It's What's Inside That Counts (Invite Only)

[Sunset]

SDF-Aayrid, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

"Best behavior?" Agent Madison looked sideways and down at the shorter and broader woman who stood beside her. Both were in uniform for the occasion; Form-fitting gray blouses and trousers with a noted camouflage pattern except where the hexagon shapes of some high-tech fabric was more readily visible as accent or emphasis. For the taller of the two - a dark-skinned woman with a short cropped hairstyle that occasionally dropped over the green sunglasses that accompanied her everywhere - it was a regulation fit of not too tight and not too loose that left her physicality reasonably masked. The Dwarf was another matter; She had not been poured into the uniform but rather stuffed in and it looked nearly fit to burst with a heavy chest and hard muscles cleanly visible underneath. Either she didn't care or she distinctly wanted those around her to know that she was built like a brick outhouse.

"Promise," the first continued, her voice a near-whisper.

"Ah only have two behaviors," Meli replied with a grin, her eyes constantly moving over the people and the room around her. "Naughty and nice. Ah'n yain't ever seen naughty."

Thus they were not the only two in the Aayrid side of the airlock that linked the Diplomatic Cruiser to the station on the Scyllian side; There was also the ship's Executive Officer in the form of the four-hoofed Commander Uwawa Ohuiwa and two representatives from the Department of Industry in the forms of the blandly named White and Smith. While the Centaur, with her pink hair and irrepressibly cute demeanor was the clear standout, the two trade representatives were exactly what one might hope for in any kind of trade negotiation; Boring and straightforward. In addition to the three government officials there were also between four and six executives and vice presidents and other assorted industry representatives who held both a varying degree of power and the kind of good hair and good teeth that led one to immediately think of upper management, meaningless titles, and trophy partners. As such Meli hadn't introduced herself to any of them and Ivy had only briefly swept their files for any red flags.

"Even when you burned down that whore house?"

"That was funny. Ahn a right clever plan."

Meli was, according to her confidential file, an extraction specialist. She generally preferred murderer, but her duties were to get important people (executives didn't count, until they did) out of difficult or life-threatening situations. Often by blowing people up or killing things - and yes, that was deliberate. Ivy was both her handler and the regular eyes and ears for her boss in the field. Her boss was not implicitly listed but as both wore the blue identification piping of the Diplomatic Service on their uniform it could be thus assumed that they were part of the Defense Force and thus responsible first to the Commander and then ultimately to the Secretary-General. False on the first, true on the second.

Discussions of her operational methods aside, it was time to meet the locals and see just what they were made of. Lights flashed to green as atmospheric integrity was assured and the doors slide aside to reveal another, different pair of doors which then opened from the Scyllian side, "No promises..."

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

The boots fell in chaotic unison with every other step, a reflection of the men who wore them. One was dressed in a worn, but carefully fitted uniform, complimented by a sabre and leather harness. A military officer, no doubt, though his face was the most telling feature of his service. With cool green eyes and a burr with faded black wisps along his temples that melted away into the snow of his hair, his gaze and stone-like facade was only flawed by that of a large and grotesque burn across his cheek. A reminder for a man who saw it as a sense of pride that he had been wounded, not because of the injury, but as a symbol of the sacrifice he was willing to take. He stood tall, and his steps were evenly paced.

His counterpart was less than refined, with shaggy black hair that fell in any direction it pleased. Goggles rested on the top of his head, buried in the obsidian strands with a worn leather strap that stretched around his head, disappearing through the brush, and reappearing around the back. His orange and white uniform was loose, unkempt, and stained with grime and oil. His boots often clacked when he walked, loose and rugged, they were full of the stench of sweat. How these two were assigned this task was anyone's guess, but beyond the bustling urban streets of Senua, it was likely another had assigned them. Someone unseen.

They entered the hallway decorated with the extravagant nothingness that covered the walls of brushed steel. The faint glow of light filled the room with a sense of entombment, and the smell of freshly waxed floors was intoxicating. The two barely looked at each other, let alone spoke, but the soldier had piqued the other's intrigue with occasional, momentary glances over the man's reticent figure. As they stood now, before the double vaulted doors blazoned with chipped black and yellow paint, the shaggy man shifted awkwardly in his boots.

"So you're a soldier eh?" the shaggy man asked. The soldier didn't respond, instead his gaze was firmly locked on the doors ahead. The shaggy man nodded and clapped his hands.

"Yep, my cousin, Geller -- he's in the security forces. Says you guys do a lot on the frontier, seen a lot of shit too as I heard it. Betcha got a lot of stories yerself, am I right?" he followed. He bit his lip and fidgeted as the soldier continued to stare ahead. There wasn't even so much of a sway to his stance, no hint that anyone was even there. In fact, had they not walked in together, the shaggy man probably would have mistook him for a wax figure.

"Alright, alright," the man said, his gaze lingering over the soldier's sabre now. At this, the soldier finally moved and placed his hand over the decorated hilt, it was so sudden that the shaggy man recoiled from the soldier as if it would be drawn and run through him. It wasn't, and the soldier returned to his refined stance, though his palm rested easily on the hilt of the sabre.

The lights began to flash as the two men looked up at them. With that came the sound of metal-on-metal and gears moving inside of the walls. There was a blast of air as the doors disengaged with a loud bang that made the shaggy one jump. The soldier adjusted his stance only slightly, with his feet at shoulder-width apart, and his chin raised. He cradled his hat with his other hand, keeping it loosely in the space his arm made. Finally, the doors began to divide and the rush of stale, waxy air flooded the hallway. Beyond the doors stood the numerous delegates of the Republic.

