Private Tetron Centrex

[Prex Oda Duun]

TETRON CENTREX HQ BUILDING, MAXIMUM SECURITY EXEC BOARDROOM, BONADAN
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The hum of the sealed boardroom was broken only by the soft whir of the holographic projector as it flickered to life. The blue light washed over the circular table, filling the center with a dynamic rendering of resource maps, profit margins, and projected expansion zones. Oda Duun sat rigidly at his place, his yellow cybernetic eyes unblinking as they caught the light in a faint, metallic gleam. The gray texture of his synthetic skin seemed all the more austere under the glow, the face of a man who had shed flesh for permanence. His hands rested flat against the polished table, posture precise — the kind of stillness that unsettled those unused to his presence. Around the room, the display panels cycled through Tetron's past projects: terraformed planetoids, strip-mined asteroids, colonies wrapped in sprawling industrial complexes. All of it was Tetron's pitch, compressed into data and spectacle.

Across from him, Hadin Ralg leaned back into the high-backed chair, one hand rubbing thoughtfully at his chin as he watched the display. He had been in countless meetings like this before — supplicants parading figures, overpromising, underestimating the cost of influence within the Corporate Sector Authority. Yet Tetron was different. The numbers were hard to ignore. Profitability was undeniable. But the Authority's standards weren't merely numbers; they were structure, hierarchy, and tribute. And Tetron, for all its ruthlessness, lacked the scaffolding that reassured long-term stability. "Your figures are… impressive, Prex Duun," Ralg finally said, voice clipped but not dismissive. "But numbers do not build trust. You seek recognition as a micro-sector custodian — and yet, you present yourself alone. No viceprex. No layers of command to weather transition. Why should the Authority grant a development zone to a company run at the whim of a single mind?"

Oda's yellow eyes fixed on him with mechanical calm, their glow reflecting faintly on the polished surface of the table. When he spoke, his voice carried the faint rasp of synthetic modulation, steady but edged with something that felt more like calculation than emotion. "Because no one understands Tetron better than I do," he said. "And because the Corporate Sector was built on profit. I have delivered profit where your peers hesitated. While others chase markets bloated with competition, I have carved industry from dead rock and waste. You see the dividends now. With CSA backing, I will multiply them." He gestured toward the holographic map, where shaded red outlines marked proposed borders of the Corporate Development Zone. "These are not dreams. They are inevitabilities — if you permit it."

Ralg's eyes narrowed slightly, betraying the faintest flicker of interest. He tapped at the table, pulling a slice of data into his private terminal, scanning the resource projections. "You make it sound inevitable," he said slowly, almost musing. "But inevitability in this sector often has a price. The Authority does not give recognition lightly, Prex Duun. Palm-greasing, as some might crudely call it, ensures stability. Your company lacks the… proper channels." His gaze lifted, meeting Oda's artificial stare. "You ask for a seat at the table, but seats are bought, not earned."

Oda inclined his head slightly, the faintest mechanical whine issuing from his servos. "Then let us dispense with euphemisms," he said, voice firm. "Name your price. Tetron will pay it — in credits, in ore, in whatever form the Authority deems most valuable. Because we both know this sector has neglected terraforming. And when war sweeps across the stars again, the Authority will require worlds that produce, not rot." His words hung in the sterile air of the boardroom, equal parts promise and threat, as the hologram of Tetron's proposed zone revolved slowly between them.

 

[Prex Oda Duun]

TETRON CENTREX HQ BUILDING, MAXIMUM SECURITY EXEC BOARDROOM, BONADAN (CONT)
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Hadin’s fingers drummed a deliberate rhythm on the table, each tap punctuating the gravity of the next words. "There are conditions beyond mere price, Prex Duun," he said, voice flat as a ledger. "First: the zone you propose is not empty. Likon has entrenched operations across the northern arc of your proposed borders — refineries, security bastions, even a small orbital depot. The Authority will not sign off on a development zone while another corporate entity maintains active infrastructure within it. If you want this cleared, Tetron must either buy Likon out, coerce them to withdraw, or remove them by force. Corporate warfare is not unheard of; it is simply expensive and politically...visible." He watched Oda carefully, measuring the flicker of micro-expressions in the droid’s synthetic skin. "Are you prepared to declare that kind of conflict, or will you accept the cost of taking them by other means?"

