"My primary concern is the Polygon," said Ms. Scipio.

The Polygon. Logo: An ever-shifting polyhedral shape in rainbow colours. Aesthetic: Extreme personalization. The old military-industrial complex given new life, a formal union of major data technology companies, insurance industries and old aerospace manufacturing sectors. Their mission is to know everything, and know the dollar figure cost for destroying anything.

"Lhotse's business model relies on certain strong connections with the State," said Scipio. "The Polygon is a successor of old government entanglements and they regard several of our key sectors as their natural territory. In addition, many of our international shipping lines are reliant on Polygon security. They can threaten us like no other corporation can: By breaking our connection to the State and by even implying that our commercial routes are no longer fully secure. My priority as Head of Security is mobilizing Lhotse's resources to confront this threat."

Something about how she spoke about them made you think that this was personal for her. The old nation state militaries had not all been happy with the growing influence of the Polygon and the commercialization of security. A grudge nursed like this for decades implied a myopic focus.

It was the way Scipio spoke about Polygon that held Andrea’s attention. Not hatred exactly. Something colder than that. Andrea had seen it before in older State officials. The Red Decades had created entire generations who still viewed the privatization of military force as a sort of original sin, regardless of how inevitable it had become. She suspected Scipio had spent enough years watching corporations turn war into procurement contracts that the resentment had fossilized into certainty. Certainty that organisations like Polygon would end up as her enemy, one way or another. Useful, potentially. But too dangerous of a mindset to keep, if it narrowed her perspective. Andrea didn't appreciate Department Heads with tunnel vision. They were in their position precisely because they could see the bigger picture.

“The Polygon’s leverage is structural.” Andrea said after a moment. “That makes them harder to confront directly than companies like BlackSun. You can retaliate against aggression. But we don't have that option with them. And needless to say, I don't want a puffed-up territory dispute becoming a bigger headache than necessary.” The aerotaxi drifted lower through the city while she spoke, neon reflections sliding across the cabin glass. “Although it may not come easily, we cannot afford to simply view Polygon as an enemy yet to draw their guns on us. We're smarter than that, don't you think?”

A rhetorical statement more than a question. Andrea folded her hands loosely in her lap.

“I have a solution in mind, but it's dependant on a few factors. First, I'd like to know how active this conflict is currently.” She asked. “Cold rivalry, or are we already seeing deliberate aggression from their side?” A beat. “And more importantly, what have we done so far to stoke their anger? Other than occupying 'their' territory, obviously."

"Right now, they are calm and peaceful, playing by all the rules and talking loudly about healthy competition and international law," said Ms. Scipio. "Which they can do because they are winning the peace. They are targeting our industrial sectors, government contracts and subsidies with legal and low-level greyzone covert activities. They feel safe from retaliation due to their leverage over our transportation networks. Attacking us is currently profitable for them, which means the activity will intensify over time. I do not suggest starting a war of aggression but we need to re-establish deterrence."

She brought up a series of slides - graphs showing corporate security incidents over time, broken down by faction. "As you can see, the incidents have been gradually escalating as they become emboldened. My previous instructions have been to harden our facilities rather than going on the offensive or investing in any sort of credible deterrence force. This approach has not produced results. We are spread too wide and thin to secure everything, and all an offensive costs the Polygon is sending a Johnson to engage a local Cyber Knight, who will pick our most vulnerable facility."

"I have three proposals detailed. Option one is to stay the course as we are, hardening as much as possible with the money we have. This will cost 5MC and, in my view, will not accomplish anything but kicking the can down the road. Option two is to withdraw all our assets from the field into hardened central facilities. This will cost 20MC in lost business, revenue, working from home premiums, and so on, but represents an organized withdrawal rather than a chaotic rout. Option three is a capability building program specifically targeting the Polygon. We would make contact with pirate groups operating out of Florida, reach out to the Yu Jing State Empire, and invest in internal combat assets. This would either force them to quit the field or begin an arms race, and if we do this immediately the show of resolve would communicate clearly that this is not a cycle they want to be locked into. I project they quit the field, though I would not recommend making this full investment for a second year or they will regard it as aggressive intent. This will cost 50MC."

