Author note:
I guess the turnaround for this one wasn't too bad: a new chapter up in less than three weeks. I wouldn't count on being this fast in the near future though, since I've got school and work coming straight at me now. In any case, I owe a few old friends a peek at their work now that I've got this up. I always review what I read, because I know the courtesy to let the writer know what I thought of their work is always welcomed, no matter how inadequate I think a review may be. A similar courtesy would be highly appreciated here as well, just so you know... *cough*leaveareviewyoulazydolt*cough*
Take care!
/
/
The McNerney auditorium of the Corneria City University was packed to capacity people, of all kinds that were to be found in an academic setting. There were plenty of young scruffy student types in their jeans and street clothes, as well as several carefully prepared clean-cut professional types in their suits, and even quite a few older folks who couldn't be bothered to meticulously pamper themselves, and settled for subdued simple and tasteful in their attire. The eclectic collection of people here filled the space with a quiet, yet excited murmur as they waited...
The auditorium itself had a fairly rudimentary design, with hundreds of chairs in a rough arena arrangement, sloping upward from the stage. The space came equipped with a projector screen and corresponding projector in the rear, as well as several inconspicuous speakers for amplification. The most striking feature however was the roof: the entire ceiling of the McNerney auditorium was transparent, allowing natural sunlight from the bright clear day outside to wash into the space, until it changed.
The gigantic window-roof was made of 'smart glass', which could alter its transparency on command. When the window roof-started do fade dark, shutting out the sunlight and dimming the space, the attendees in the McNerney auditorium responded with wash of silent anticipation. Then a set of lights faded up at the front of the auditorium, and the projector screen lit up, showing a simple logo: a circle with a couple flowing swooshes laid over it.
A single figure then stepped onto the stage: vulpine, with fiery red-orange fur, and keen confident eyes. He dressed simply, wearing a pair of slacks and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. He looked like he could be mid-aged, but carried himself across the stage with a youthful, almost defiant vigor in spite of it.
When the fox came to a stop at center-stage, the image on the screen behind him was joined by a simple set of words in bold print: Own Phoenix, and Space Dynamics.
"Business is simple..." Owen Phoenix said, with his higher, younger sounding voice boosted through the amplifiers, "People want things, and other people provide them, but it's never that simple, is it?"
He didn't stand still while he spoke, but moved back and forth across the empty stage, filling it up with his presence. The fox often looked out into the quiet entranced audience, engaging with them, as if he were having a simple one-to-one discussion, but with an entire auditorium full of people.
"Often there's many people providing basically the same product, and they want you to buy their product X instead of the other's product Y. How do you entice the needy customer to go for one versus the other? How do you sell your product, and not lose out to your competitors?"
Owen let that hang in the air for a second, then offered up a shrug and a sigh as he moved on.
"Well I'm sorry to say that's a heavily loaded question, and different people will have different answers. None of them are necessarily 'wrong'; you will find plenty of billionaires who put out the lowest quality products in their market, using the most deceptive underhanded tactics at their disposal, and they will tell you that, as long as they're making money, they're doing it right. Likewise, you will also find scores of groundbreaking enterprising people with outstanding products to match their ambitions, and yet they fall flat, and their product never makes it to the customers' hands. They can be considered 'wrong' despite a clearly superior product.
"Here's an example: lets say a company provides body armor for a major army. They've provided that body armor for years, they even have a contract so the army will always buy their body armor, and it has worked well enough for a time. The troops are protected, the company makes healthy profit, and everyone is happy. Years later, firearms technology improves, the army's troops are dying left right and center from it, and the company is asked to develop armor to counter this threat. However, the company has grown complacent over the years; they've used their profits to buy influence, bribing the rule-writers to tweak the rules in order to protect their own well being and secure their place. They are mainly interested in providing product insofar as it serves their own ends, and not the ends of the customer. Sure, they'll give the needy army what they asked for, but they'll claim inflated and exorbitant fees to cover 'research and development'.
"Meanwhile, another company –a younger, fledgling company– claims to have already developed a body armor that counters the new threat. They've even had it rigorously tested to make sure it worked right, but there's something amiss. Another test of this new body armor outside this young company claims that it doesn't work, and the old company makes sure to point out this failed test when the needy army checks it out. Soon after, that young and fresh company fails, smothered by a barrage of attacks on their product seemingly from everywhere, and that newfangled body armor was never worn or used by a single soldier anywhere, ever.