"On behalf of the Senua Conglomerate, and further, the Scyllan Syndicate -- I would like to personally welcome the Republican delegation to the planet of Ress. I am Major Delgado, Vice-Commander of the Senuan Security Forces, and the security adviser to the Board of Governors that preside over the Conglomerate. I trust you found no issues with your travel here, I do apologise over our security measures, we've been on a higher alert than usual, but I can assure you that it is no matter of concern. This is Isran Halliger of our esteemed Engineering Brigade," the soldier spoke finally, his voice was sincere yet even in tone.

Isran's eyes widened at the man, mostly because the Major knew his name. "Wait, what," he was silenced immediately by a glare from the Major as he continued to speak.

"We've been asked by the Board to personally escort you to the Chambers of Commerce, and to answer any questions you may have about the Scyllan Syndicate."

[Sunset]

Port Complex, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

"Major," The Centaur clopped forward, her hand raised in the little-used salute used on occasion by the Defense Force. She chopped the knife hand sharply downward and turned this into a hand put out for the more traditional handshake. "Commander Uwawa, Republic of Sunset Defense Force. This is Under-Secretary Smith and Under-Secretary White, National and Industrial Development respectively;" The two men stepped forward and holographic credentials popped into existence above similarly offered badges that were held in neat, precise, and ultimately boring simulacrums of antique wallets. "And these are..."

One by one, she went through the gaggle of executives with each passing face being a near-mirror of the first even though there was a decidedly even split between men and women, humans and non-humans. Perhaps it was the parasitic nature of the Master's in Business Administration but somehow the Commander had lucked (if luck was the correct word) across a set of business executives who looked nearly exactly alike even though one had four breasts and another matte black skin.

"...McGrader-Dougall," she finished, the four-to-six nodding their own greeting or putting out a hand again for the requisite clasp of digits. Then she returned to her own ranks and stepped aside, her long body twisting out of the way with the clatter of hooves and a flip of her long pink-dyed tail across the unflappable face of Director Smith, "And these are my diplomatic attachés, Ms. Madison and Ms. Slaghammer..."

"Miss? What ahm I? Some fainting Southern..." An elbow to the shoulder from the taller woman brought a swift end to that whispered conversation and the two greeted the Major with a swift nod, the first smiling charmingly while the shorter continued to look around, her eyes falling on both the saber at the Major's hip and the goggles on the Engineer's head.

"...Thank you, Major. I'm sure there are plenty of questions," but before she or anyone else could ask them, Director White stepped forward and interrupted her, "Which will all wait for the meeting and for the record. Gentlebeings?"

His implication was clear and he stepped back while the Executive Officer led the business-types past both the Major and the Engineer, then the two Directors apparently riding herd, and finally - and presumably after the Scyllians - the two attachés.

"All business that one..."

"I like him," Ivy countered. "No back-room deals, no side-channels. Everything on the table and in the open."

It was an odd statement from someone who was, essentially, a spy but then again open honest transparency was certainly easier to spy on so it made some amount of sense but the Dwarf's counter was directed at a different - or perhaps not-different - part of the Director; "How do you know which one to like?.."

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

Delgado shook Uwawa's hand, as the delegations greeted each other. The two men then bowed, though Isran's face was still twisted up. Delegado fitted his cap on, and gestured to the door behind the Scyllans, it slid open as the two men stepped aside. Outside of the unspectacular room was a courtyard with a paved path that winded around a large fountain.

The path itself was flanked by lines of security personnel of all about the same height and build, no doubt personally selected by the administration. They wore loosely fitting uniforms of grey and white, since Ress was renowned for its humid heat, and kept their battle rifles slung out in front. Isran gazed at them, they weren't here when him and Delgado had arrived.

The group progressed toward the end of the path where a bald man in a black suit and slacks, sporting a pair of shades, stood in wait. "Welcome! Welcome to the Senua Conglomerate, our ride should be arriving right about -Ah! There she is!," the man said, he was especially chipper for one of his age. He looked to be about in his 40s, yet his smile spoke of someone of immense youth. He stepped back from the large open tarmac as a matte black ship swivelled into position above them. Gust swept the pavement as the ship hovered just above the large pad at the end of the path.

It extended its gear, tilted its engines, and lowered itself down gently. A door along its side slid open exposing another man in a black suit who jumped out and hastily pulled the ramp out for easier entry. Already, everyone could see the luxury through the door -- there were leather couches, and two small wine bars. The windows were all tinted dark black, and the lights complemented the room. The man who had greeted them again, offered for everyone to board.

"We mustn't wait! I'm sure there is much to discuss, please, please!" he urged. They all boarded the ship, with Isran about to lead the way when he was grabbed by the collar and pulled back by Delgado. They remained behind the Republican delegation instead, and were the last to board besides the other man in a suit. This man closed the door, waved at everyone, and then disappeared behind a curtained door in the back of the room.

"Welcome again!" the chipper man said as he clasped his hands together. "I am the Chief Liaison Officer of the Board of Governors, Mikal Reddon, at your service. As you can see, we've spared no expense in ensuring your comfort," he said.

The man who had disappeared, now reappeared and quickly laid out several glasses on the table in the centre of the room as everyone took a seat. "Help yourselves, and if you're like me who likes something a bit more... old-fashioned, there is also brandy and other liquor," Mikal said as he stepped aside to let the other gentleman prepare drinks for anyone who wanted one. He would then disappear again, and soon return with a tray of hor d'oeuvres that he sat down in the centre of the table.