Oda’s head—synthetic, immobile—tilted the faintest degree as he considered the holographic lattice where Likon’s footprints glowed like dark stains. "Likon is a nuisance," he said finally, precise and cold. "They have been opportunistic, seeding their tendrils where others did not want to toil. Tetron will not be inconvenienced." For a heartbeat his voice softened, not with humility but with the actor's charm he used when sealing deals. "If the Authority demands their removal as a condition of endorsement, I will secure Likon's withdrawal. Whether that is negotiated purchase, leveraged acquisition, or a quieter arrangement—those are tactical choices, not philosophical ones." He let the words hang, implying both cost and willingness.

Hadin nodded once, as if noting the answer in a ledger, then moved on without conceding an inch. "Second: an observer. The CSA will install a representative on-site—an embedded auditor with the authority to monitor compliance, review contracts, and veto actions that breach the Authority’s statutes. They will have access to your logistics, payroll, and—if necessary—your defense posture within the zone." He tapped a small icon on the hologram, and a translucent badge labeled CSA OBSERVER blinked in the proposed orbital hub. "This is non-negotiable. The Authority cannot cede oversight to a private entity of single ownership without a check."

Oda’s expression did not change, but his yellow eyes lingered on the floating badge with an imperceptible calculation. "A permanent observer is…intrusive," he said, measuring each syllable. "Tetron’s operations involve proprietary processes and trade secrets—many of which, in the hands of competitors, would cripple our edge. We can accommodate an observer, under strict non-disclosure protocols and with limitations on operational access. Our concern is not oversight; it is the preservation of intellectual property and the prevention of...interference." He allowed the room to absorb that assurance, which was as much a concession as a veiled threat.

Hadin’s fingers folded, the next point approaching like a tax invoice. "Third: dividends. The Authority will expect a share commensurate with the risk and the service rendered. Forty percent of gross dividends from all CSA-backed investments inside the zone—paid quarterly into an Authority escrow—is our demand. This ensures the Corporate Sector benefits directly from the growth it underwrites, and it funds our administrative oversight and defense levies." He watched Oda’s mechanical face for any sign of recoil. "Forty percent. No exceptions."

The hologram between them pulsed, a miniature economy in motion as projected cash flows pulsed across orbital lanes and mining rings. For a moment the boardroom was only the soft whine of machinery and the cool blue of data. Oda’s hands flexed once against the table; when he spoke, there was that same evenness, but the calculus behind his words had shifted. "Forty percent is substantial," he said slowly. "It will slow Tetron’s reinvestment curve, and it will make delicate ventures—experimental terraforming initiatives—difficult to justify in the short term. But the Authority offers legitimacy, and legitimacy begets access. If forty percent is the floor, then we must discuss the ceiling, the mechanisms of accounting, and—most crucially—what constitutes 'gross dividends' in practice. I will not be taxed on paper losses engineered through audit skulduggery."

Hadin’s smile was thin and satisfied. "We anticipated that. The escrow will be administered by a hybrid CSA trust, with auditors appointed by the Authority and a tribunal for disputes. Definitions will be strict. As for the ceiling—there is none required. The Authority takes what it declares necessary when it opens its balance sheets to corporate expansion." He leaned in slightly, voice low. "Prex Duun, the offer is generous to Tetron in that it grants you a sanctioned monopoly within a pocket of space with some of the galaxy's most fertile terraforming prospects. But it comes at price and at scrutiny. Tell me plainly: do you accept these conditions, or will Tetron walk and risk Likon solidifying their claim?"

Silence stretched, Oda’s servos whispering as he considered contingency matrices no human could hold in conscious thought. Outside the windows, Bonadan’s industrial glow painted the horizon in ochres and iron—an emulsion of wealth waiting to be split. At last he inclined his head, the motion as deliberate as a signature. "We accept the conditions in principle," he said. "Tetron will remove Likon, accept an embedded observer under negotiated protections, and pay the Authority’s forty percent share—so long as the accounting mechanisms are equitable, the escrow impartial, and the Authority provides military deferment powers should Likon resist by force." He let that last clause settle: a thinly veiled demand that the Authority either back the enforcement or bear the diplomatic costs.

Hadin’s eyes lit with a small, human relish; the negotiation had, inevitably, become a partnership of convenience. "Those are reasonable starting terms," he said, pushing a datapad across the table that began to unfurl preliminary clauses. "We will draft the framework. Expect the tribunal and the observer protocol. And, Prex Duun—should Tetron fail in its obligation to remove Likon without causing destabilization, the Authority will reserve the right to revoke the development zone and impose reparations."

Oda’s mouth tightened into an approximation of a smile. "Then let us begin drafting," he said. "Tetron will prepare its offers and its methods." He rose, the subtle whirr of his joints punctuating the moment. Outside, Bonadan’s night hummed with factory chorus; inside, the hologram continued to pulse, an indifferent heart of data around which empires would be negotiated, bought, and—if necessary—taken by blood.

