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.
