’.
The meeting spot was far from an officious, or even respectable outlet. Few would expect a negotiation or diplomatic engagement of any kind to transpire in a place like this. The place was nestled between an ill-reputed small-time casino and some sort of boarded up nightclub. Entering, one was immediately met by a smokescreen formed by the smorgasbord of narcotics in use. Scantily-clad dancers paraded themselves to onlookers upon a stage at the far end to silent, greasy onlookers. Every man here was sleazy, shady or simply trying to keep a low profile with their heads in their drinks.
Yet despite explicitly arranging for the meeting to transpire at this most insalubrious establishment of the planet’s greatest metropol, there was no sign of the wealthy industrialist anywhere, nor was there any sign of the place being staged to create a fake scandal against the invitees. Instead, a sturdy automaton of humanoid stock awaited patiently at an empty table in his stead. The only AI in the bar at the time, it waited patiently. At the very moment the diplomats hoved through the club’s door, the machine rose from its seat and approached the party.
“Greetings patrons!” The AI warbled to the representatives, “May I invite you for a drink?!” It cheerfully offered.
Admittedly, the invitation from a tycoon of business for discussions of “seismic” proportions was an unusual one, but then, these were unusual times for the Socialist Republics. The ‘colonisation’ of Ancerious territories had opened avenues a plenty, and with Premier Krupskaya’s new economic plans to break the decades of stagnation and isolation, Imaginarium was open to flirting with the world of capital, and as flirting went, an invitation to Talcit, in the heart of Natar was enough to cause a flurry of nervous heart palpitations.
The grime, lust and vice were every present. The atmosphere, approaching and within the unsavoury outlet was unsanitized, rough and ready. It offered objectification amongst a den of illicit smoke, where each of the questionable looking clientele nursed a drink so heavily laden with alcohol that Mikhail Novikovo was convinced that they should suffer with a nasty headache the day after, although he admitted, there was nothing to suggest these people did not live on the stuff.
Mikhail loved the chaos that Natar, and Talcit brought. Unrefined chaos he felt, was such madness that there was something to admire about it. A man in his mid-forties, he had been a young boy when the gates to the universe shut, and Imaginarium, the Jade Empire, and their Laptev neighbours were transported as part of the Merger. He had grown up in the culture of fear and conservativism that had dominated the Workers Party, and resented it, and now, as the youngest head of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (aka KOMITET), he embraced the new direction of the state, and the rebellion of cultural thought that now knocked on the door.
He pushed up his spectacles from the end of his nose as he caught a glance of one of the dancers, a sight he had heard of, but would never have dreamt of seeing within the Socialist Republics. He was dressed plainly, or as plainly as was believed necessary for the clandestine meeting in the heart of capitalism. A simplified black suit, tieless as standard, clung tightly to his form. No party or KOMITET badge or emblem adorned his lapel however, as would have been typical for a man of his position. Even still, Mikhail felt overdressed for the establishment. His guard, “Ivan”, was dressed similarly, however he had remained in the car outside, keeping a watch on the venue, his iron held in his lap in case ‘something’ went down. This ‘meeting’ however, was something best done alone had been Mikhail’s assumption.
Whilst Mikhail scanned the room for eyes on him, he was addressed by the AI barkeep, which gave a hearty welcome, much to Mikhail’s pleasant surprise. He spoke in his thick, accented voice.
“That would be wonderful, and a table if you have one? I am meeting someone…unless that someone is yourself?
“A table you say? Why, sir. We have just the table for you and your private reservation!” The automaton chirped cheerfully before gesturing for the bureaucrat to follow. Despite much of the attire worn by the patrons in this place not being so dissimilar to Mikhail’s own, there were few eyes that didn’t flit or glare at the man. There was almost an aura that the locals could detect that set him apart from the regulars in such a place.
As the machine guided his invitee toward a door toward the back of a club, a woman of probably about 19 years of age, a Teliran, approached him.
