Private The Showroom

[Michael Barran]

[THEME]
Gat Tambor

THE SHOWROOM - 1​

Harnaidan (902 ABY)

Keeping a low profile, though none would look in his direction too much along the way, the Lord Imperator's quiet speeder trip toward the opulent towers of commerce were uneventful, for the most part. Except for a few of the driver's near-misses with other vehicles, the journey from his quiet hotel was exactly that, granting the old Woad a chance to take in the sprawing urban landscape, contented in silence as the leisurely approach continued.

But before they knew it, the hodgepodge motorcade was already approaching the journalist-crowded entrance to the 902 Galactic Armaments Conference, parking right outside with heads turning long before Barran's driver opened his passenger door, drawing the secretive elements of his plan to a ceremonious close. Stepping out with camera-droids flashing from the moment his left foot landed on the pavement, it wouldn't be long before sentient heads turned to see what, or whom, had attracted the commotion, but the small entourage were already making for the entrance, presenting solid barriers between themselves and the people trying to identify those whom the droids had seen already.

And before anyone caught sight of the old Woad, the venue-security's doormen were already stepping aside and opening the entrance doors.

Better luck next time, journos.

​

As opulent within as it was on approach, the Protectorate's grand delegation were growing increasingly impressed with Harnaidan's much-grander trappings, a contrasting level of glory to which many still aspired in the early years of the Millennium's last century. Dead though many Imperial offshoots were already by then, enough remained as constant reminders for Barran to aspire to former glories like those he knew so well, such that even rivalled those of the Core Worlds for a time; and here he was, gifted with a reminder in one of the many beating hearts of the Trade Federation, only this little nudge felt altogether more encouraging than those that still irked the Tattered Regent.

'All that could be, hm?'

Get a fethin' grip o' yersel, man.​

Muttering to himself as he wandered in deeper to the showroom setting, Michael made sure not to let anyone hear what was passing underbreath, drowned out by the hubbub of high-status bluster all around, though such aspirations would surely be given a louder voice soon. Heads were already turning by that point, some either disbelieving and others appearing as if they had seen a ghost, and it wouldn't be long before Barran drew in a crowd, the curse of carrying the features of his father.

 

[Gat Tambor]

HARNAIDAN, MUUNILINST
THE GALACTIC TRADE FEDERATION
902 ABY​

---

T A M B O R
VICEROY
THE TRADE FEDERATION
Michael Barran

数百匹黑马​

---

Events such as these were the money makers. Though Galactic circumstances made it a rather paultry event in comparison to year's past, still dozens of delegations from varying independent planetary defense forces, sector governments, mercenary groups and private security contractors gathered in Harnaidan to view, purchase and negotiate warfighting hardware and production licenses from the Techno Union's panoply of armaments for sale.

Though, Tambor, as he did most any social gathering hardly cared to be in the spotlight. He'd abandoned the limelight since his departure from Galactic politics in 865 ABY, following his nail biting loss for the Galactic Alliance's chancellorship. Whilst he still had a privy ear and acting hand to the lungs of power per his position in IBED which practically planned the now fallen Empire's corporatist command economy as well as his position as Viceroy of the Trade Federation.

He let his various representatives and associates handle these matters. They were all rather distinct in the corporations they represented. Enthusiastic Skakoan engineers and technocrats displayed much of the technological prowess of the Techno Union and its primary manufacturing arm, the aptly named Technoid Manufactorum. Crisply dressed men in well fashioned black uniforms with the symbol of Kuat-Entralla sewn unto each shoulder acted as sales broker for the various vehicles, weapons systems and starships on offer which all branded an, at this point and iconic and distinct Imperial aesthetic. Though to Barran, images of familiar Imperial vehicles were projected amidst sales displays brandishing Kuat Entralla, Trade Federation and Techno Union symbolism, meticulously scrubbed of any overtly 'Imperial' allegiance as to broaden the scope of its possible customer base.