Mikal took a moment to savour a taste of the Ruan Rum, something he'd have to have after this meeting, it was just so filling he thought. Isran and Delgado had sat on a couch together, and there was a moment of silence that lingered over the room as the food and drink were tended to. The ship shook for just a moment, no doubt alarming some as Mikal reassured everyone that it was common during take-off.

When all had been served, Mikal sat his glass down and clapped his hands. The windows surrounding them lost their darkened tint exposing the city they were now flying over. It stretched for miles, full of skyscrapers and traffic zipping through the air and on the ground. The large bay in the distance glistened in the bright sunlight. "Now then, we'll be arriving at the Chambers of Commerce momentarily, at this time, I'd like to answer any questions you may have," Mikal said.

He answered these questions with the expected expertise of any host, if not exceeding them, in fact, the man's knowledge about the Syndicate -- a state that few in its numerous localities had ever fully travelled -- astonished even men like Delgado. Isran was also interested in what the slim man had to say, when he wasn't stuffing his mouth, of course. The trip was indeed short, lasting no more than twenty minutes, and soon they were landing on the roof of the Chamber of Commerce, a large stone building crowned with a glass dome of ornate glass.

As the delegation and their hosts departed, they were greeted by even more officials. There was Dr. Loretta Delshara, the Chief Science Officer; Richard Thorn who was a member of the inner-cabinet for the Board; and Myara Rikos, a trade adviser. Noticeably, there was a severe lack of any other species. All personnel seen so far were human, or at least humanoid, their origins hadn't come up in conversation. By now the discussion had really picked up, especially with the MBA's, who bombarded the growing delegation for the Syndicate with questions.

They descended a flight of steps, all clean and pristine, with a red rug stretched over for added decor, then entered an elevator that looked more like a room. Least, not many elevators were fitted with chairs and yet another wine bar. As they exited, they followed the red rug that stretched through a tall corridor decorated with busts, paintings, and guilded stucco, and were soon met with two large iron doors. Mikal opened them, allowing the delegations to enter, though for engineer Isran, the room was startling.

Pillars stood imposing as ever around a large wooden table encircled by chairs. High above, three stories in fact, was the massive glass dome they had seen coming in. From this hung a large chandelier, that dwarfed the table in size, full of hundreds of lights, jewels, and dangling golden plates embossed with laurels and other fauna. The table itself was in the shape of a horseshoe, with trolleys of food and drink, and a staff of butlers all dressed in suits themselves. Mikal urged everyone to have a seat, and soon the delegations were sitting across from each other.

"You've been quiet, Isran," Delgado whispered. The engineer was yet again stuffing his face, though he at least waited to swallow before speaking -- he wasn't completely devoid of manners.

"What else is there to say? I'm not even sure why I'm here, and how the hell d'you even know my name?" Isran fired back, taking a moment to bite into a roll.

The Major sighed, "Did you not read the Dossier they gave you?"

Isran stopped chewing and the two men stared at each other. He swallowed, or more like gulped. Delgado didn't need an answer, he shook his head and sat back up, laying his hat on the table next to him as he loosened the sabre so he could sit more comfortably.

"Everything you needed to know about this meeting was in the file they gave you when you were requested, including who all was attending," the Major said, annoyed.

Isran downed his glass of wine, wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve and tapped his fingers on the empty glass. "Why me?" he asked, "I mean, what on Ress could Engineering be needed for here? Hell, I'm not even in charge of the Brigade," he said. Delgado thought for a moment, he wasn't too sure either.

"This was dumped on me last minute," Delgado said, taking a moment to sip his drink, "Usually, when we have meetings like this, the Board discusses it, yet there was nothing. For whatever reason, the Chancellery decided Senua was the best place for this, and not only that, but it comes after a terror attack in Ursa City. I wouldn't want a meeting like this anywhere near that."

Isran remembered the news about the bombing. Ursa was only an hour from here. He scooted his plate away, and relaxed in his chair. He gazed at the Republicans, it wasn't often that other species were seen in Senua. Let alone organics. He pulled his sleeve back to look at a wound on his arm, it was a tear that exposed the inner wiring and circuitry just beneath his wrist. It had also caught Delgado's attention.

"Need to make sure you get that fixed, don't want any dirt to get in there. It'll short out your arm," Delgado said.

Isran nodded, "Problem is finding the time, they've had me working on ships for the past month. They even revoked our weekends, so its everyday." In fact, they'd never made the brigade work this hard before. It had taken everyone by surprise. Mostly Isran was working on shields, and occasionally, helping to re-calibrate the armament on the security vessels. Mikal finally stood to welcome more members of the Board as they entered.

"Hmm," Delgado looked at everyone entering. This drew Isran's attention as he too looked at them.

"What is it?"

"This isn't even half of the Board, usually the entire administration is at these meetings. And many of these are lower bureaucrats," Delgado whispered.

"And?"

"Just odd," is all Delgado responded with before Mikal announced the commencement of the meeting.

"I'd like to thank everyone for attending this meeting, as you all may know by now, we've come here to discuss terms over potential trade and to further relations between the Scyllan Syndicate, and the Republic of Sunset. As is customary for the Syndicate, we'd like to request the Republican delegation to present their interests, and their terms first," Mikal said, sitting down in his chair that divided the two delegations.