“Hey there, fella…” She purred, her voice being both the synthesis of seductress and doped-up drug addict. Her eyes drooped far more than they should’ve been, and her red eyes were deeper in their magma haze than what was normal for a Teliran. With little more than a corset, bra and leggings, the girl seemed to scream “red light” in more ways than one, she began to giggle, “...You’re not from round here are ya…? Exotic I reckon…”
The robot guiding Mihkail gave no mind to the interception and instead simply waved for the Imaginese representative to ignore her and continue.
Guidance through to the backrooms led to a labyrinth of dark rooms with wilting wallpaper and the smell of must and black mould. Calling the place unkempt was an understatement. But the humanoid AI did not leave Mikhail in any room, but instead, outside via a backdoor. A short half-minute walk took them to a nearby warehouse. An old storage facility with loading bays that had been left locked up and unoccupied. There were no workers in sight of the place, but despite its industrial nature and hidden-away position, it was a damn lot tidier than the venue they had just come out of. A group of automobiles indicated that Mikhail’s hosts had already arrived.
Escorted inside, Mikhail was met by the sight of rows of boxes lined in the dozens far off into the distance. Between them all stood a single man.
The figure was that of a lanky Teliran. He was dressed in a baggy, yet light duster coat which covered over much of his body but did show a little of what looked to be some kind of bulletproof vest beneath. All that he wore were dull-shades of grey and brown and made him look a lot more suited to a frontier than the urban sprawl. The revolver holstered to his side didn’t make the situation look any friendlier. Despite his well-kept stature, which betrayed his profession as a man of action- not of idleness, his face did show signs of someone no longer in their youth, but instead someone aging with time.
“You’re the guy from Imaginarium, yes…? My name is Mernis Onoro.” His voice echoed out to his counterpart as he entered the warehouse, “...I must apologize for my benefactor's lack of presence… He prefers discretion; he doesn’t like to get out much… …Doesn’t trust people.”
The robot that had guided Mikhail now strutted to the side of the Teliran. After a second of the machine seemingly going into standby and powering it down, it suddenly straightened back up. This time its tone was clearly not a programmed one. It was the vocoded voice of someone in some unseen location, likely far away.
“Mr. Novikovo, I presume…?” Inquired the robot, now with the posture of someone far more cold and rigid than the robot had been before it was under control.
‘A private reservation? Of course. The meet would have made the arrangements, and not just left the venue to chance.’ Mikhail thought. He followed swiftly behind the automaton, moving through the guests and clientele of the dive bar, his eyes meeting those who rose their heads from their drink, or shifted their view from the dancers, before the pair were stopped in their tracks by the young Teliran woman. Whilst the Automaton drove them forward, Mikhail watched her face as they moved by. ‘The poor girl. Nothing more than a child.’ He sympathised. The ‘free hand of the market’ was cruel, of this he was certain.
They weaved through the back rooms, the smell of damp invasive. The venue was doing little to improve itself upon the impressions of Mikhail, though he marvelled in the ingenuity of their meeting within such a place. It would be the last place anyone would expect such a forum to occur. Soon, the bar was behind them, and the old storage facility loomed in front. A clandestine meeting place if ever Mikhail had seen one. Vehicles parked outside told Mikhail that his contacts were already in place.
Soon, he saw the lone figure, dressed in a long coat, framed by bright light, and contrasting shadows. He certainly seemed dressed for the occasion; his weapon clung proudly to his side.
Mikhail greeted him with a nod as he spoke, confirming that indeed he was ‘the guy from Imaginarium’. Mikhail moved to speak, but the action of the automaton distracted the conversation. ‘A proxy?’ Mikhail thought ‘This was the epitome of discretion.’
“That is correct.” He confirmed. “May I assume that I am speaking to the proxy for Logan Fermor?”
The machine stayed silent, as though the man on the other end of the transmission weren’t dignifying the question with an answer. It took several moments before he broke the silence by simply asserting,
“I’m not a man for pleasantries, Mr. Novikovo. Especially when it is under such informal circumstances. I presume your first query is why I have arranged for this meeting.” He paused.
“...Put simply, I believe we have a converging interest.”
