355: Bad Impression (Patreon)

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https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/80031/mask-of-humanity/chapter/3098838/339-stupid-games

He strolled into the New Wave Armoury, immediately spotting a pair of Cyborg guards, lurking in little alcoves either side of the door. They eyed him as he eyed them, faces unreadable beneath the visors of their respective helmets. One of them held a smart-gun, the other a laser weapon. He wasn’t sure what they might actually do, considering the Restriction, but it certainly added to the shop’s image.

One of the pair nodded to him, no signs of aggression. Polite and unobtrusive, as you’d expect. Nicolai nodded back, equally polite, then pressed further within.

It was a wide, expansive place, well lit by powerful ceiling-mounted lighting. A brief scan told him it was powered by a generator somewhere within. Psychology noted that the particular hue of light used was ‘friendly-cosy-encouraging-spending.’

Centuries of investigation into the human psyche had led corporations to uncover all kinds of useful information when it came to selling things. One of those was the best kinds of lighting for different corporate environments. Whether it be somewhere selling a service, such as legal aid, which needed to come across as crisp and professional, or—rare on Earth, where everything was brought online—an actual physical shop. In this case the lighting utilised was designed to give out a vibe of friendliness, warmth, cosiness, while also revealing the items in the best possible light. It was designed to make one want to stay and spend time looking around, browsing in peace.

Lit by this omnipresent, calculated glow, were wide walls extending away in a curve, all of them covered with the arms and armour of Earth, tools, supplies, utility items. Notably, the prices here tended to be just a smidge cheaper than the TradeLink, except in the case of those he recognised as being gated to the Level Two market. Those had much higher prices, doubtless owing to the fact that many wouldn’t have access to them anywhere but here.

The room had been turned into a maze via the careful positioning of display units. He could go either left or right, but either way he would find himself trapped between walls of shelving with no choice but to walk the winding route they’d designed, bombarded by every single product, before eventually finding the checkout.

There were also side exits, doorways leading to other rooms or areas marked with signs. Augments and Implants, Ammo Supplies, Medical, Entertainment and Drugs, and more.

Nicolai sent a few smaller recon drones winging off through the shop, aiming to check these rooms out and see what else was on offer. If there was anything that interested him at a good price, he might purchase it. But for now, he had another purpose.

Turning back, he approached one of the guards.

‘Where can I find the owner of all this? I wish to speak with him.’

‘One moment, please, sir,’ the merc replied, and put a finger to the side of his helmet. This accomplished nothing except to communicate visually that he was engaged in Local communication. Nicolai knew that anyway, because Cyberwarfare was able to parse the radio waves being sent out. The whole city was full of them, an endless chaos of radio messages on all kinds of wavelengths. With some application of focus it was able to pick out particular messages, attempt to decrypt them, and work out where they were going.

In this case, the guard sent a simple message to someone in the shop, saying that Nicolai—who he identified as “that Tournament guy”—was here and wanted to speak.

It wasn’t a surprise they recognised him. He’d maintained the same camouflage style on his skinsuit since the first time he’d come into this city. Staying identifiable like this wasn’t a problem. In fact, it meant that when he did decide to go in disguise, people would be even less likely to think he was himself.

The guard then motioned to Nicolai, stepping out from his nook in the corner.

‘Please come with me.’

Nicolai fell in behind him, and the guard picked his way quickly through the maze, utilising a few semi-hidden shortcuts to cut through it. He stopped before a doorway, opened it up, and ushered Nicolai inside.

Nicolai entered and found himself in an office, the merc shutting the door behind him. A skinny man sitting at a desk glanced up at Nicolai’s arrival. Pale lips formed into a thin smile, and he gestured sharply to the seat across from him.

‘Please,’ he intoned.

Nicolai threw out a few scans on his way across the room, then settled into the chair. ‘You are the owner of all this?’ he asked.

‘Of a sort,’ replied the skinny man, still wearing that thin smile. ‘Myself and a few associates own it jointly, but I am the manager. You may call me Clark. And you are Nicolai—Tournament Winner, Slayers Guild Member, and all around untrustworthy individual.’ His thin smile transformed into a grim line.