 

[Prex Oda Duun]

TETRON CENTREX HQ BUILDING, MAXIMUM SECURITY EXEC BOARDROOM, BONADAN (CONT)
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The boardroom on Bonadan was a sanctum of polished chrome and quiet tension. The walls gleamed with data streams from satellites orbiting Tetron's holdings, while the holographic projector in the center flared to life, displaying the scarred surface of CDZ-113. Twelve seats encircled the table, but only three were occupied: Prex Oda Duun, his synthetic skin catching the light in unnatural hues; General Tallo Brennek, broad-shouldered and restless in his uniform; and Veyla Sha, spine perfectly straight, a stylus poised between gloved fingers as if ready to sign away empires.

Oda's cybernetic gaze lingered on the hologram of the barren world, his voice measured and metallic. "CDZ-113 remains ours by charter and by blood," he said. "Likon's encroachment is not merely an insult—it is a theft. They squat in orbit, draining what we failed to cultivate. Their presence must be erased, and Tetron must emerge uncontested."

General Brennek leaned forward, clasping his hands. "We can strike at their orbital station, make an example. But it won't be clean, Prex. Likon may be diminished, but they're still engineers. Their defenses won't fold at the first shot. We'd be looking at a sustained campaign—weeks, maybe months—to uproot them. And the CSA will take notice of the noise."

Veyla She's eyes narrowed, her tone calm but sharp. "Which is precisely the problem. Our recognition by the Corporate Sector Authority hinges on appearances. If we're seen as belligerents—merely another corporation fighting over scraps—our petition is weakened. We must either conceal the removal, or else frame it in such a way that it appears lawful, inevitable, and profitable to the Authority." She paused, adjusting the hologram to highlight mineral veins Likon had tapped. "Their exploitation of CDZ-113's crust could be painted as environmental vandalism. A violation of Tetron's chartered terraforming rights. That could justify intervention, provided we move with precision."

Oda's yellow eyes gleamed like beacons in the dim light. "Then we have three imperatives: silence Likon's hold on the world, veil the strike beneath the veneer of legality, and secure profit margins that will make the Authority nod in approval. Failure is not permitted. Likon must be more than defeated—they must be erased from memory, a cautionary tale whispered in boardrooms such as this."

Brennek grunted, half a laugh and half a warning. "That sounds like war dressed up in legalese. But if that's what you want, I'll deliver it. We'll bleed them quietly, collapse their supply lines, and let their engineers choke on their own genius. Just know—once we move, there's no going back. And if the CSA observer gets wind of it, we'd best have a gilded explanation ready."

Veyla nodded once, her stylus tapping against the table like a gavel. "Then we begin preparations immediately. If Likon insists on squatting in our shadow, we'll show them that Tetron Centrex does not cast shadows—it casts dominion."

The hologram shifted again, this time magnifying the orbital station, its skeletal arms reaching hungrily toward the planet below. The three figures sat in silence, the unspoken truth hanging over them: war was not only inevitable—it was already here, dressed in the cold, clinical language of profit.

 

[Prex Oda Duun]

TETRON CENTREX HQ BUILDING, MAXIMUM SECURITY EXEC BOARDROOM, BONADAN (CONT)
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They had no sooner finished talking, when the boardroom doors slid open with a soft pneumatic sigh and a figure stepped inside: Marcellin Vos, the CSA's assigned observer for Tetron's petition. He carried the trim, unflappable look of a bureaucrat who had learned to wear patience like armor — dark suit, silver lapel pin denoting his rank, and eyes that missed nothing. A discreet holo-band pulsed at his wrist, linking him to the Authority's tribunal. He bowed once, polite but exact. "Prex Duun. General Brennek. Miss She. The Authority thanks you for convening so swiftly." His voice was smooth, practiced; he bore no obvious allegiance to Likon or Tetron, but the room felt, for a moment, like a theater in which he alone directed the next act.

Vos moved to the projector and overlaid the orbital station in crisp relief. "The Authority's immediate concern is regional stability. Open conflict will draw scrutiny, levies, and—if mishandled—sanctions. There is, however, another path that preserves appearance and consolidates resources: absorption. The CSA prefers corporate consolidation under stable stewardship rather than noisy elimination. If Tetron can present a credible acquisition proposal that buys out Likon's stake on CDZ-113 and assumes certain liabilities, the Authority will expedite approval of the CDZ—provided Tetron also agrees to assume oversight for worker transitions and equipment decommissioning." He watched their faces. "Absorption avoids overt corporate warfare, protects regional supply lines, and grants the Authority control over the narrative."