All the while, Muun financiers stood at the ready to discuss payment plans, loans and financing options to potential buyers

This along with the general aesthetic of Harnaidan might've sent a tinge of nostalgia through the Galidraani son. This place, in spite of a past century of turmoil and two dogged battles over its streets was a rather clean, peaceful and orderly place. The presence of the ruling 'Diarchy' was kept to an appropriate minimum with Trade Federation banners and symbolism raised higher here. The people, now a more metropolitan mix on the Muun homeworld sported a wealthy and easy-going attitude with a light police presence managed by the Trade Federation Defense Force consisting of lightly armored men in sand blue uniforms akin to Imperial cuts with the Iron Sun swapped for the Trade Federation's emblem. Many old memorials, state symbols and infrastructure remained of the Old Order. After all, much of it was constructed on Federation contract and it would've been a waste of resources to deface them just as it was many Imperial veterans who'd found employment in the Trade Federation, at least those less political hard-charged to align themselves with a warring remnant and more content to utilize their skills to make steady pay, something Tambor was happy to reward competence with.

It was time Tambor walked the floor himself soon enough. Drifting from the faint 'hovering' of his atmo suit as his eyes darted amongst his subordinates and was pleased to see a proper amount of business amongst them. The security detail around him was light if not non-existent for most any guard or sentry present would keep a side eye on their Viceroy's goings-on amongst the displays and crowd. Though few approached him, knowing well he would divert them to a lower salesman. Lest they representing the interest of a Galactic government.

Though exceptions were made and a curious face drew his intrigue as it did many others. Barran. He knew these distinct features, his mental configuration able to read patterns amongst objects especially but people occasionally. Both common place in Bastion, even if Tambor cared to take much of his 'Imperial Business' in Harnaidan, he recognized a man of his cloth from anywhere and approached. The crowd dissipated, not wanting to get between the interests of the two as Tambor seemed to visually size him up before speaking.

<"WWWWWWWERRRRRREEEEEAAAAA- Mister Barran, I presume? I assume it's been a long while since you've visited Harnaidan. Come..."> He said, a faint motion of his hand to lead the other away from the crowd and spectacle so they might speak more coherently with one another.

<"Though- I am a man able to draw assumptions...what brings you to the Trade Federation?"> He inquired. He'd been contacted by New Imperial remnants previously and many found employment in his ranks. Arminius Kroeger likely the most prominent of them asides from what he'd consolidated in the Troska Group and dispersed through his different holdings.

 

[Michael Barran]

[THEME]
Gat Tambor

THE SHOWROOM - 2​

Another with a reputation that preceded him, Gat Tambor could also count himself among the powerhouses who needed no introduction, making it all the easier for Lord Michael to distance himself from the crowd as he spoke, though this seemed to matter little under considerations of destined encounter. The Force still worked in mysterious ways, and with the wills of Midichlorian nature, so to would the ways of chance encounter, the sort Barran always welcomed.

As his father had before him.

Smiling, the Tattered Regent nodded in good grace before turning to one of the faces from his retinue, nodding before turning back to the newfound acquaintance, replied,'All the right things, of course.... My friends protect those credits as well as they protect my brain-matter, Mr. Tambor. Though judging by the preferences of my remaining servicemen, I think my entourage will be done guarding this briefcase tonight.', maintaining amiable eye-contact as the much-needed case was placed by his foot in polite silence. The complementary tone to Lord Michael's conciliatory response (expected though it surely was in matters of high-commerce) would surely highlight his interest in equipment and weaponry from the suppliers of yesteryear, as like all-things war in the Galaxy, the Trade Federation had also evolved in the grandest of magnitudes.

'In other words - its a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Tambor.'

 

[Gat Tambor]

HARNAIDAN, MUUNILINST
THE GALACTIC TRADE FEDERATION
902 ABY​

---

T A M B O R
VICEROY
THE TRADE FEDERATION
Michael Barran

戻る方法はありません​

---

He found the remark amusing. But Gat Tambor had never once in his life laughed. He took it as it was in stride. A compliment. <"You flatter me, Mister Barran. I do hope you find what is on offer here appealing to your uses. My people here would gladly answer any questions. The specifications are all available to browse to your liking all the same. Though, I'm sure a man of your history would find many of them familiar."> He explained as he continued to drift the pair away from the larger showing.

