Chapter 3-5: A Snake in the Conference Room

Hey, all. Glad you kept reading my ramblings. As I think I have mentioned before, I am aiming for less action in this book and more politics or man vs. man conflicts, as the stakes there are different than battles with the antithesis. With the antithesis, it is obvious that Victor and Co. will not have any major losses due to story conventions, but non-combat encounters can have consequences other than loss of life/limb. I hope I can write a compelling story with such themes in mind, and if I fail or fall short, please call me out on it, as those comments have propelled me to do better.

“Lesson number one, dear. Pay more attention to what isn’t said than to what is said, and even then, you must pay attention to how things are said more so than to the words used. Corporate executive types are drilled on what they are allowed to say to nearly every question, and catching them off guard is nearly impossible unless you already know what they don’t want you to know. You will ask a direct question and get six indirect answers in return, so you must sift through those answers to find what they don’t want to say. Once you have that, then you can begin to take control of the conversation to get what you really want. Watch closely, dear, as this will be useful to you later in life.”

-Conversation between Samurai Doma and her god-child Cari Mikosano shortly before entering a board room for BeanTech, 2049

Cari

“Thank you, once more, for abiding by the contract. I do hope our future business moves even more smoothly compared to this meeting.” I said in my business tone, my words dripping with condescension and vitriol as I disconnected the call. My fangs threatened to make themselves known numerous times through this meeting, yet I clung to the lessons Auntie Doma gave me to keep calm. I still marveled at her competence, at the ease with which she manipulated every meeting she held to get her way with minimal frustrations. Had I known that this is what I would be doing when I claimed that I would take over for Victor’s public appearances, I would have paid far more attention to her lessons.

It helped that she was far more liberal with her assets than I was willing to be. I would not call myself a prude, but my tits were for the Puddle and me, not every Tom, Dick, and Larry I needed things from.

These bags of poorly polished piles of excrement were necessary to deal with, at least until the mining base was set up, yet every one of them postured about as if they had the upper hand in these negotiations. Waste collection companies were something I knew existed, as someone needed to deal with the often toxic byproducts of the various industrial factories and refineries in the city. What I did not expect was both how many of them existed and how exactly they operated. They were closer to government-sanctioned gangs than anything halfway respectable, yet they were vital to the functions of the city.

The factories would pay them a trifle for each truck load they took, and they were supposed to dispose of it through various chemical reactions and then seal the waste in concrete before burring it either outside the city or in the undercity. What they ended up doing instead was hiding the waste with next to no containment, either in the undercity dumping grounds or in the maze of corridors and utility rooms in the plates themselves.

While I was appalled by their actions, I could at least understand them. It was far cheaper than going through the actual process to make them safe and far cheaper and safer than leaving the city. The issue was that each and every representative I had spoken to over the last month treated me like a mark rather than a potential business partner. The contract was simple, where Real Dreams would pay them the exact amount they were already getting paid to take the waste product and deliver it to Tower One. We didn’t demand that they make the waste safer or even demand a to-the-minute drop-off schedule; we would have even paid them extra for the information on where they actually dropped off the waste materials for us to go and get.

Yet each person threw out numbers dozens of times higher than than they were actually getting paid by either the factories or the Mayor’s Office, while they actively avoided giving away their exact drop off spots, claiming trade secrets or some such nonsense. The original negotiations were akin to pulling off hangnails from each and every finger and toe simultaneously, causing me no end of stress and anger. It had nearly gotten to the point where I would have requested Leman and his pack to accompany me to each meeting before Victor gave me some truly life-saving advice.

If they would not cooperate willingly, threaten their bottom line by negotiating a better deal with the factories. Was it legal? No, it was not, as the Mayor’s Office had sole jurisdiction on the matters of waste disposal and a few other services, but the corporations who ran the factories would not care. If we offered them a better deal, they would work with us to hide the difference. Would the clean up companies complain? No, they would stay silent, as any official actions by the Mayor’s Office would also lead to an audit of those companies' practices, and as they flagrantly ignored their specific instructions that the Mayor’s Office required them to follow, they would lose all funding and go bankrupt.

And as much as I was tempted to let those Goddess damned baffoons drown in their own mishandled waste, doing so would destabilize the already unstable state the city was currently in. At least, that was what Bahamut and Outsider claimed, and they knew far more about the state of the city than I did.

