Public A Reservoir of Power Rights

[Mr Black]

Planet: Echelon
District 20: Indacrete
Subcore-Verge Zone: Negotiation Matrix Crucible
The Prize: High-capacity energy contracts and 1-year exclusive Blackline Reservoir Power-Cell fabrication rights.
The Bidders: Synthforge Spire Logistics | Overlight Energy Consortium | Apex Industrial | House Atsuko Armaments | Chiss Ascendant Technologies | Nayus Engineering | Viktor Sylvain | Judah Dashiell | All NPCS free to use

Indacrete was an industrial district the size of a small moon, a smoldering picture of furnace towers, refinery stacks, and hyperspace-grade fabrication lines. Multiple compact and off-world conglomerates competed for every square meter of this energy yield. The skies were almost perpetually dark, lit only by the low amber of turbine-banks and plasma plants.

The power radiating up from the SubCore Draw-Spires, colossal structures that siphoned energy from Echelon's subsurface energy currents, bathed the zone in a constant orange haze. If Echelon had a backbone, it ran through Indacrete. The corporations knew it. The gangs knew it. And Black knew it. Competition was brutal here, and no matter what pressure he applied, legal leverage, contractual chokeholds, or the occasional enforced negotations, getting a foothold was difficult.

Tonight was no different.
But tonight was opportunity.

The Negotiation Matrix Crucible​

The Negotiation Crucible was a half bastion, sturdy as starship's hull and built with the kind of forged practicality only Indacrete produced: ferrocrete ribs, conduit corners, and data-relays running like nerves through its walls. Indacrete's NMC, the Negotiation Matrix Crucible, wasn't as glamorous as District 1's Corporate Compact Nexus, but it was close to the product. The thrum of the giant megaplants and their underground power conduits was faintly felt but always there. Just stepping inside made you feel like part of the district.

Most megacorps had imported specialised teams from Denon, Kuat, and several other worlds, folding them into their contractual databanks, which fueled the planet. With them came fresh competition and new interests. On a world with over 800 billion residents who individually consumed more power than most, even a tiny fraction of the market was enough to provoke corporate warfare.

While a central table dominated the hall, many bidders were seated at personal holobooths, arguing among themselves and throwing encrypted offers across the room, alliances forming, then dissolving and reforming at lightspeed.

There would be three rounds of bidding tonight.


Bidding Round One

Offers started tame. Credits blinked across consoles to the bidding wall. House Atsuko submitted a minor security offer, honorable and reserved Atrisians. The Chiss, as expected, held back.

Black waited until half the room committed, then made his entrance. His walk was smooth and swaggering, suggesting he'd already bought the room, maybe the building, and was just checking on his furnishings. He sat in a seat at the central table, kicking one leg up over the other, and tapped the console with two fingers like he was ordering his lunch.

"Let's oil these repulsors," Black said, voice tempered. "I'll ...open with a long-term contract labor team. Twelve-man tech ops, cybernetics specialists, and float starter credits to keep everyone well caffeinated. Call it… my gesture of goodwill before we get serious." Aiming for a starting point with plenty of space left if he needed to raise. Across the room, the Chiss executives watched, expressionless and clinical, sending only small, cautious bid. Black sent a message across Apex's own internal comms.

"Annasun, introduce yourself to Sylvain. Feel him out, quietly and politely. See if he's interested in walking away with a golden bonus before this gets bloody." Annasun was cautious, dangerous, smartly dressed, and of few words.

"Broca," he added, tagging the burly, olive-skinned aide with the ponytail, "take a stroll to Dashiell. Smile, offer him a clean buyout and a long vacation. See if he's the kind of man who likes early retirement or the kind who likes digging trenches for the long fight" Broca was loyal and tech savy.

Both operatives moved out discreetly. Let the games begin.

 

[Judah Dashiell]

ECHELON

Auctions were typically a more social event than cut throat business dealing. More a chance to sit and talk and potentially gain new friends and social contacts. It was how he met Danger Arceneau and began to put his business empire to work, although it was always more friendship than stepping stone as others would have saw the information.

Sitting in his chair, he was kicked back, enjoying a small glass of whisky. Head was tipped down, staring at his comm screen. Check holomail. Nearby a cluster of younger men were trying to pool their resources together in order to purchase at auction. Wise idea or a terrible one, it depended on the alliance they all were making. Yet he paid them little attention. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to bid yet. Judah considered an auction a living breathing thing, one that could change on a credit.