It is very clear which option she favours.

She talks. And all of it only serves to cause Andrea's right eyebrow to raise higher and higher on her forehead. Scipio's proposals are bogus in her mind. The first two are, anyway. She only really wanted to talk about the third option. And the fact that she elaborates on it so much more than her first two ideas, even shooting down the first idea so completely, only solidifies the thought in Andrea's mind; Scipio is trying to get her measure. Perhaps she's even being honest about the third proposal, but it's so wildly outclassed in Andrea's mind by the thought of spending so much on a proposal that, if it works, means that effectively nothing happens as a result. It's a grand deterrence. A proxy war, for the sake of developing their own counter-measures with plenty of time to spare.

"Admiral." She begins, after Scipio has finished her layout of the options. "You must realise that fifty Macro Credits is... well, it's a ridiculous amount to ask for." She lets the words sit for a moment in the air. "One could topple the government and infrastructure of a small to medium sized country for that much. And despite your assurances of the need for these funds, I am struggling to see the sense in devoting so much money into this project. What exactly will it be used for, precisely? Bribes to Yu King, I assume. And payment for the Floridians. And of course the hardware and software of the 'internal combat assets' you claim we'll be making. But fifty?"

She fights the urge to bring a hand up to her face to squeeze the bridge of her nose.

"I'll grant you the funds, Scipio." She said, her tone firm and low. She wanted to establish with the Admiral immediately that she was not a woman to be fucked with. "However. If I find out that even one credit has been skimmed off the top or wasted in any way..." She suppressed the urge to glare, but she couldn't do anything about the dangerous tone of her voice. She hoped the threat came across effectively enough. She took a moment to breathe, and then took out her personal comm and approved the proposal via a data-link, authorising the Admiral the license to spend fifty of Lhotse's company Macro Credits as she saw fit. She just hoped there'd be a few left over, and that she wouldn't need to use the whole allowance. Her finger hovered over the 'disconnect' button on her armrest, but she paused.

"I've read your file, Admiral. You're a competent woman. Please do not give me any reason to doubt that impression." She said, before pressing the button and severing the connection.

Andrea exhaled as she looked out the window at the passing neon skyscrapers of the city. Her first day on the job, and already she was making financial decisions that would have gone a long fucking way to ending world hunger if she saw sense in spending to that end. But no, the company came first. Always. She hoped they'd reach Paradisia's place soon. She could do with seeing a friendly face, and a stiff drink.

The good part of authorizing someone's passion project was that everything was ready to go. Bulk unit purchase contracts deploy immediately, regional sectors are reclassified from safe to contested, contacts cultivated over decades get phone calls telling them that the check just cleared and it's time to go hot. Admiral Scipio has, in fact, been embezzling - but the funds she was misallocating all went towards making sure that this operation would go off as smoothly as possible the moment the funds became available. The gun was aimed and loaded for you already.

A wave of hostilities has been unleashed - but to be clear, this is not a full on corporate war. No headquarters are being bombed, no flagged tankers are being sunk, nothing experimental is being deployed. What's being hit is a vast network of overextended grey zone assets as Lhotse Security empties its arsenals in the secure knowledge that resupply is coming. As you check in over weeks and months you will continue to see a steady beat of low-level signs that things are going well. Your reign begins with a show of force and a successful defensive operation.

*

Paradisia is hanging out at an InfoBar. Bit of a trend, recently - cashed up retired netrunners and street samurai open front bars with overpriced drinks and unfriendly service. They launder money, give connected underworld types a hangout, and represent a sufficient concentration of force that law enforcement doesn't look too closely. This one's all done up in seafoam green and blue tiles, indoor trees and vines, the sound of a mournful trumpet providing backing music. Despite being happy hour on a weeknight there are only four customers present.