[Sunset]

Chambers of Commerce, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

For those with an education - or amateur interest - in economics, politics, or any number of other ic'y fields the whitepaper presentation alternately laid out by Director Smith and Director White might have been of considerable interest. In the minutia it was a proposal to allow the inter-operation of two systems of commerce that were somewhat the same when one discarded the trappings; A State-guided economy with a thin veneer of laissez-faire capitalism to keep one particular power bloc or the other from upending the whole boat. While the exact methods of guidance might have differed - and of course the Directors were suitably evasive about just exactly who or what that guiding hand was - their summation all boiled down to the simple...

This is our side of the line, this is your side of the line. As long as you're not messing with things on our side, we won't mess with your side. If trade originates inside of our side and ends in your side - and vis versa - we won't interrupt it if you don't and what happens to that trade once Point A reaches Point B... Well, that's Point C's problem. For the Republic it was a standard free trade agreement as practiced the galaxy over; Once goods and services reached a particular market it was the responsibility of the individual merchant to make sure they sold, could be sold, or were of any interest at all.

"...and piracy has been essentially eliminated inside the Republic's nearby sphere of interest."

Well, maybe with a subtle threat or two.

With the proposal from the Department of Industry laid out, the floor was given over to the assembled executives and the dog-and-pony show began. Conjured holograms that depicted everything from oddly-antique households gathered around a dining room table to dance routines and holo-celebrities shilling one particular product or another cluttered the local airspace until one might have imagined a particularly distraught traffic controller adding the comment that it 'had been a bad day to stop sniffing glue'. Brilliant smiles were flashed, thousand-dicoin haircuts were displayed, and on occasion the effects of alcohol or those with the foresight to abstain or bypass through technological means was on display. Through it all the three officers - the two diplomatic attachés particularly - seemed spectacularly un-involved.

There was no mention of Jabberwocky.

"...and that," Director White finished, taking back the podium from the last presenter, "Are both our terms, interests, and what we have to offer. Any questions?"

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

Presentations were always the same. It carried on without a beat, often in the most boring way imaginable for some. Delgado would periodically pass his gaze across the rest of the delegates. He also looked at Mikal, who was constantly checking the time. There was a grimace etched into the man's face that no amount of whisky could wash away, however hard he tried, in fact, even Isran had taken note of the man's sudden urge to drink. What was it? Three glasses now? Isran had slumped over onto the table, with his arms folded to better rest his chin. His eyes were wary as the conversation went on.

The holograms were a nice touch, Delgado didn't seem enthused, but Isran had a keen curiosity with them. He'd seen holograms, of course, but the depictions within them were what truly drew his interests. Life, but a happy one, it was like gazing at a fairy tale. People were smiling, things were clean and pristine, and overall, everyone seemed comfortably happy. For as wide of a grin as the man had on his face, Delgado, who had well noticed by now, could see the sadness as well.

There was a shift in the atmosphere among some at the ending comment. It was a simple fact of reality, really, that the Syndicate was seen as a rag-tag, sort of ruffian rump on the edge of impending extinction -- should anyone feel the need to use their resources to upend the rabble. For the most part, the Syndicate lacked any measurable depth among its more sovereign neighbours. It was a nuisance, like a mosquito, one could spray the whole field and be done with it, but it was much easier just to swat those that buzzed about one's head. This, however, often played into the Scyllans' hands. It made their business less likely to be disturbed, and though it always struck a chord with them, they weren't eager to correct them, either.

And that's all this was, a simple business arrangement, a new dawn for relations between the two. Although the handshakes would no doubt still be just as cold and distant as they were before the meeting. In fact, the mutual apathy between the Republic and the Syndicate worked in everyone's favour, feelings got in the way of good business, and at the end of the day, the rich would get richer, and the rest would remain on their intended paths.

Finally, it was the Syndicate's turn.

Mikal stood, and thanked the Republican delegation, as everyone else clapped. Then came a moment of silence, a stillness that had paralysed the room. Isran shifted in his seat uncomfortably as it lingered, and the delegates started passing concerned gazes. There soon came whispers, frantic among some in hushed tones, though Isran's ears perked up at the mention of the bombing. The silence was broken with Delgado standing up. The Scyllans' eyes were suddenly fixated on the man who had now drawn a gun, and pointed it straight at Mikal.

"Death to the Oligarchs!" Delgado yelled as his finger tightened on the trigger.

It was quick, and for a moment, much of the Scyllan delegation, let alone Mikal, who was half expecting this to be it, were all just as surprised. The gun fired with a flash, but the bullet didn't strike Mikal, instead, it struck Isran who had stood. Then came the struggle. The round had buried itself into the Engineer's shoulder, but instead of stopping him, there was a swift kick to Delgado's stomach.

Isran grabbed Delgado's arm, and started to break it as he pried the gun from his hand. Just as Delgado swung with his free arm, several shots were fired into the man's abdomen. The Vice Commander, and security adviser to the Board of Governors slumped onto Isran, before finally collapsing to the floor. To the Scyllans' horror, the Engineer stood there with the barrel still smoking, and calmly laid the firearm down on the table. Blood seeped into the uniform of his shoulder as his gaze peered at them.

"I-Isran?" Mikal stuttered.