A robotic accomplice of Mernis emerged from the shadows with a briefcase in hand. Soon came another robot, then another, and another as they crawled and clambered from the nooks and crannies that they had awaited in. Suddenly there were a dozen robots facing down Novikovo; all repeating the same twitch and reanimation that Mr. Fermor’s had done as he took control. Some walks from catwalks, others mulled from a distance, but all quietly observed the meeting. The first of the automatons handed the briefcase over to the diplomat before returning to his mechanised brethren.
“I am here representing a group of likeminded business owners and magnates who have grown discontented by the current oligopoly the Rangvald clique holds over the galaxy. Their present clutch over the market has prevented our capacity to develop, invest and expand. Meanwhile, the cartel currently operates as the number one private organization within the native war effort. Both of us have a stake in seeing Rangvald collapse.”
Fermor waved his hand almost dismissively, “Now ordinarily we would simply watch and gamble on SAGA destroying the cartel and doing a job for us. But the stakes are too high; we must take a proactive stance. Tell me, Mr. Novikovo… Have you ever heard of ‘Social Terraforming’...?”
There was an appreciation from Mikhail towards the lack of curtesy. The meeting was an unknown and heading directly to the point of the matter felt more genuine than any attempts at niceties that either side could produce. The growing swarm of robots around the warehouse gave him a cause for concern, but the scenario seemed, on the face of it at least, less about the threat of violence, and more to give the impression of power. ‘If they wanted to kill me, they’d go to less elaborate plans than this’ he thought, over and over. ‘Strange to have so many here…’ he did wonder.
He listened, intently, to the words. If indeed the Socialist Republics and this corporate entity were to have any shared interests, then they would make the most unnatural of bed fellows. He admitted internally that he held doubts about the sincerity of Fermor’s offer but remained straight faced all the same.
“I am familiar with the term.” Mikhail began. “Or at least, I am familiar with a similar process which my country subscribes to…ideologically. The enforced change of society, accelerating the changes within a people. Some would call it ‘revolution’, though I’d argue, and forgive me if this is a blaring generalisation, that a businessman such as yourself is not typically looking for power to the masses.” He paused, taking stock, and measuring his words.
“But it is radical change within Rangvald that you desire?”
“My interest is purely pragmatic, Mr. Novikovo. Were this proposition not beneficial to me as it is to you, we would not be here.” Fermor retorted with the cold authority of an office boss.
“The Rangvald makes a great deal of its money through creating its own monopolised consumer bases from primitive civilisations. They, using investors and loans, fund an array of regimes, both left and right, to erase cultural entrenchments to pave the way for their complete absorption of these societies as neo-colonies.”
“My concern is not a radical change in Rangvald. I want to see its investments, promises and credit collapse from decades-worth of financing these regime-changes being dead-ended with no returns for the cartel. My goal is the complete destruction of the cartel.”
“You too have a mutual interest in this goal. Not only is Rangvald an existential threat to your government, but also because they run on the degeneration of the revolutions of your peers. I want you to dedicate your people’s resources, expertise and talent towards aiding these doomed regimes and prevent Rangvald from overturning them into the next phase of their indoctrination.”
He nodded to the case his partner had provided to Mikhail, “Inside your briefcase you will find electronic dossiers on all these leftist client-states and probable opposition groups that Rangvald may use to further integrate those civilizations into their hegemony. You do your job in protecting these statelets, and we will do our part by working to protect those non-leftist regimes involved in Rangvald’s social-engineering operations. So long as we all do our parts, we will all gain from this… Well, besides the cartel.”
Mikhail reached with his hands towards the briefcase, before purposely withdrawing, a theatrical finger placed over his mouth in contemplation of the proposal. There was a quiet pause of consideration before he launched into his cautious return to the assembled.
“The whole galaxy is a threat to one another at this current time. What makes Rangvald different to the Kel’thulians, or Orillians, or any other CONA state? They’ve all made threats against our very existence. Our people and our resources are already dedicated to the fight. Rangvald’s threat is seemingly existential, compared to the very real threat that we face on the galactic battleground.”