Your cybernetic eye identifies some of them immediately. Sitting at the bar, slightly off center in what feels like an almost deliberate show of normality is Unity Samson, Esquire, a public defender who has taken on some high profile cases. She is talking to a - a literal horse? No, a literal unicorn. A quadruped animal unicorn with a rainbow mane and glittery hooves, covered with scars and cuts that have been covered up by colourful children's bandages, wearing a black leather coat with metal studs. Your eye loads the name as Sapphire Wind. Apparently she's involved in some sort of underground deathmatch circuit.

Further along, at a table, Paradisia is playing reijong against a middle-aged man who has been completely data-scrubbed. Nothing on him at all. That's a hard thing to maintain - even if SLAM! *click* sells that service, the moment you buy tech from a rival company they'll open up a corresponding file, so it locks you into their ecosystem for everything. Either way, he is losing hand after hand in businesslike silence, the two of them going through the charade of the game to avoid having their transaction being flagged. Everyone looks at you as you enter. Everyone knows that you mean trouble.

Nobody reached for a weapon. Nobody stood up. But attention settled onto her with the smooth, instinctive caution of people accustomed to surviving dangerous environments. Conversations lowered half a degree. Eyes lingered a little longer than politeness required. She knew why. She knew what they saw. Corporate. Not because of the suit. She had deliberately toned that down before coming here. It simply seemed to be because people who lived on this level of the social hierarchy learned to recognise institutional gravity by instinct as much as eyesight. The posture. The purpose. The sense that consequences travelled with someone. She had to suppress a smile. She knew was going to love that gravitas aspect of her presence more than the salary.

Andrea paused just inside the entryway long enough to take the place in properly.

The bar was expensive in the very specific way anti-corporate spaces often became expensive eventually. Carefully distressed authenticity. Imported tilework pretending not to be imported. Lighting calibrated to look old world rather than new tech. In short, this was a place designed for people who wanted to feel like they were still adjacent to danger and those ever-elusive 'good old days' from back before the Red Decades.

The trumpet music helped.

Her optics tagged the occupants one by one automatically. She got the impressions of each, but she paid them no mind. Then her eyes settled on Paradisia. And the man opposite them. Nothing. Not low visibility. Not partial obfuscation. Genuine absence. Her systems kept trying to populate identifiers and finding blank space instead. Shit, that was actually interesting.

Either they were forced to be a Slam Click shill, or they were some sort of netrunner savant who knew how to hide their traces so well that they didn't even make footprints to follow in the first place.

The reijong game itself barely mattered. The rhythm told the real story. Too measured. Too detached. Transaction disguised as leisure because modern surveillance systems had become very good at noticing direct exchanges. It was none of her business. Andrea started walking. She approached the table calmly, aware of every set of eyes tracking her progress through the room. Paradisia looked almost exactly the same as they had over the call; deeply unimpressed by the world in general.

Andrea stopped beside the table and looked down at the board for a moment before speaking.

“You hang up on all your old friends,” she said mildly, “or should I feel specially honoured?"

"You know how it is," said Paradisia. "You get picked up by a mega, suddenly everything's an infohazard and they're sending impersonation droids after you before you've signed the paperwork."

They were only half joking. They both knew the kind of work that went into an impersonator android, and knew that the windows of opportunity involved and sums of money at play meant that targeting VIPs between job offer and entrance interview was an entire business model.

In person you could see details you hadn't gotten over the holo. You could see, above all, that Paradisia had become cautious. They'd given up the jaguar-morph form but kept the Polygon combat implants, so well concealed that only their age made them visible to your eye at all. On the inside of her overcoat were dazzlejam patterns - fractal nightmare QR codes that could disrupt video surveillance. The jacket could be flipped inside out quickly and repeatedly, which combined with whatever was in that backpack meant that she could move through an area invisibly. And, just as importantly, she was eating peanut butter protein bars - that meant that all of her implanted gear was being run off personal biochemistry, meaning she was not vulnerable to EMP shocks. This was someone who understood the weak points of the systems that surrounded her.