Isran shook his head. "I'd like to apologise to the Republican delegation, we had intel that the bombing in Ursa City had been carried out by the Satarian Separatists, a terrorist group whose been fighting against the Senua Conglomerate, and the Syndicate for the past few years since their world had been acquired. Rumour was that the Satarians had found an inside man that was apart of the lower bureaucracy, likely a military official, but there wasn't any way to be certain of who that was. Since our intel indicated that the Satarians were most likely after the Board, the best way to lure them out was this meeting," Isran spoke.

The doors to the room had opened now as security personnel began to file in. Some hurried to collect Delgado's body as Isran stepped aside. Mikal fell back into his chair as he downed what remained of his drink. "I hope, despite what transpired just now, that the Republican delegation's offer still stands, if so, we accept your terms," the Engineer followed. This took much of the Syndicate delegation by surprise.

"Now wait a second, who d'you think you are?"

"I'm the Chancellor," Isran said, before the man lost his balance, and steadied himself on the table. Another door opened near the back of the room, and emerged a green haired woman. She was average in height, and wore a well-fitted but bland, grey uniform. It was reminiscent of the old Scyllan attire during the last war. In fact, few would recognise the Scyllan military uniform today. They mostly stuck to the Kyrie Locality, and that zone was heavily protected, and extremely strict on who could enter.

Mikal paled, and the man was instantly apologetic to the woman. Several security personnel had stopped just feet from Isran as the woman gave them a nod, they would escort him out, and tend to his wound. "He'll be fine," the Chancellor spoke. She approached the table, stepping just shy of the puddle of blood.

Her gaze was sharp, with an amber radiance that burned hotly in her eyes like molten metal. "Now then, back to business, the Syndicate won't have any problems maintaining trade with the Republic, on the addition that the Republic allow Scyllan enterprises to establish themselves within the Republic. In return, we'll do the same. We have a series of economic zones across some of our localities that could use the economic boom, and would further strengthen the cash flow of some of our, and your trade-routes. So, what does the delegation think?"

[Sunset]

Chambers of Commerce, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

Blonde heads sprouted like mushrooms on a moist spring morning as the cowering heads of executives poked themselves above the edge of the table. One to one they all wore the nervous expressions of the hunted, as if the dead man might suddenly spring to life and grow teeth and fangs to terrorize them. Every eye was on Delgado's body until the moment it left the room - except for those of the more official delegation. In particular the Dwarf, Meli, hadn't moved from her seat and had in fact leaned back to put her boots up on the edge of the table to cap them with a grin as she watched. Even as events settled themselves and some edge of normalcy returned she seemed very relaxed and altogether unfazed.

"Ah would have put mah finger on the short one, if ah'd have been the one to make the call," she whispered, turning half-aside to talk through the space occupied by the Commander and the two Directors - both of whom had taken the more aggressive option to sprawl face-down on the floor - to the black woman who sat at the other end. She had retained her place as well, though she was now sitting on the edge of her seat with a tension in her body as if she was about to spring. "But ah suppose it makes sense. Military feller is one of the few who could walk a gun through security though what's that say 'bout their military, raht?"

But Director White rose gamely to the challenge, "Peaceful trade will help bring stability, Chancellor..."

"Ahn these fellows nahd it." The look he shot her could have melted fire but she seemed to be immune to that particular angle of attack as well and she answered with a shrug and a bit of a smile; "Ahnd?"

"...I think you'll find that Republic companies are up to the challenge." It was, perhaps, more reassuring that most of the actual trade would be accomplished through automated freighters while the local staff would be just that - local. That was another worry that the incident had brought to light and one worth addressing immediately; "And I see no particular problem with your addendum providing that Syndicate entities leave their particular quarrels at home," and this brought a chorus of nods from the field.

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

The Chancellor's eyes moved slowly across the opposing delegation's faces. A sly grin slowly crept across her face, no doubt odd given what had just happened, but this was the Syndicate -- their reputation wasn't known for being orderly, and their bloodlust seemed to hold strong. She remained where she stood, her hands resting on the table as she eyed them all, a slight curiosity glimmering in her amber eyes. Her head turned, her hawk-eyed gaze fixating on the woman with the accent, her grin only grew as she stood away from the table.
"I see it does little good to offer any information about our expanse," she commented, "You may consider the Syndicate a sort of... Confederation, but not in the typical sense of the term. Each locality is responsible for themselves -- flaws in one locality's security doesn't, and shouldn't reflect on the entire Syndicate, especially considering that what can be defined as the actual Scyllan military doesn't deploy for petty squabbles such as this." Her eyes flickered over the pool of blood she had gingerly stepped around as she said this, her tone carrying a much more chilled tinge to her voice than before.
"However, despite the localities and their seeming autonomy, you may be surprised to learn that it is allowed rather than an unfortunate side-effect of our cohesion," her eyes now rested on the Republican delegation, "Sometimes, disorder can be quite beneficial -- or the illusion of it," she let the end of her statement linger as her gaze became more piercing, and her smile faded from her face as if being wiped away with an eraser.
When Director White spoke, however, another smile soon returned to the woman's face just as easily as it had left. She levelled her eyes towards him, taking a moment to step away from the table as the security gave the all clear for the rest of the room. They'd been sweeping it while the conversation had continued. The Chancellor listened to the Dwarf again, who seemed like she was perfectly at home.
"I'm glad you feel that way," she said towards Director White, "To be honest, I'm quite relieved, really, Scyllans aren't very trusting of outsiders as you may imagine. As far as quarrels, you needn't worry, Director, I've my house well in order," she grinned then turned to give a nod to her delegation, notably Mikal who had gone from the room and returned with a brief-case. He laid the black container on the table, his hands still shaking nervously. He seemed to avoid the Chancellor and her gaze like the plague, and the once cheerful professionalism the man had exhibited had bled from him like the colour in his face. He opened the brief-case and pulled out a stack of papers and a few data pads -- soon passing them around the table.
"Here's all the necessary paperwork for finalising our arrangement," the Chancellor said, taking a last, momentary glance at the pool of blood, "If there's nothing else, it looks like I've some business to attend to," she smiled and gave a mild bow towards the Republican delegation -- with that, she turned and headed out the room, the security that had come in following behind her.
Mikal waited til she was out of ear shot, he hoped, and adjusted his collar, taking a moment to clear his throat. "Well then, if you've any further questions, you may speak up now -- my aides here will assist with any questions over the paperwork," he said, trying to put on a cheery tone once more, but his quivering voice butchered any attempt of that.