He stopped once more, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, and looking the main automaton directly in the eyes. “Let us say that the destruction of the Cartel is of mutual interest. Imaginarium puts up the capital, in this case, the manpower, resources, expertise, protection even. In return we receive what? If successful, a weakened set of allies who we would continue to have to support, even in these times of conflict.”
“And what do you receive? Your enemies in the cartel are destroyed, you can sweep in to pick up the rewards? If I were a businessman, I would see this as a very unfavourable deal.”
The metallic figure cocked its head to Mikhail’s response, the body language of the mechanical humanoid seemed to portray either disbelief or a frustrated glare to his proposal. Fermor’s robot shook its head,
“...And I thought I was meeting with an international socialist, not a profit-motivated capitalist.” He quipped, “Your depiction of the balance of gain omits one minor aspect to this situation: We aren’t at war with the cartel; you are. Your self-gain is our immediate participation. Decline and we will bide our time; we’ll allow your state to combat the full brunt of the cartel’s unimpeded economic machine without our aid. If the cartel is destroyed by the end of this conflict, we will swoop in to fill its market vaccuum. If it isn’t, it will be atrified, exhausted and with a fracturing alliance system no longer backed by a unifying incentive. We will still gain.”
“Look at it this way…” The mercenary added, stepping forward into the warehouse lights, “...Right now your people and their people have to duke’t out… Mostly on equal terms as far as I can see. Don’tcher thing havin’ our help also assisting against Rangvald just makes yer odds all the more better? Means your alliance won’t be havin’ to fight them all by yerselves. You’ll get a propaganda victory from rescuin’ ‘em Reds, you expand your territory, it’ll make the enemy alliance look bad in the news, and you’ll no longer be havin’ the biggest private conglomerate in the galaxy battin’ for the other side.”
“...But like the man said.” Mernis finished by concluding, “...We don’t have to be doin’ anything until this war is over. You do.”
"Of course, if your primary concern is the economic drag that those liberated collectivist governments will have on your peoples economy, we could ease the burden by taking them under the wing of our own conglomerate..." Fermor suggested in a tone that indicated that he was consciously implying that it would be as good as conquering them for the ASN itself.
Mikhail smiled, a smile to break the tension, and shrugged. “Sure, you could do that. Take them under your wing. Bring the glorious liberation of the corporation to these worlds. If you have the ability, the want and desire, they are yours.”
He drummed his finger against his face, before pointing at both addressed parties.
“Why not do that from the start? Why offer us this position in the first place? I do not believe you are doing so, simply out of the kindness of your heart for the Socialist Republics? No, your priority is the cartel, and with respect, and in the most direct manner that I can politely offer, I feel you are low balling us, to use another ‘capitalist’ phrase. International Solidarity is for devotees and idealists. My country has survived for 400 years amongst the sway of counterrevolutionaries by being practical.”
“You’re right. The Cartel backs CONA, and we back SAGA, and so naturally, The Socialist Republics of Imaginarium would like the Cartel gone. So would you. You could bide your time, sure. But you haven’t. You’ve come to me with this ‘opportunity’, which suggests you would like this done sooner rather than later. You know, so would I. Any enemy gone from CONA is a win for us in this war.”
“We do this, and you hold back the ‘economic might’ of the cartel.” Mikhail said, in a mocking tone of the cartel’s grandiose might. “But there’s plenty of rich parties in CONA. Not that I doubt your abilities to control the markets, but ‘the free hand’ being what it is, someone else could surely fill the gap? Support the cartel.”
He paused, looking from the automaton to the mercenary, and back.
“As you say, we are already ‘duking it out’ with the Cartel, in a manner of speaking. Plainly put, you want us to concentrate on them more, in exchange for propaganda victories, and your firewall on their economy. I on the other hand do not see this as an easy to win unless you point your economic leavers at the rest of CONA. I know, I know…you are neutral, you need not come out in support of one side or the other. I’d even prefer such measures to be clandestine. But, take your market battle beyond the Cartel, and we could negotiate something, here and now.”