"So what's the op?" she asked. She was figuring this was high-class merc work, the kind you didn't get to say no to.

Andrea’s eyes lingered briefly on the protein bars before returning to Paradisia. Cheap calories. High density. Clearly a product designed for people running hardware off their own metabolism because external dependency was a vulnerability. Emblematic of exactly the type of person Paradisia had become over the years. That, combined with the coat, the old Polygon implants and the scrubbed company at the table, painted a fairly complete picture. She was surviving. Competently, even impressively, but still... surviving.

Andrea had seen the account summaries on the ride over. Enough off-book income to suggest freelance work drifting somewhere into illegality, but not enough to indicate major criminal backing or real financial security. Someone skilled enough to stay afloat without ever quite escaping the water.

She shot a glance at the obfuscated man, and glared at him until he decided to just hand over the rest of his reining chips to Paradisia and summarily fuck off. Andrea neatly made herself comfortable in the chair he'd left.

“Technically speaking, Para, there is no 'op'.” She said plainly, then settled back in the chair. Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. "I've recently been put in charge of a big pond. But I'm still feeling like a small fish. So I need help. Strength in numbers. I’m not trying to recruit a bodyguard or a trigger-puller. Honestly, if I wanted that, Lhotse would hand me fifty candidates before breakfast.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the dazzlejam lining again. “What I need is someone who understands how people navigate hostile systems. Someone who knows how to watch their own ass while covering mine."

Andrea shrugged lightly, doing her best to gauge the reactions of Paradisia's eyes. She could have easily asked her VI to monitor their heart rate, brain activity, and hormone levels for real-time analysis of their intents. But that felt a little too like molesting Paradisia's freedoms. And Andrea knew that was exactly the thing they held dearest.

“And preferably someone who won’t mistake the high life executive culture for reality. I need someone who's seen some shit." Then, more plainly. "Bear with me here, because I know how this is going to sound. But I need a secretary. Someone to tell me when something feels wrong, and stop me from accidentally surrounding myself with people who think they can take me for a fool." Andrea shrugged. "Think of it as a long-term infiltration assignment.”

That got the faintest twitch of amusement from Paradisia, she could tell. She didn't need the VI's sensors for that. She took a look around the bar, and was tempted by the idea to get a drink. But thought better of it. The lack of certain hygiene standards she was used to weren't exactly enforced down here. And there was a very strong likelihood of the bartender spitting in her drink. If not something worse.

“Look, I’m serious. I’ve spent exactly one day in this office and I already understand the problem." She put out an hand and started counting on her fingers. "Everyone around executives either wants something, fears someone, or is trying to become somebody.” Andrea gestured lightly with one hand. “Which means after a certain point nobody talks to you like a person anymore.”

Her eyes drifted briefly around the InfoBar.

“So the last thing I need is another yes-man. I need somebody in the room whose first instinct isn’t to agree with me because they think it’ll help their stock options.” A small pause. “And frankly, I’d rather trust someone I've been friends with for thirty years with a criminal side hustle than someone who’s spent twenty years climbing internal management structures, who's as likely to lick my clit as they are to stab me in the back.”

That part she meant completely. God, she could practically feel the old self she used to be when she was around Paradisia when they were kids seeping into her pores. Why else would she have used the word 'clit'? Jesus.

“The actual job is straightforward." Andrea continued. “You manage access to me. Prioritise information. Make sure I’m where I need to be when I need to be there. Handle the things I don’t have time to personally chase down.” She tapped her forefinger lightly against the table once. "In short; you become the barrier between me and the rest of the world.” The trumpet music filled the brief silence afterward. "And yes, before you ask, the compensation is ridiculous.”

Her tone was so dry and matter-of-fact that she surprised herself with how plainly she was talking about the subject of money.