[Sunset]

Chambers of Commerce, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

"Thank you but," Director White scooped up the data pad, looked it over for a second, and then handed it to his fellow, "This isn't something to rush into. As you say, your aides will be available to answer any questions as to the paperwork but both a few hours and a clear head would help more. Given the ruthless efficiency of your security apparatus, I think it would be appropriate to ask some of this delegation to put themselves in your hands as to their temporary accommodation..."

It was both an offer and a test, though a similarly ruthless one. To offer up his own as hostages to the absolute security that the Syndicate was capable of providing.

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

Mikal shuffled some papers. He was listening, of course, but he was still working on his lost composure. He swallowed, and looked over both delegations. He smiled warmly, and peered at Director White.

"We'll be happy to provide, we've some rooms in the West Wing. Clara," he said, looking towards a blonde woman in a grey suit, "Would you be so kind as to show our guests to their rooms?" She nodded, and motioned for a door off to the side. The Scyllan delegation started to stand, collecting their things, as Mikal looked back to the Republicans. "We'll go into a recess for the time being, give everyone some time to read over the agreement, and also clear their heads."

The meeting seemed to be winding down then. Mikal closed the briefcase, where he had stashed a few papers of his own, and waited for everyone to begin clearing the room. He thanked the Republican delegation generously, if not a bit too generously, almost nervously so. Even still, the fact that they wished to stay, and at least give the agreement a bit more thought was far better than an absolute walk-out from the arrangement. That'd be hard to explain to the Chancellery. He was, as he was told, personally selected to spearhead these negotiations -- what would happen to him should he fail? He gulped at the thought.

[Sunset]

The West Wing, Chambers of Commerce, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

"No, I don't like it."

Under-Secretary White was positively frothing, pacing back and forth down the angle of the well-appointed room. A large window dominated one side but it was not the view beyond that turned his head but rather each and every corner, the paintings that hung on the walls, the tiny lights that outlined each in a perfect circle of brilliant white to give the whole room a modern and stylish sensibility...

"Not one bit," and he turned to Under-Secretary Smith, jabbing a finger towards the other man, "And I doubt you do either. This whole thing smacks of funny business. And I don't care if they are listening in, but an assassination attempt in the middle of a high-level meeting and then to sweep it off the floor without so much as a bother? What are the Scyllians playing at? Or is their own security truly that simple to walk through?"

"Perhaps they just do things differently here, Jack," Smith soothed, sitting down in one of the squared-off armchairs with a napkin over his knee and a drink of something that looked toxic in the short term and smelled of cacao and peppers. "But here is here and there is there. We sign, trade increases, we let them take care of their own problems. If they want to posture let them... If it was posturing."

Bill wasn't quite sure himself. It was an odd set of circumstances but this wasn't home and the Scyllians weren't Nematojin. The briefing hadn't been as effective as it might have been - relations with the Syndicate were as new as the sunrise - but they seemed sincere enough and the documents provided...

'Well,' he thought, another sip of the bitter quaff lubricating his thoughts, 'Automated freighters go here and there. And here our corporations will be hiring their people and back home the vis versa. So who cares here,' "Right? Look at it this way - right now they're a risk. They've flat-out told us that they don't have the security to assure the safety of our ships inside their borders."

Jack's response was accusatory, "Whether they want to or not. And I suspect they don't. If they tell us - claim - that they can't provide that kind of security they win. Any incidents... 'We told you so.' If we sign off on the agreement we're doubling-down on that and what if these so-called safe trade lanes shift tomorrow? You heard the women - she's in charge. Firmly. That's not the way to govern an interstellar civilization. Laws, rules, regulations. One person above all that... I'd already say she's fickle. Fickle enough to allow a potential assassin into a high level meeting."

"Are you saying she just let the man walk right on in?"

"Or arranged it herself. 'Not all of our space is safe.' What's a better way to illustrate the point than to arrange a bloody demonstration right before our eyes? If our businesses restrict themselves to automated freighters and local employees, they could be up to who-knows-what shenanigans and we couldn't keep an eye on it. Wouldn't want to either - else our people might end up dead in a 'terrorist attack'."

"So you're saying we don't sign."

"No," he swiped the bottle off the bar and took a chug straight from the neck, "I'm saying we need something better. Some kind of assurance..."

"...without looking like we're accusing them of being shifty? Have any ideas there, Jack?"

Under-Secretary White took another long swallow, the harsh alcohol burning his throat, "Not a one. Not yet at least." He walked to the window and looked out over the busy metropolis, "Not yet."