Thankfully, the shift in tactics worked, and the dozens of companies diligently delivered their waste to Morrigan to turn into useful materials through some process akin to magic, no matter how well she tried to explain it. Manipulating atoms as precisely as she did was black magic to me. Especially since she used literal micro-black holes in her manufacturing processes.

I sighed as I leaned back in my extremely comfortable chair, rubbing my temples to relieve the anger headache my last meeting caused me before my next one began in ten or so minutes. These idiots thought they could get some more credits from us by claiming we were responsible for destroying one of their designated drop-off locations outside the city, claiming that we were strong-arming them into negating their contract with the Mayor’s Office.

While they were one of the only three companies to actually move their waste outside the city, and we did destroy that depot, the reason why was still outlined in the contract we signed. The depot was being drained by a stealth hive that took exception to our attempt at claiming those resources and made their displeasure known rather fiercely.

Had it just been that, we might have been able to deal with the hive quietly and not draw attention to the operation. Unfortunately, the waste materials were extremely toxic and acidic by nature, and the hive utilized that to a rather impressive degree. Their internal fluids melted and corroded most metals that touched them, while their ranged projectiles from the specialized Model Fives were guaranteed to be necrotize any scratch they caused on the living troops we wanted to use to deal with them. Not to mention that Vulkan was effectively banned from the encounter, as the vaporized antithesis materials actively made things worse for every troop and minion. Even Rogal and his shields had a hard time containing the toxins.

We had to mobilize the MAF Pandora and her railguns to destroy the hive safely, which was a nice training run for the new crew, but it did draw attention to the site. Baba Yaga was still cleaning the site up with Shrew, yet these sewer stains demanded compensation. I made it apparent that, while they were not in breach of our contract, they definitely were with the Mayor’s Office for letting a hive grow to that size and threat. It would be effortless to frame them as attempting to raise an antithesis hive, which held a punishment of near-immediate execution and the seizure and liquidation of all assets.

They backed down quickly after that.

I received a ping from my messenger app, thankful for the minor distraction before my next nerve-testing meeting with said Mayor’s Office representative. I smirked when I noticed that it was from Alice, who was currently grounded due to her own actions. I then blushed slightly when I opened the message and saw the accompanied photo.

Alice had always been a tease, acting far more flirty than she had any intentions or capability of following through with. She would say the most innuendo-laden sentences and use the most lewd gestures with nary a drop of shame or embarrassment, yet when Opal, Yerlette, or I ever acted on her provocations, she turned into wet clay in our hands.

As such, I should not have been surprised by how little she wore in her selfie, let alone the heat-inducing pose that she adopted to show off all of her features. I should not have been quite so tempted by her offer of stress relief, either, as it was not the first time she sexted the Puddle, and it most certainly would not be the last.

Yet the frustration those gutter feeders instilled in me had yet to subside, and I knew that Alice was a near-perfect vent for it. Yet she was grounded, and I had a meeting in three minutes that I could not afford to miss, so all the invitation did was frustrate me more. She certainly did this deliberately to relieve her own boredom, and I could only imagine the shit-eating grin that had most certainly plastered itself on her face as she sent it. I also knew the punishment the Puddle would enact on her once she was free would not be swift, yet I knew she was looking forward to it

Exhaling sharply, I adjusted myself in my seat and reoriented my thoughts to the impending meeting. I went over my notes once more, reverifying my talking points and bottom lines and goals.

At three pm on the dot, I received a call, which I answered promptly. On the other end of the video call was a twig of a man who has obviously not had a good night of sleep in years. His blond hair was tied back into an approximation of a ponytail, and his thick glasses were resting heavily on his nose.

“Good afternoon, Representative Mikosano,” he said, his voice low and devoid of energy. He was obviously reading from a script of some sort. “My name is Greg Cummings, and I will be your point of contact from the Office for the foreseeable future. I see that you are representing two entities, both the Samurai known as War Games as well as the corporation Real Dreams Limited. While not an unusual pairing, please make sure to label all future requests appropriately as either or, not both, as we will be doing the same.”