“You’d get your own place. Somewhere secure, annd spacious. With a pool if you want it. Full medical and implant support. Real healthcare, not the subscription-plan garbage.” Andrea glanced briefly toward the old Polygon hardware hidden beneath Paradisia’s clothes. “Including maintenance for all the expensive military-grade mistakes you’re currently feeding peanut butter." Another slight pause. "And if yearly salaries make you nervous, we structure it daily instead. Like contract work. You can think of yourself as an extremely well-paid mercenary specialising in executive containment.”

Her expression softened just slightly then, losing some of the corporate polish. She even offered a soft smile.

“I’m also not expecting you to magically know how to operate in executive environments overnight. I can assign you my personal VI to help train you up, explain procedures, keep you ahead of meetings and obligations for the first few weeks. You won’t be thrown into the deep end alone.” Then she shrugged lightly. “No pressure. And... if you tell me to fuck off, I’ll leave. But I am serious about the offer. But it is one-time only."

The look in their eyes. It wasn't greed, or disbelief, or calculation or any of the other emotions you've gotten so used to when arranging business transactions.

It was pity. They were looking at you like you were a pathetic kitten in a cardboard box.

"You're afraid," they said. "All of this and - you don't even have one person you can trust? You need to go all the way back to childhood to find even one -"

They finished the thought internally. You don't think it was flattering. But hey - that's why you're offering her the big bucks, right?

"Fuck, okay. No need for the hard sell, I need the money. So is there, like, a dress code or is it come as you are?"

For a moment, Andrea didn’t answer. The sheer amount of pity in Paradisia’s expression unsettled her more than outright suspicion would have. Suspicion was familiar territory to a corporate woman like her. She understood greed, calculation, self-interest; most executive interactions were built out of carefully managed versions of those instincts. Over the last twenty years, she'd learned to speak in those backstab-ready terms better than her mother language. But pity implied Paradisia had looked at her life and immediately recognised something Andrea herself had spent years avoiding naming directly.

And the irritating part was that she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Somewhere along the way, trust had stopped being casual. It had become... transactional. And rare. And that wasn't the only thing either. Every person under and above her position, in every conversation or info-message she'd exchanged had been a tepid mixture of professional risk, political value, and institutional consequences. People became subordinates, superiors, clients, liabilities. Even friendships slowly turned cautious once enough money and authority entered the equation. Andrea looked down briefly at the table before letting out a quiet breath that almost became a laugh.

But fuck all that. She was good at speaking that language. Her new position was evidence of that.

“I was hoping you’d wait at least a week before psychoanalysing me.” She said.

There wasn’t much defensiveness in it. If anything, she sounded faintly resigned. Paradisia accepting the offer so practically reassured her more than any enthusiastic response could have. No dramatic bargaining. No performance. Just an honest admission that the money mattered. Andrea felt like she could respect that, even if she hadn't considered those pesky Cyber Punk morals of hers for very long. Pretending money didn’t matter was mostly a luxury reserved for people who had too much of it. The question about the dress code finally drew a genuine smile from her.

“Honestly, you’ll probably improve the atmosphere.” She said. “Half the executive floor dresses like they’re either attending a funeral or founding a techno-cult. Take your liberties, but at least try for some semblance of smart-casual.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the coat and the hidden dazzlejam lining beneath it. “We might need to compromise on anything that causes security cameras to develop too many bugs, though. Don't want to piss off my security chief on day one, do ya?”

The trumpet music drifted through another brief silence while Andrea leaned back slightly in her chair.

“And just for the record, I’m not trying to turn you into a corporate lifer, Paradisia. The entire reason I came looking for you is because you’re not one already. If you ever start sounding like an internal strategy document, I’ll assume something’s gone badly wrong.” She paused briefly before continuing, her tone settling back into something more practical. “I’ll have housing options sent over tomorrow. You can choose your new place. It'll have all the bells and whistles, and I'll make sure cleaning androids are sent up everyday to keep it looking nice. And we'll get you scheduled for a check-up when I add you onto my healthcare plan too, and proper maintenance support for your implants if you want them.” Her eyes drifted briefly toward the protein bars on the table. “You’re not going to have to keep running military hardware off peanut butter soon enough. You'll be able to buy the top-shelf shit.”