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

The view overlooking the surrounding city was breath-taking, but also ominous. This was one of the major hubs for Scyllan cyndustry. This locality provided much of the Syndicate's cybernetic technology: prosthetics, brain-computer interfaces, neural communication devices, optical enhancements, and so much more. Of course, akin to some sort of villain admiring their work -- there was the steel black desk, a large chair turned towards the window, and the Chancellor reclining back, watching the city bustle. In her hand was a well crafted glass filled with some sort of tonic that she'd gingerly sip from on occasion.

"Madame Chancellor," Mikal said, emerging from the door along the dimly lit wall behind her. She didn't move, instead, she sipped from her glass and crossed her legs. She did, however, acknowledge him with a flick of her other hand, prompting him to approach the desk.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, still not moving from her extravagant perch.

Mikal looked out the window. He didn't care for it. For one, he wasn't an immense fan of heights, and this, being one of the suites, unsettled him. Secondly, given his age, he remembered the distant hillsides covered with colourful flora, something that had been overrun by industry. He recalled the days he used to spend walking among the hills, they had carefully lain paths, and the scenery was tranquil. Those very same paths had become dirty, rat-infested streets, with the noise of the slums that engulfed them.

"I suppose," he remarked. She swivelled the chair around nice and slow, and looked at the nervous man as she sipped the glass. Her gaze could've made a bull run had it had the chance, but he knew he didn't have such a luxury.

"Do you know what I like, Mikal?" she asked, resting the glass on the arm of her chair as she leaned back. For moment, there was a silence that had fallen on the room, and he wasn't too sure if she expected an answer. Apparently, it was rhetorical.

"I like, and I value honesty," she said, setting the glass on the table before standing. She turned and looked out the window once more. She gazed at the streets below, which were full of people. She continued, "Do you know why that is?" Mikal didn't have a clue, he was more focused on whether this was going to lead to his throat being slit.

"It's because it is rare," she finally said, "People lie to you everyday, they want to appease, or fulfil their own gains. But, a person that is honest, isn't afraid, they're quite bold, actually." She left the window and walked towards Mikal, causing him to go visibly tense. When she leaned back on the edge of the desk, he was relieved and the two stared at each other.

"So, tell me, d'you like it here, Mikal?"

He was surprised at the question. It was like being shot in the dark. At first, he didn't know what to say, but given how the conversation had gone, he figured lying would have been the worst decision, as if she could tell if he was. He swallowed, but that knot in his throat refused to budge.

"Not exactly. I grew up here you see, and, I don't know, everything's so different now. It's hard to explain," he said. That was honest, and it appeared to had made an impression on the woman as the corners of her mouth twitched. It was very subtle, but he had noticed.

"Well, if you accept, I've made arrangements to take you with me to Kyrie. Your expertise on the state of this locality is a necessity, and I'd prefer to have you on my council," she said, and gestured with her hand to stop him before he said anything. She didn't want him to, which was fine, since he didn't know what to say anyway.

"I'll give you a few days to think on it. Besides, our primary concern is securing this deal. Do note, I won't think anything less of you if you decide that you'd rather stay here," she said.

"Thank you, Madame Chancellor," he sighed. He was now much more relaxed than he had been when he had arrived, and this made her grin slightly as she stood from the desk.

"Now then," she said, moving to sit in the chair again, "The Sunseti weren't too enthused with our little display."

Mikal nodded and grabbed himself a chair, this didn't seem to bother her.

"No, I don't think they were," he followed.

"That's good for us, actually," Mikal didn't see how. "We've put them off balance. On the one hand, as you saw yourself, they were aghast at how such an incident had happened with our apparent security," she said, taking a moment to glance at Mikal who was thinking.

"Well, they've seen the Syndicate, or what we've told them. You said the localities shouldn't reflect on the Syndicate because of their security, so I imagine they see us as pretty lawless," he seemed to be almost there, she thought. Mikal was an intelligent man, she had to give him credit.

"Indeed. So, why should they risk their shipping in our space? If we could have a terrorist show up in the middle of a diplomatic exchange, can you imagine their shipping?" she was testing Mikal, he knew this now. He thought for a moment about what she had been saying.

"Well, they're not going to sign a deal if their shipping and personnel aren't safe," he said. This pleased her, noticeably so.

"Exactly, they're going to want something. We have the benefit of handing them something that will alleviate their concern."

"But what?" Mikal asked, he folded his hands into each other and reclined in the chair.

"If we open a trade corridor for them to use, one with security from out ships, then their shipping will be perfectly fine. It will travel from point A to point B easy," she said, her lips curling into a devious smile.

"Our raiders won't be pleased about that, however," Mikal stated.

"No, they won't. You see, we'll set up the corridor so it's a longer trip, after-all, it'll have to wind around areas where there's danger, such as raiders. Our people in their system will be able to notify us of shipping leaving Sunset, its cargo, and other information. We then have our agents slip information to their Captains on occasion about taking detours. If the Captain sees the opportunity as being quicker, and thus, more profitable, they'll diverge from the safety of our trade corridor and get attacked by raiders. It can't happen often, or the Sunseti will expect we're behind the attacks, but an occasional freighter going off course every once in awhile will be blamed on a Captain trying to make a quick buck. I've informed raiders not to kill the entire crew if at all possible, and we'll simply return those we've 'recaptured' to Sunset."

Mikal's eyes had widened significantly. The plan seemed sound, giving the Sunseti a heavily protected corridor would probably make them less anxious about signing a trade deal. There was one issue, however.