Nicolai’s H-gram fuzzed into existence, its amiable features scrunched up with confusion, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘“Untrustworthy individual,”’ he echoed. ‘Who’s been saying that?’

‘A friend of mine by the name of Vikrum,’ Clark replied. ‘One of my partners in the creation of this shop, and a man you know quite well.’

Nicolai gave no response, sitting in silence for a moment.

Outside, his drones throughout the shop—plus Cyberwarfare’s constant interception of messages—were all engaged in data mining. He wanted to know the other owners of this place ASAP. Fortunately, the shop was packed with people from Earth. Many of them were engaged in gossipy conversations, which the drones overheard and the Modules filtered. Thus, already, he had a good idea of some of the other owners, one of whom in particular could be useful to him.

‘But I think if you ask one of the other owners—Gregory—about me, he will tell you quite a different story.’

Clark’s dark little eyes barely even flickered.

‘He would. In fact, he has. Gregory is full of nothing but praise for you. After all, betting on you allowed him to gain quite a significant sum of capital, which he then managed to invest very wisely—the very reason he can be counted one of our members. But the simple fact that he bet and won on you is no indicator of your personality or trustworthiness.’ The words were delivered with the finality of a coffin nail.

‘Especially compared to the evidence I’ve been provided by Vikrum,’ Clark added, ‘which is very detailed and has given me a good understanding of you. So you see, Nicolai, I know who you are. I know how you think, and I know what you want.’ He sat back and gestured toward the door. ‘You want to make a deal with me to sell me all those droids, drones, and guns you’ve set to parading themselves in the square out there. You’re hoping to sell them to me in bulk, and thus, you will not have to bother spending all that time stood out there selling it by yourself.

‘I know your type. Impatient and with little interest in anything outside of fighting and fucking. You’d rather be off somewhere killing someone right now, wouldn’t you?’ Above his sneer, Clark’s eyes were cold.

His H-gram smiled its friendly smile. ‘Perhaps.’ The man wasn’t all wrong. Right now, he’d like to see how Clark would look without a head.

‘Fortunately,’ Clark continued, ‘this wonderful trading system the Phantom City has allowed us means that in spite of your… nature, we can make a deal. A deal I’m sure you will find entirely acceptable. In fact, I suspect it will be the best and only deal you will get, because—as you may have guessed—all the shops selling items of Earth are owned by myself and my partners, who have chosen to put me in the position of overall manager. If you want to go and try your luck across the way, you are welcome to do so. But I think we both know how that will go.’

‘They would call me barbarian scum, tell me they have no interest in buying my trash, and throw me out.’ None of the shops over there sold or bought goods of Earth.

‘Precisely.’

‘But you’re not my only option,’ said Nicolai. ‘There’s one more shop you’ve not mentioned.’

Clark snorted. ‘We’re aware of them. But I seriously doubt they will have the capital available to buy all those wonderful tools you have wandering around out there. They are…’ He trailed off thoughtfully. ‘How would you say it? Small fry, I suppose. In Earth terms, they are a corner store owned by some tiny, impoverished family selling basic necessities to equally impoverished people. We, on the other hand, are an international mega corporation.’

He spread his hands. ‘So you see, you only have one choice. Me. Now, this is what I’ll offer you. I will take all the drones, droids, guns, and so on off your hands for…’ He paused, tapped the desk thoughtfully. ‘Sixty…’ Another pause, another thin smile. ‘Sixty five percent of the price you are currently offering them for.’

‘For that I can pay you in cash, right now,’ he continued. ‘However, this deal will be contingent upon you coming to me in the future with any more of these items that you create. An ongoing deal, and the price will be locked in, non-negotiable. We will be making a contract regarding this using the Heavenly Contract system.’