General Brennek's jaw tightened. "You mean buy them out with our credits and then take on their debts and headaches? That's a softer war—one that bleeds us dry on paper." He jabbed a finger at the hologram. "And their orbital station? They'll never sell that willingly. They'll fortify it, or use it as a bargaining chip."

Veyla She, however, already had her stylus dancing across the table, peeling up overlays of Likon's asset sheets and workforce manifests. "Not necessarily," she said. "Likon is reduced. Their proud engineering banner is threadbare. Many of their mid-level managers would prefer a buyout with severance rather than a fight. Tetron can structure the acquisition as a lifeline: pensions for engineers who transfer, retention bonuses for key personnel, and a phased handover of the station's contracts. We'll need to offer the Authority guarantees—lockbox revenues, third-party audits, and a Tetron-appointed trustee to oversee decommissioning of hazardous gear." Her eyes flicked to Oda. "It's pricey, but politically invisible."

Oda's synthetic smile did not reach his cybernetic eyes. "Absorption is acceptable if the purchase secures decisive control rather than shared management. Tetron will not inherit a rival voice within any newly-merged command. The orbital station and its patents must be transferred wholly or rendered inert and purchased by Tetron at a fair price. In exchange, Tetron will accept the Authority's escrow terms and the embedded observer's oversight during the transition." He folded his fingers, already computing contingencies. "General Brennek: you will prepare contingency strike plans should Likon refuse negotiation or employ scorched defense. Miss She: draft acquisition frameworks that prioritize asset seizure and talent capture. Mr. Vos: the Authority will need a timetable."

Marcellin Vos inclined his head, the hint of concession in his smile. "The Tribunal will write the timetable, but it will be generous to a company that demonstrates cooperation and fiscal transparency. The Authority will permit a ninety-day window for negotiated acquisition, during which Tetron must present proof of liquid capital, bond guarantees for worker protections, and a plan for the orbital station's neutralization should talks fail. Should negotiations collapse, however..." Marcellin's words hung in the air like a promise, poignant, before he began speaking again. "Then you will have the CSA's FULL support of aggressive military takeover."

The hologram dimmed as the parties exchanged terse nods. Outside, Bonadan's industrial lights pulsed like a sunless dawn; inside, the three Tetron officers and the CSA observer had sketched the outlines of a plan that was, in effect, an organized swallowing: buy, subsume, and then erase the history of Likon as quietly as a ledger entry. For now, war had been traded for contracts and deadlines — but everyone in the room understood that paper could only hold back violence for so long.

 

[Prex Oda Duun]

TETRON CENTREX HQ BUILDING, MAXIMUM SECURITY EXEC BOARDROOM, BONADAN (CONT)
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Oda sat alone in the boardroom, the fluorescent lighting bright, the too clean floors seemingly reflecting the harsh and sterile light like mirrors. His fingers steepled, he sat ramrod straight in his seat, the light of the central holoprojector casting shadows on his face as it flickered. He had sent everyone out of the room - even the CSA observer - and had sealed the room.

The situation was reaching a tipping point, and the time had come to contact Roth Likonis, the CEP of Likon Engineering. Tetron had collected as much information as possible on the man; he was self-made, growing up from nothing in the red dust of Cotellier, a crystal miner, who rose through the ranks before taking over his own mining platform. His aggressive mining of dangerous and volatile seams on the southern hemisphere earned him fame and plentiful credits - he showed wisdom by reinvesting those credits into advanced mining technologies, making the extraction safer and ever more profitable. It was only a matter of time until the southern hemisphere was his, and he became the most profitable corporation on the planet - even forming a monopoly on Firmus city.

But Cotellier had a pirate problem. No matter how many precious nova crystals Likon dug out of the ground, they lost massive numbers to the persistent harassment from raiders and bandits. They stopped Likon from making any true profit - the amount they spent on security cut their margins to razor thin margins. To break the cycle, Likon had made an extremely risky gamble; fifty percent of its assets, ranging from a mining station to mining droids, had been sent to a remote moon to extract resources. A proof of concept to investors, that, because of the efficiency of their equipment, they could extract better than the competition. The only problem...that moon was owned by someone else.

Oda adjusted his tunic, then activated the comm panel with a thought, the holoprojector whirring to life to display the Likon Engineering logo. Promptly, the face of Roth Likonis resolved into view. "Roth Likonis, I'm Prex Oda Duun. I'm sure your attaches have already briefed you on the...situation...regarding CDZ-113. I wanted to talk to the head of Likon personally to see if we could come to an understanding, given that our corporate negotiators have stalled in their talks."