Owen Phoenix's tone had become grim, and foreboding.
"This is the status quo of the business world, in any given market. Those who are already at the top are naturally content to stay there, consolidating their power and influence, and shouting down any who dare challenge them. Yet as the actual product or service they're supposed to provide becomes obsolete, the company begins to fester, and stagnate, but they remain at the top in spite of it. This is because they have fortified themselves in the mightiest castles their vast wealth can buy, which allows them to withstand even the most stubborn sieges set against them.
"I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you, the deck has already been meticulously stacked against each and every one of you from the start. The world of business dirty, mean, cut-throat, and full of remorseless cloak-and-dagger debauchery. It is not a challenge to be met by the faint-of-heart, and if you have any second thoughts about getting into business at this point, then you should save yourself the trouble and back out now while your good name is still intact.
Owen Phoenix stood there at center-stage, arms at his hips, sharp eyes scanning through the dimmed mass within the McNerney auditorium, daring someone to say or do something. With his unspoken challenge unanswered, the fox continued on, building now on a tone of determination.
"Alright. So you're still with me then? You're wondering perhaps, 'How could someone possibly dive into this harsh, merciless Hell and emerge on top?' The answer is is quite simple, yet surprisingly tricky to understand. It is the very same thing that has brought on all the greatest changes in civilized history: the answer is Innovation.
"It was Innovation that transformed the novelty of black powder into mighty bombard cannons, which crumbled the castles of ancient feudal kings. It was Innovation that finally saw combustible fossil fuels supplanted by fusion power as the dominant means of energy production. And it was Innovation that catapulted the fledgling Space Dynamics company ahead of the pack in aerospace industry, and set the standard followed by other technology companies today.
"I know what you're thinking: 'Well duh, Owen! That's such a dumb and cliché answer!' Well, lets go back to the example of the young company's body armor again. Now, instead of doing what so many other companies before them have done –which is restricted mainly to controlled laboratory testing of their armor– the young company does something odd, outside the box, and controversial according to many. They take their new armor, and give it freely to people best prepared to test it in actual field conditions: independent mercenaries.
"Mercenaries are not bound by the stifling several-billion-credit supplier contracts as armies are, and because of their highly independent and adventurous nature, mercs are often more than willing to take a new piece of equipment or gear and put it through its paces as they do their contracts. Plus, if they don't have to cough up the credits to get their hands on it, all the better for them.
"This is field testing in the truest form there is. If a company is so truly confident in their product that they will bet their reputation and the lives of others on how their product performs in the real world, let them, because the end results truly are worth the risk. There are no dirty underhanded deal-sweetening favors to swing the market, and the final verdict cannot be spun or twisted by outside interpretations. What you see is what you get, and it does exactly what it does: no fine print, no sleazy smear tactics, no nothing."
"This is the key policy of Space Dynamics's R&D and marketing departments, which has shot this company so far ahead so quickly. With our products already out there in capable hands, anyone in the market for a large-scale supplier need only look to the small-scale successes. When they see that our products work with outstanding results, there is little hesitation or anxiety on the buyer's part, because they know they're getting a product that works with proven and honest results.
"As you can imagine, this method drives the stubborn old fat-cats in the industry crazy to no end." this drew a couple of subdued laughs and light chuckles from the auditorium. Owen Phoenix just stood there, and smiled. "It's just like I said: business is simple..."
Someone else entered onstage, heading straight for Owen, disregarding the audience. It was Wallace Hargreave, one of Phoenix's oldest and most trusted assistants, and he held a tablet clenched in one fist as he approached. The aging weasel had a look of confused and uneasy fear about him, but also of solemn purpose.
When he reached Owen, he simply showed him the tablet's screen, which contained a single line of text:
[I have traveled the river into oblivion, and lay anchored in the shadows of the foulest world.]
When the fox saw this, he froze in a moment of hesitation, but only for a moment. Another instant later saw Owen Phoenix silently storming off the stage, much to the confusion of those gathered in the McNerney auditorium.