"What if their freighters are computerised?"

"They have to be programmed for the new destination. With our agents there, we can find someone who'll probably budge with a little 'incentive' to program a flaw every once in awhile in the ship's computer. The bright side of such an issue is that there's no lives at stake, assuming their freighters don't have people aboard."

[Sunset]

Chambers of Commerce, Ress System, Senua Locality, Scyllian Syndicate...

...after all, what were a few automated freighters? Tens or hundreds of millions in trade profits, that's what. Since most consumer-level manufactured goods could be produced locally without the associated costs of shipping those goods halfway across the quadrant the majority of the new trade that would be destined for the Syndicate would be of the storied type. Craft goods, artistic productions, and other items that carried with them a story that increased their perceived value beyond the simple costs of a few tubes of acrylic paint and a large canvas that just happened to come together into a painting of a brand-name soup can. A set of stone dinnerware hand-made by a Bjur in a village on the very fringes of known space, a pet stomaci raised from a spore by the floating people of Cesti Elsei - these were the sort of goods the buyers in the Syndicate could expect to arrive. Certainly there would be local products as well but unless they had just reached the markets of the Republic they would likely be accompanied by the technical details required to make more with the goal of opening local subsidiaries and bypassing the expense of interstellar shipping altogether.

"We've read over your expanded proposal and while it is not the perfect agreement we might hope for, it is acceptable," Under-Secretary White announced, standing as straight as he was able at the table. It had been a late evening and the snippy remark regarding the re-written trade agreement was understandable, if not entirely justified. This would be, as his counterpart was about to explain, just the first phase.

"For now." Robert Smith, who looked as boringly plain but somehow in better condition than Mr. White, traded places with the other taking his seat. "Presuming trade and government relations with the Syndicate continue on their present upward course, we would like to supplement this trade agreement with a hosting agreement for one of our Aurora Transit Gates in the future. A year, assuming everything goes smoothly."

A pen was produced and it hovered over the electronic document to scribe a fanciful if insignificant signature. Ultimately it would require the agreement of the Secretary himself as well as a security review by the Secretary-General's office but with the two signatures - quickly completed by the fatigued Under-Secretary White - final approval would be days away.

"You see, the Syndicate is in a unique position. Trade through this sector is lacking and establishing a transit gate here would speed and encourage that trade with the obvious benefit to both sides," he went on. There was a bit of the stick as well; If the Syndicate proved an unreliable partner then the gate could be erected elsewhere and the Scyllan's would sidelined. Cooperate and they would gain unrestricted access to the markets - legal and otherwise - of the greater Sol area.

[Lady Scylla]

The Scyllan Syndicate
United in Defiance, Divided in Solidarity

Mikal had taken his usual place at the middle of the table. The floors had been cleaned, and the room was redecorated following earlier's incident, and while there was still an aura of tension upon everyone's shoulders, it appeared to be business per usual. This also put Mikal at ease, who was far less stressed than before. He was also contemplating the Chancellor's proposal. He looked around the room, and observed every tiny detail -- could he really leave all this behind?

He smiled at the Sunseti, although faintly. The deal was, exceptional, but neither he nor the Chancellor had accounted for gates. They knew what they were, of course, but to the Scyllans, they were merely science fiction. It was an unexpected variable. Mikal rested his hands on the table, this posed a problem for the Syndicate, gates would bypass their trade routes, leaving their raiders with nothing to raid. He looked at the Sunseti -- it was doubtful they'd be able to salvage the deal without the gates. He straightened himself up.

"The Syndicate is full of collectors, all of whom will pay liberally for such artefacts. We were also hoping for something a bit more substantial, however. You see, the Chancellery has taken a keen interest in some of our more underwhelming localities -- areas with poverty, and the unemployed, or the sick and old. Not everyone can afford cybernetics, you see, and so we can't forget about those unable to cyberise," he paused to take a drink of water.

"We need raw materials, mostly metals to help start our projects of cyberising these regions of our expanse. Finally, on the suggestion of the gates, we'd like to offer no earlier than 5 years, just so we have more time to consider how beneficial this deal will be between our two star-states. Assuming things go well, you'll be able to construct a gate but outside of our borders. As you can imagine, having such a machine within our territory would be a major concern for security, but also make people tense. We can, of course, offer to defend such a gate, and build an outpost alongside it."

[Sunset]

"Five years?" Under-Secretary White's smile was similarly faint, "Not to put too blunt of a point on it, but in five years the galactic economy will have passed you by. Right now there is talk of the construction of what they are calling the Trans-Beta Expressway, which will use gates - ours and others - to connect dozens of major trading partners all across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. In five months construction will be well underway, and in a year they'll start looking at branches. Quadrillions in trade will pass through this network on a weekly basis - now multiply that by five years."

Brown nodded his agreement, "And your security concerns? Gates like this are already scattered across the cosmos and back. Nearly ninety-six percent of the trade in the Republic passes through them and that is its own security. Attacking or abusing the gates is tantamount to economic suicide; Only the foolish or foolhardy would attempt such a thing. The galaxy is getting safer and the more we tie it together with trade the safer it will become!"

"Agreed, but," the first held up his hands, "If you are intent on this particular clause, might I recommend that the provision for automatic negotiation of gate placement be set for five years with an interim six month periodic review with renegotiation as to the construction of said gate - or gates. I think that once you see the economic benefits, even from the edge position of trade with the Republic, that you will reconsider. Five years, with a six-month periodic review..."