<"Though in truth, there are other matters I care to speak of with you. Walk with me."> He all but commanded, though his inflection was hardly stern and far more reflected the easy-going exterior he so often displayed in these settings. Even if his mind worked in frigid calculations of mathematics in engineering, finance and commerce- all of which dulled to make for more interesting conversation with the Mind Spiral actively microdosing him via a pin injector within his atmo-suit. A habit he'd carried for decades.

<"It is rare that those approach me with the aim of individual purchases. Sure, we sell plenty to one-off mercenaries and bounty hunters...but I take you, a man of your lineage and history to have grander ambitions. Do correct me if I'm wrong."> He said as he led the pair to an elevator, stepping into the structure wrought with smooth, money-green marble architecture before the doors smoothed closed with a metallic hiss and the lift ascensed with a break neck speed that was hardly registered by the pair due to the smoothness of the mechanism.

A short moment and they were at the highest floor, permitted only by the remote ID of Tambor (or any other authorized personnel in different cases). A pair of fountains decorated with marble statues stocked with exotic fish flanked the entrance to Tambor's office suite, the door opening to reveal the grand space. A large desk with several terminals and ticking market projections and trackers, a lounge area with a holographic table between the cushioned seats and of course, a protocol droid who was quick to approach the pair, its focus mainly on Barran, asking for any requests for drinks, food.

<"Take a seat, please."> Tambor said, motioning to one of the cushioned seats as he took up his own, the chair contoured to nestle around his form within the atmo-suit.

<"AWWWWEEEEEEEERRRRR- So do tell Barran...and you don't have to neccessarily answer as it is not by any means traditional custom for my customers to unveil their intent by which they employ what they purchase from the Techno Union...however, I am of course intrigued by what you might be at the marketplace for. Obviously, weapons of war...or 'security' in the more advertisment friendly sense...but what is your aim if I may ask?"> He inquired outright.

 

[Michael Barran]

[THEME]
Gat Tambor

THE SHOWROOM - 3​

Led politely to somewhere a little more private, the old Woad had no doubts that the Skakoan had more interesting matters to discuss with him, especially knowing enough from public, historical record to see that interests aligned quite easily. Thus the offer was taken in good graces, a smiling nod of assent, as matters of purchase would always play second-fiddle to matters of high-political nature, and Barran knew it was time to meet the game's greatest players - perhaps even overdue by way of slow caution on Lord Michael's part.

All but assured in his host's quickness to (and correctly-) guess that the Lord Regent was ambitious like his father, retaining an ambition of a scale much grander than a mere one-time purchase implied, regardless of it's weight in credits. All the more apparent by the time they sat down to speak in-depth, and though there were plenty enticing Holoprojections of all the ordnance and weapons in the Trade Federation's latest catalogs, (along with all the best trappings of high-class bar and dining service) the old Woad found himself pleasantly surprised to hear the Skakoan cutting right to the chase, getting to the heart of the question everyone else was likely to be pondering at the time.

'No-no, you're right to ask....You wouldn't be the only one, after all, but I digress.'

Smiling again, the Lord Regent reached into his coat pocket, revealing a small holoprojection of one particular IFV when he properly replied,'In short, I caught the old man's bug, that urge t'fight my way home - along with a certain lawful cough I just can't seem to shake.', imitating that cough to illustrate his point. It was then the champagne serviette approached, though this time, Lord Michael was quite reluctant in acceptance of it, already eyeing up the spirits behind the bar a little too longingly. Restraint was keeping him from asking, though Barran understood that it didn't really matter in such a setting, Muunilinst was always the exception.

'Prastaig, please. Two.'
'Coming right up, sir.'
'Thanks.'
​

'The Galaxy's mythical mantle of responsibility has seemingly found it's way into undeserving hands once more.', the old Woad cotinued, only pausing in his amble to sip from the champagne glass, betraying no emotionally-charged element to his choice of phrasing, deftly keeping any semblance of despairing language away from the table that evening. Whether by avoidance of dampening moods or by avoidance of digression seemed to matter little, as Lord Michael was quite sure he was in the right place, making deals at the right time as he concluded,'An' being honest, the Goidel comes out in me whenever I consider taking it back.... I can't help but feel a rush of anticipation, an' it intensifies whenever I get certain - ummm - Ninth Century aspirations.', drawing his eyes toward the IFV he was seeking.