Andrea let the smile drop from her face as she looked at the friend she'd known for so long. Then, after a moment.

“For what it’s worth,” Andrea said more quietly, “I’m glad you said yes. Thanks, seriously.”

"Oh, fuck no, I am not taking company housing - or security, or augs, or any of that bullshit. Like you said, I am not going to be a corporate lifer - and like you said, my job is to not be reliant on anything company internal. I want briefcases full of cash, no brand loyalty contracts for my purchases, and no questions about where I'm getting the shit I need, and the second I feel like I've got enough to quit capitalism I'm fucking bouncing." She paused, a little taken aback by the passion that had crept into that. "Woah. I mean, like, I still need the money, but I want money as a way to freedom and not getting myself deeper into scary debts. I'm working for a paycheck, I'm not working to pay off top shelf augs. Seen where that path ends."

Ideas occurred beneath the surface. "Speaking of, is there any power in this role, or am I just, like, taste testing your coffee for poison?"

Andrea listened without interrupting, watching Paradisia work through the thought in real time. The intensity of the reaction didn’t surprise her nearly as much as the direction of it did. Most people, once they got close enough to corporate power to touch it, immediately started negotiating for more access. Better implants. Better apartments. Better contracts. They wrapped themselves around the institution piece by piece until eventually they couldn’t tell where their own life ended and the company began.

Paradisia had clearly seen that happen before. Probably more than once. Andrea found herself nodding slightly by the end of it, even if she was fighting the urge to sigh in exasperation. Anyone else would be biting her hand off at an offer like the one she'd made Paradisia, but she was who Andrea wanted...

“That’s fair." She said, conveying absolutely none of the exasperation she was starting to build up. “But it's your loss. You should see some of those swanky apartments they've got on Kizingo Boulevard." Andrea whistled a high note of appreciation. "Should've done house tours just to take a shit in them somewhere."

She leaned back in her chair, folding one arm loosely across herself while the trumpet continued somewhere overhead. The noise of the bar had well and truly settled back into motion around them now that it was clear nobody was about to start shooting.

“I wasn’t trying to put you on a leash. I just don’t want the person managing my life slowly falling apart because they’re rationing implant maintenance.” A faint smile crossed her face. “But if cash and external sourcing makes you more comfortable, then cash it is.”

And that, too, was useful information. That Paradisia valued independence more than comfort. Which meant she was unlikely to become institutionalised if Andrea handled this correctly. The danger would be the opposite problem; making sure she remained invested enough to stay engaged once the novelty wore off. But that could come later. The question about power drew another small smile from Andrea, this one a little more genuine.

“You’re not my food taster, no.” She glanced briefly around the InfoBar before continuing. “The role has as much power as you’re capable of handling responsibly. A secretary at this level isn’t just answering calls. You control access to me, which means you control who gets heard and who waits outside the door.” Her eyes returned to Paradisia’s. “You decide where the attention of Lhotse's Chief of Operations goes. And if you can't see the value in that? Planting seeds and removing weeds, so to speak. Well, you're not the Cyber Punk I thought you were. Like I said, Para, we can make real change. From the top down. As long as there are profits, I don't think my bosses will care either way."

Andrea paused briefly, considering how to phrase the next part. She tapped lightly against the edge of the table, unsure how to answer her question about 'clearance'. In the end, she shrugged, and just said the truth. Just like she had been for the majority of this entire interaction. She started counting on her fingers the three things that Paradisia would have at her disposal.

“You’d have clearance high enough to know what’s happening around me, authority to act on my behalf within reason, and enough institutional weight that people below executive level would take you seriously.” A slight shrug followed as she dropped her hand back to the table. “But if somebody does try poisoning my coffee, I suppose I’d appreciate a heads up.”