At the inquiry at why Fermor’s conclave had not acted singularly, the machine representing the entrepreneur simply raised his hands and stated,
“The more the merrier. More guns might mean less of the cake, but I find that ten guns against one makes for much cheaper costs for each party… The same rationale as to why my aid would be in your own best interest too.”
As to Novikovo’s own comment on Imaginarium’s persistency through its own conservatism, the automaton let out a grated chuckle,
“A fine doctrine, and one that I am surely thankful for. A stagnated revolution is much more predictable; less… Confused, than an idealist one. Which is why I am bothering to try and deal with you today.” Shaking his head, he added, “...I see no low-ball in you receiving gains equal to your own effort. You save a socialist republic; you receive that socialist republic. You acquire a planet; you keep that planet. Contrary to that being a lowball, i’d say that is the very essence of a fair deal.”
Brewing in silence, as if he was trying to find words to express his own feelings, the robotic figure, with great animation, abruptly inquired,
“Instead. You come here, accuse me of trying to cheat you, and then demand I use my assets to wage war against a galactic alliance… In exchange for you fighting a power you’re already at war with?!” The automation adjusted its demeanour.
“With all due respect, Mr. Novikovo. I believe the words ‘Pot’, ‘Kettle’, and ‘Black’ are apt here… If you want my help, then your people need to go beyond helping yourself. If you were to actually do something exclusively for our gain then we would have a basis for a quid pro quo that could only be done exclusively for your gain.”
Mikhail felt a rise of adrenaline and excitement, one he hoped his conversational partner was also experiencing. He placed his tongue in the inside of his cheek before letting slip once more to a warm smile, the kind he could not help but share.
“Mr Fermor. For a man raised in what some would consider to be the heart of the galactic market, I thought you would be able to take a little bit of competitive negotiation.” He jibed, letting the words emerge playfully, as to give the gentle nature of the comment its true jovial nature.
“Let me speak directly. The political situation back home is finely balanced between an array of differing interests. Our Premier represents a new brand of politics; one which wishes us to focus outward. For her and her ilk, supporting revolutionaries, well that is part and parcel of our ever-increasing interest. In those people, you’d find like minded supporters of this deal.”
“However, opposite, we have the older, conservative members of the political theatre. They are frightened geriatrics who see any increase in our efforts out here in Ancerious as a disaster waiting to tear down the state. Any deal we strike must appease them, because whilst they do not control policy right now, they are large enough to cause…issues.”
“Why do I bring this up? Well, whatever we agree on, today, (and I do believe we CAN agree on something), will have to be able to stand up to the scrutiny of these naysayers. To that end, let us say I would leave here happy if I could guarantee your organisation could provide us with extra support elsewhere in the war. How would you want us to go “beyond” helping just ourselves? If I can promote the grand “deal” we reach today within the halls of power, well the costs can be negated with some positive spins. But, I cannot simply return home with just the basic package, so to speak.”
Logan immediately shook his head, raising a hand in intervention,
“Your reactionary political bloc need not be a concern because they cannot be involved. There cannot be any public announcement of this deal, not to anyone beyond those executives who can be trusted with our understanding of coordination. Make such a declaration and Rangvald will not only know of our strategy, and can prepare to countenance it accordingly, but it will also know who to place their crosshairs on for the future.”
There was a short period of quiet within the warehouse.
“At any rate, we don’t want you to go beyond helping just yourselves. We don’t want Imaginarium as a friend, or to provide us funds. All we want is for you to covertly aid those socialist minor powers currently under Rangvald’s thumb. We, and certain other foreign powers…” Fermor robotically coughed dismissively, “...Will focus on the non-left minor states. With effective collective coordination, we can slay Goliath for a cost less than a pebble… Or a direct military campaign, to be more accurate. No grand political declarations of a united front, no military offensives… Just an implicit, quiet, alliance of convenience to stab the emperor in the Senate Room, so to speak.”
Mikhail sighed.
“Ah, if only it was that simple. Obviously, we wouldn’t go around shouting from the roof tops our intent. But when Imaginese weapons are found, when Imaginese personnel are on site, when any number of ways of linking our aid back to us are discovered, then the conservatives have their information, and then questions, etcetera, etcetera. Wouldn’t be long before there are questions as to why we are prioritising strategically difficult positions in a war where the fighting is already spread across the galaxy.”