He took a moment to take a breath, his expression barely shifting to one of annoyance, one that I almost missed due to how little his face moved. “I see that your corporation is involved with numerous fields, all filed without issue, and that it is under the umbrella of The Family. Please note that even with such a connection, you are still expected to adhere to the laws of the Independent City-State of New Phoenix, the laws of the Territory of Arizona, and the North American Corporate Charter of Conduct. Any questions so far?”

I believed I understood why he became annoyed, as I was certain that there were plenty of Samurai-run corporations that believed they were exempt from such requirements. Thankfully, Roger wanted to follow the rules to the point of malicious compliance, and as such, Bahamut made certain that we filled out every form and paid every fee properly, well before we requested this meeting a month ago. He also made sure we paid every tax we should, not just the ones we had to, which was something of an oddity, I believed. I knew that, through our various shops and merchandising sales, that we made a decent amount of credits per month, yet Roger insisted on paying the corporate taxes in full. I needed to ask him about that at the family dinner tonight.

I smiled professionally, a small thing that showed some teeth, yet one that remained polite in nature. “Not at this time, Mr. Cummings, at least not about the laws we are expected to follow.”

He nodded slightly as he continued with his script. It lasted another twenty minutes with him going over what services the city could provide, which services we were not allowed to provide without direct approval; the limits of advertising we were allowed to perform; even the minimum and maximum amount and type of bribes to an official could be, while outlawing any threats or actions against said officials and their families. That last one shocked me slightly, though, after some thought, it did make sense. If there were no explicit rules for it, corporations would default to threats over payments.

“If you have no questions, we can move on to the reason you have requested this meeting.” He said, his tone shifting from disinterested prompt reading to exhausted interest.

“Thank you, Mr. Cummings, for explaining things so succinctly.” I said while minimizing my notes app, “The only question I have would be is if bribes are mandatory to get things moving, or if it is a part of the theater the corporations put on.”

Greg slightly raised his eyebrow at me in question, I thought, before slightly bouncing his head side to side. “Considering the fact that you pay more taxes in one month than what Bestlé did in one year, which is roughly what they paid in bribes anyway, no, the bribes are not mandatory for Real Dreams Limited for normal actions and the like. They would be nice, however, as it would act as an incentive for me and whoever else I need to rope into things to work overtime for more unique situations, as we are salaried, not hourly.”

Well, that was a pleasant surprise. “Then that answers my immediate questions. As for the reason for this meeting, we of Real Dreams Limited, more specifically our Monster Box PMC division, would like to officially take over the majority of the defenses of the city, as well as to work in tandem with the police force in patrolling the streets, public mega-buildings, and the off-ramps into the undercity. While we may have been doing so unofficially due to the forced merger with The Four PMCs, a more official contract, direct rates, and limits would be beneficial for the both of us in the long run.”

Greg nodded his head as he read over the proposals Bahamut sent on my behalf a month ago. “You are requesting to take over the contracts of Ephemeral Gravitas, Iron Bulls, Ground Badgers, and the Steel Panthers at a slightly lower rate than the four of them put together, while also gaining patrol access with the Office’s standing forces. The former can be approved easily, as you have made each request separately; however, the latter is not something I can approve at this time.”

If he didn’t look quite so tired, I might have grown discordant with him. However, considering how amiable he has been, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “May I ask why you are unable to approve that request, Mr. Cummings?” I asked calmly, tilting my head slightly in question.

Greg exhaled slightly, not quite a sigh, but undoubtedly one of exasperation, before using his script-reading tone. “Any requests that affect the standing police force of the Mayor’s Office must be brought forth before the Police Commissioner at one of the quarterly police "charity" galas before any considerations can be made. This includes, but is not limited to, equipment changes, personnel requests, patrol route changes, and special response codes. The next gala is on October first, and tickets for entry go for two hundred thousand credits per person, with a minimum party size of four, and VIP tickets to speak with the Commissioner are an additional three hundred thousand credits. VIP tickets are limited to fifteen per quarter, and only five are available for public bidding. Sales for the tickets begin in-” He paused as he glanced at a calendar app, I assumed. “Two days, at three am.”

Huh. Well, that should not be a problem. I am certain Synaptic would be more than capable of beating any interested party to the punch, and worst comes to worst, we have plenty of fire-

“I would check in with Black Log, Representative Mikosano, as The Family receives one of the ten reserved tickets each year for Miss Doma. And as she is not here this quarter…”

Or I ask Uncle Jason; that would be easier.