"Alright. I've got contacts who have done this sort of work before, I'll get up to speed on my own time. You won't need to babysit me over this," said Paradisia. "I need to get some stuff ready for the job. My, uh, first secretary schedule orders: You leave, act a bit pissed off, schedule some other interviews, don't put my name on any paperwork. Pretend this thing fell through for a few days, don't make a thing out of it. I'll come in when I can do so seamlessly. Also I'll need a big day-1 operational spend because part of how I'm going to do this is I'm going to buy every bit of black-market intel on your company structure I can get, both as training data for me and because that'll show up some interesting holes when I get to look at the official books. That's going to be - fuck, a lot. Like, two MacroCredits a lot, minimum. You're fine with that kind of expense?"

"Only two Macros?" Andrea replied evenly, with a hint of humour laced within it. "Done. I'll confirm the currency authorisation when, and only when, you come into the office. I like you, Para, you know that. But I'm not trusting anyone with that much money and then giving them a chance to run off with it. I know you can understand that."

She cleared her throat, ready to put on a show for the sake of the other patrons and the intrinsic surveillance technology that ran all through the city. Then her expression hardened sharply. Here went nothing.

"No, actually, you know what? Forget it." The words cut through the low trumpet music cleanly enough that the nearby tables glanced over immediately. Andrea stood abruptly, chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Two MacroCredits for a secretary position? Are you insane?" Her voice carried now, controlled but visibly angry in the particular executive way that implied somebody was about to get blacklisted from an industry. "I come down here personally as a show of good faith, I offer you a legitimate corporate position, and you throw it in my face? Fine. Fuck you, too." She gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

A few more eyes were on them now. The bartender had stopped pretending not to listen entirely. Andrea reached into her jacket, slapped enough physical cash down onto the table to cover the drinks several times over, then pointed briefly toward Paradisia with the same restrained fury people used when trying very hard not to escalate further in public.

"Keep the change. You're an emaciated wreck, looks like you could use a decent meal rather than the scop you're sucking down. And for the record? The fact you think a corporation the size of Lhotse would hand the keys to the kingdom to somebody demanding off-ledger payments before they've signed a contract is exactly why this was a waste of my evening." She took a step back from the table, jaw tight. "I'll find somebody else."

The last part came out clipped and immediate, like a decision made in anger rather than a prepared line. Perfectly believable. Exactly the kind of frustrated executive outburst the room would remember for a day and then file away as ordinary corporate arrogance. Andrea turned sharply and headed for the door without another glance back. Only as she passed Paradisia did she let herself murmur, low enough that nobody else could possibly catch it. Not even whatever quiet machine-learning systems were tagging keywords and emotional tone from nearby devices.

"Three days. Come in with your game face on. Don't make me regret this."

Then she strode past and away from her, out the door. And she climbed neatly back into her sky taxi.

"Let's go."

Your next meeting was with Eager Early, the head of R&D. This meeting could not be done over R&D - even learning Eager's location was need-to-know only, and involved more security than getting into your office. You, after all, could be replaced. Eager and his crew of poindexters, furries, and occultists were the things that would pay for your replacement.

Eager himself is an old NASA guy, and still has some of that astronaut sheen to him. Classically handsome, incredibly fit, piercing stare, square jaw, he overwhelmingly gives the impression of the very best humanity had to offer, from back when a time when that kind of person went into space exploration rather than finance. He's even aged gracefully, with the silver temples and rugged stubble of an adventure serial star. Another ex-Government pick from Everest - so much of Lhotse seemed to be pillaged from the old order.

Immediately, you knew not to trust Early. Authoritarian regimes went as far as fucking possible to avoid putting people like Eager in positions of power. Someone smart, capable, charismatic and idealistic? If he'd made a serious bid for it he'd be in your chair instead of his. He might still take your job if he set his mind to it. He might do worse. This person is a nexus of power inside the company unto himself, which means the only thing keeping him here is because the company is currently serving his interests.