He paused again, placing his next words carefully.
“All you want is for us to support minor socialist powers? Heh, all I want is for you to recognise that there is a deal on the table, if only you reach for it. We have no interest in being friends either, but the truth of the matter is that we are already at war, you are not. Would I take means of shortening it, lessening the body count as it were? Sure, but I’m not coming here to accept the terms that you dictate outright, Mr Fermor. That is bad business, especially when everything about this meeting so far suggests far from trustworthy relations.” He looked around the darkly lit warehouse.
“There will not be enough interest in supporting these ‘minor’ powers, certainly not to enter this deal. The cons outweigh the pros. It is redirecting resources that we can vitally use elsewhere, in a fight already happening, against a coalition of enemy forces spread across the galaxy, all equally a threat to my people. But you brought me here because you want to target the Cartel, specifically. You’re not in the game, but have an interest in which side wins, in this fight at least. So hear me when I say that I need the terms to be more favourable.”
The machine looked over to Mernis, and then back to his Soviet counterpart. He seemed to be thinking; planning. He eventually returned to Mikhail’s assertions with a robotic, yet still smarmy, retort.
“It’s even worse business acumen to leave a deal with less than you could otherwise have.”
Looking around him, the businessman shook his head.
“I assure you, Mr. Novikovo. My entourage here are not for intimidation. They are here for observation and verification of proper procedure and negotiation. Each of them is a stakeholder in this plan just as much as I am. We are in a place like this because a pact of belligerency would have the ASN shut our plan down at a moment’s notice. Our venue is evidence of our seriosity, not the lack of it.”
“At any rate…” He continued, “...I am prepared to find some means of channeling resources commensurate with those expended in your aid towards the plighted minor states. Do not consider this a blank cheque, any direct or official operations by Imaginarium against Rangvald will not be bankrolled by us. But we can help to support you intelligence departments in their covert operations to help pull the rug of substates from beneath Rangvald. Furthermore we have access to any array of machines, weapons and automatons on the market which our companies will be allowed to sell to your state with the financial channels we provide you, which you in turn may shuttle on to these socialist states. We will bankroll this covert front on Rangvald and allow your state to do this without cost. Is this permissible?”
“That is music to my ears, Mr Fermor.” Mikhail finally relented, smiling broadly as an agreement could be met. They’d make for strange bedfellows, but it was a relationship that would prove fruitful, at least to Mikhail’s mind.
“We have ourselves a deal. The how’s and when’s are now the main question. We would move quickly, yes? I am sure Rangvald have strong methods of dealing with insurrection. We must get our support to the movements before they realise quite the level of opposition they are facing.”
“Of course, any intelligence you have would be appreciated the earlier the better.” He continued. “I can orchestrate the boots on the ground within the coming days, though if we are going to want any more expertise from Laptev, that will take a while longer.”
The machine nodded, “Coordination is paramount. We can have no trickle-down of supplies to their underlings, it must be a coincided and overwhelming tide.”
Fermor gestured to the dossiers that Mernis had provided, “You will find ample intelligence summarised within your package. We will have middlemen of middlemen provide what else is worth knowing. But frankly I believe the better aid in facilitating your operations will come from cooperation with your clients rather than us. Few know the unique complexities of those societal situations than those societies themselves… Imaginarium would do well to reach out to their natives… I am certain you shall find it enlightening for your strategic planning.”
With that, the automaton gave nought more than a nod after adding, “We shall be in touch.”
Twisting around, the mechanical elites of the planet each departed into the shadows of the warehouse. Their metallic footsteps echoing as one by one they disappeared until the only figure left was Mernis. The only biological person that had come to meet the Soviet, the mercenary stared silently at Mikhail until all others had left.
“...You ever think of gettin’ a change of scenery… Come to Natar… You’re the perfect kinda guy for a world like this.” With that, he took his exit and left the diplomat to prepare.