Content to be in his own world, it was quickly interrupted by a robust, ponytailed, tanned man coming to sit next to him. Judah didn't look up, such a thing often happened. Someone with poor social skills sitting a little too close, trying to determine his strategy. Or, more likely, just annoy him due to being bored.

"Mister Dashiell." A pause as he remembered to smile. "Albel Broca. I've heard a bit about you. It is promised to be a very fruitful and cut throat auction. Three rounds I've heard. Going to be a long day."

Annoyed, Judah pulled himself away from his comm. The device was placed into his inner breast pocket and focused on Mister Broca. Horrible small talk. Another hazard of these things.

"Any CEO worth his or her weight is used to having a long day. If not then I weep for their profits and longevity of their businesses."

Broca gave a small cough, uncertain how to proceed. He had half an answer.

"I guess that explains why a CEO is here and why you didn't send a manager or liaison. Or lawyer even."

"Why would I? Such a thing is not beneath me Mister Broca. Those who are tuned into their business stand to succeed the most. I haven't lasted this long by shirking from my duties."

Viktor Sylvain | Mr Black​

 

[Mr Black]

As the final inputs of Round One came across the bidding wall, Black noticed something interesting. Everyone had shown their cards except one or two bidders, and silence in a room like this was usually strategy. He liked that. He also hated that.

With a smooth push off the central table, he rose from his theatrical perch. Sweeping his legs up. He flared his cuffs, not so much a fashion gesture but the subtle activation of the cufflink buttons. Falling into equal parts habit and showmanship, with efficiency of motion being the core.

He crossed the floor toward Judah Dashiell's booth passing the young men grouping up their bids.

"May I?" Black gestured to an empty chair. If Judah declined, he simply took the one a respectful distance away in another booth, never losing momentum. Broca followed him, setting the heavy black briefcase down with a soft metallic clunk. Then he placed a steaming cup in front of Black, offering another to Judah.

"Zetaline stimcaf," Black said with a faint grin. "Triple strength. Perfect for executives who haven't slept since the last fiscal year. Trust me, it's like drinking a corporate business brief, overconfident, a little on the bitter side, but it'll keep you moving along." Until the wakeup call of reality when the accounts came in, or you blinked your eyes open the next day.

Black leaned forward to offer a handshake, aiming to be firm, confident, and equally disarming.

"Balen Var Black," he said, in an easy, polished-like tone. "Some call me Mr Black, others call me the reason their quarterly projections look optimistic. Either way, pleasure to meet you." He settled back, taking the glasses out of his pocket and placing them deliberately on the table beside him.

"I'll be honest with you… dangerous habit..." he tapped a finger lightly on the table, "I walked over here with almost nothing in my file on you. And that's unusual. I normally swim in data on people, tax records, ship registries, what they had for breakfast on Alderaan." He paused, with a smirk. "That means your private, or the galaxy underestimates you, and I don't believe in underestimating anyone." Turning on the charm a touch.

Broca stepped in, handing over a datapad with a respectful nod.

"Salacia Consolidated, Dashiell Incorporated,, headquarters Ceto" Black continued, glancing at the display. "Salvage corporation with a reputation for pulling value out of droids and tech other companies write off as dead. Honestly, an art form, and how Apex came to be." At least in recycling, it was how his father, Talen, had started it all from the ground up and why Echelon existed at all. He gave a polite chuckle genuine and respectful. They both believed in reusing what existed already and the thought of his father often grounded or unsteadied his corporate performance into something real.

"Look Judah," he said, folding his hands down to make the pitch. "Everyone here wants something, credits, power shares, competition removed, bragging rights. But you…" Black turned his head. "You're the anomaly, and that interest me." They gave him the edge over the regulars here and changed the game.

He leaned in, lowering his voice just slightly, not conspiratorial, at least not yet, just inclusive.

"So tell me this," cutting out the pleasantries, "when all this is done, all this noise and posturing… what do you actually want out of tonight? Because if I know that?" Black drew into a knowing smile. "Then I know exactly how to make this worth your time." And more importantly exactly how to win…

Judah Dashiell