"Good evening, Ms. Kade," said Eager pleasantly. He didn't volunteer or press anything further, he was secure enough to let you set the pace.

Andrea had spent enough time around senior executives to know that first impressions were often misleading. Some people projected power because they needed everyone else to believe they possessed it. Others projected competence because they had spent years carefully cultivating the appearance. But judging by his extensive history, Eager Early looked like the sort of person who could walk into a room, explain a plan to colonise most of the solar system, and have half the audience volunteering before he reached the final slide.

That was dangerous.

Not because he was hiding something. People like Eager always were, but in this life, that made him no different from everyone else. The danger came from the possibility that he genuinely believed in things. Belief often gave way to dogma, and then fanaticism. And fanaticism had started more disasters than greed ever managed. Just look at France a few hundred years ago and all those guillotines. Nasty, but textbook fanatical violence.

The security surrounding the meeting had reinforced that impression of competence. Lhotse protected R&D with a level of paranoia that made executive security look blasé. Andrea was accustomed to seeing departments justify their own importance. Everyone wanted to feel on top, after all. This felt different, as though Early was assured of his place rather than proving it to everyone else. He knew his value. By his estimate, Andrea supposed everybody else just moved money around. R&D created new things. That made them special. It also made them expensive. But Andrea was assured of her place in this food chain, too.

“Good evening, Mr. Early." Andrea replied, settling into her seat. She didn’t immediately open a report or pull up a briefing. Eager seemed like the sort of person who would notice that and draw conclusions from it. "I'll let you in on a little secret about me, Mr. Early. I'm not one for niceties. Nor am I a woman who likes to be flattered. From here on in, our working relationship will be simple and to-the-point. I don't like to waste words, and I've spent most of today learning that Lhotse is not quite the company I thought it was.”

She smiled at him with a faint expression of welcome, but also a fair helping of 'don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you'. It was a hard look to pull off, but shed spent enough time perfecting even the slightest hints of muscle controls in her face so that the optic scanners of the people she spoke to would have a hard time discerning her body language.

“Every department head I’ve spoken to so far has described a different centre of gravity. Security believes the future hinges on the Polygon. Logistics is worried about Darwin. Finance appears to believe we’re secretly a welfare state with a shipping division attached.” There was a trace of dry humour there. "I appreciate you're a busy man, so I thought I’d save myself some time and ask R&D the same question directly.” Andrea folded her hands loosely on the table. "So please, if you could enlighten me. What is the most important thing happening in this department that I don’t yet know enough to worry about? And what exactly have you been working on for the last two fiscal years?"

"Honestly, the past two years have been complete set of boondoggles," said Eager. "We are over budget and behind schedule - and even if we weren't I can't imagine the market potential of the things we're working on. Silo One has been working on what I surmise are components for a combat-capable spacecraft, Silo Two has about perfected the servo-motors and neofabric arrays that'd let something the size of a garbage truck do parkour. Silo Three has been working on neo-cryptographic defense networks so we'll be safe if anyone skips ahead two generations in the quantronic arms race, and Silo Four has developed a new kind of optical plating that doesn't catch fire. That last one is the only thing that'll make money on the open market, and even then not a lot."

He sighed, leaning back on his chair. "So we've been doing this kind of weird, blue sky basic research for the entire duration of your predecessor's stint in office. And I won't lie - it's been fun, we've solved some really hard problems. But frankly, right now R&D is a financial black hole and I'm concerned we're going to suck the entire rest of the company into it. If you're here to tell me to pull my head in and get back to commercial technology I understand, but we've been specialized into these moonshot projects for so long that there'll be a significant switching cost involved. We've got a lot of the kinds of people who are only here because this is the only place that is letting them build the cool parts of the future, and if we stop letting them do that they're going to go elsewhere - and there isn't a noncompete in the world that'll stop them."