Nicolai made no move, nor gave any sign, but Clark seemed to feel—or anticipate—his surprise. Yet another thin smile. ‘Yes. We have found a way to regain limited access to a very useful tool in this difficult city. I assure you, we will be able to set up a contract between you and us regarding this deal.’ He leaned forward, smile widening. ‘Now, if you would like to hammer out the details, I can clear some time.’

‘Sure. The first thing would be for you to bump my percentage up to ninety percent. Do that, and we’ll have a deal.’ He also wanted to know how precisely they’d regained the Contracts.

Clark raised an eyebrow, his smile turning sardonic. ‘And why would I do that?’

Nicolai spread his fingers and began counting off his points. ‘These are goods you aren’t going to find anywhere else. You can’t get them at the Trade Link. You can only get them from me. You will also do it because of how useful I can be to your people. If you want to build something here, then I can assure you that you want me on your side, and not against you. I can provide all kinds of—’

‘I’m not interested,’ Clark said, dismissively waving a hand. ‘No. You have no leverage, no weight or experience in this arena. I’ve learned all I need to learn about you. The deal, as stated,’ he continued, tapping the desk firmly, ‘managed by a contract—a very solid contract, which I will look over very, very carefully—that is the only way I see anything happening between us. And ninety percent? These goods aren’t as special as you think. I’m sure we’ll find our own ways to procure or create them. Sixty five percent, Nicolai. Sixty five.’

Nicolai rose from his seat. ‘A shame,’ he murmured. His H-gram smiled its own thin smile, while beneath it the Dark had twisted his features into a vicious sneer. ‘You are going to regret this day, Clark,’ he added, and realised a moment later he’d hissed the words, menacing as a rattlesnake.

The man’s eyes narrowed, a trace of wariness crossing his features.

Nicolai tamped down the press of the Dark. ‘Because if you’d been a little more reasonable, you and I could have made a great deal of money together,’ he added, and now his H-gram smiled innocently and warmly, and he shrugged carelessly. ‘I’ll make my deal elsewhere.’

‘Elsewhere?’ Clark chuckled. ‘They won’t have cash, but do as you wish—for now. You’ll be back, Nicolai. I’m the only horse in town! Do you know what happens to the tiny corner shop when the megacorp moves in? They get eaten—!’ The door snicked shut, cutting him off.

Nicolai eyed the guard. No polite nod from the man, not this time, just a wary glare and a tensing of muscles. He rolled his shoulders, released a happy little sigh. Then he strolled off, winding through the shop and pushing out through the entrance.

Not quite the welcome he’d hoped for, but a reputation cut both ways. Such was life. A chuckle wormed its way out from his throat as he stepped onto the square. Once he’d gained some distance he turned. In his imagination flames crawled up the New Wave Armoury’s walls, smoke belched from its windows.

That’s a bit of an overreaction, isn’t it? the Mask chastised him. Even if he was extremely annoying.

He nodded piously. Of course, the Mask was right. He wouldn’t seek vengeance, that was inefficient. And anyway, Clark had ties to Gregory. Much better if the man simply… disappeared, and a more suitable replacement was found. The Dark had been swelling but with that thought it shifted, turned over and began to descend into sleep. It wouldn’t do for someone with such an unkind view of him to remain in such an important position. Vikrum too—and after he’d extended the olive branch! The Dark stirred again and now he frowned as he pressed it down.

No, no, cool and calm. All will be set right. After standing there a moment longer he turned and struck out across the street, toward his new target. Onwards and upwards. Soon he’d arrived before the single independently owned shop, Bridgepoint. One of his droids arrived with him, gundrone on its head and anti-mat in its arms. It followed him as he pressed forward.

Entering, he found a busy, chaotic place. A single large room was packed with rickety metal tables, goods piled messily onto them to the extent it was a surprise some were still standing. Even more were packed onto shelves that looked to have been hastily nailed onto the walls.

The lighting emanated from lamps strung messily beneath the ceiling and it was patchy, dim in some places and bright in others. A far cry from the polished professionalism he’d just experienced. However, from the people rummaging happily through the goods he could tell this place had its own charm. Sort of like a flea market does.