/
虚無に行って
Into Oblivion
/
Farbound Station was the last port of call for vessels making the Sauria/Cerinia run from Lylat. It was still technically in the Lylatin orbital system, but so far flung from the host star that a complete orbit would take several hundred years. This was just about the maximum reasonable range for vessels bound to stay within the Lylat system, but even then, a trip to Farbound from Corneria could last a day or two for the fastest available craft, and up to a week for slower hauling barges. Making the great interstellar jumps, and within acceptable travel times, required careful and meticulous drive calibration, great expenditures of energy and lengthy prep-time: luxuries that most in-system jumps neither needed nor required. This was Farbound's main purpose.
It served mainly as a supply depot, providing fuel, food, water, parts and other consumables to the ships bound for the stars, making it fairly sparse station for its size. As such, the station was dominated first and foremost by gargantuan warehouses and expansive storage facilities to accommodate all these necessities. In a secondary capacity, Farbound also served as much-needed layover point for the crews of these vessels, providing places to rest, relax, and at least a semblance of comfort. It was no resort, not in the slightest, but the station came about as amenity endowed as a run-of-the-mill spaceport terminal. This mainly included lodgings, a meager collection of shops, and a small smattering of eateries.
One of these was a café, probably modeled after Zonessian urban cafés. The tables and chairs were arrayed 'outside', in a small area of the station's wide open and spacious central rotunda, where most of the shops and other amenities were housed. The area wasn't especially populated, some of the refugees from the earlier fiasco were still around though, gradually coming to their senses. James McCloud and Vixy Reinard were at one of these tables, sharing a small meal between them. The Cooneys were there also, sitting quietly, sharing a table with young Pigma, while Scott paced restlessly between the two tables.
"They should've been here by now." the terrier muttered, to himself as much as everyone else, "We've been sittin' here, on our arses, in this dump, for the better part of half a week, and we haven't had so much as a peep from'em! What's takin' them so bloody long out there?"
Scott had been saying such things ever since they arrived at Farbound, and that was about four days ago. Nobody bothered to reply to him; everyone had come to accept that Scott ran his mouth because he was nervous, concerned for his teammates. In honesty, he was articulating what was silently on everyone's minds: it had been too long, and too quiet. While the others grew quieter and more grim in their worry, Scott became more talkative, more restless.
"They'll be here." Rick reminded Scott once again, "They've always pulled through, and they will again."
Rick had lost count of how many times he'd said that phrase, or variations thereof. He barely believed it himself anymore, and just said the words out of reflex.
Time was a strange thing aboard Farbound station: all other ships heading into the station kept track of their time by their own clocks, making whatever time Farbound ran on essentially moot. There was no 'day' or 'night'; it all just blended together into a perpetual now, and in this case, a perpetual sense of anxious anticipation. They may have been out of danger, but there was little comfort to be found.
James ad Vixy were similarly uneasy. In all the time they'd been seeing each other aboard Farbound, they hadn't talked much, or grown any more intimate. It wasn't that they weren't attracted to one-another, they were, but it was that dark and ominous cloud of concern, looming over every interaction that stunted any kind of relationship development between them. As awkward as it was, they in their stubbornness still sought comfort from each other nonetheless, even if it was nothing more than sitting at a café, sharing a simple meal, and listening to Scott babble incessantly.
This time was a little different though.
"The Tribune crew is heading back to Corneria." Vixy said without much warning, "We ship out of here in an hour."
James didn't react, not right away at least. Another moment later saw him look up, and offer her a quick nod.
"So you're leaving then." James figured.
"Yeah, I have to." she responded, but with a subtle hint of disappointment, "The studio is going to want a full report on all this, and then–"
"I understand." James added before she could trail off, reaching out to one of her hands, "It's your duty."
"Yeah, well, it's been..." she stood up from their table, unsure of what exactly to say, "I guess I can't really 'nice', since, you know..."
"We're gonna see each other again, right?" He asked, bypassing the awkwardness, "I'm based right out of Corneria City."
"Sure, we'll keep in touch." Vixy said, and added smiling, "Might even have a proper date someday."
"That'd sure be something different, wouldn't it?" James snarked as he stood up at her level.
The two of them shared a chuckle between them. It wasn't much, but amidst the stagnant tension of indefinite waiting, it was enough.
"There's something... between us." James managed, still tripping over this unfamiliar awkwardness, "I don't know what it is, but I feel... better when you're here and, I really don't want to lose what I've found with–"
Vixy came close and placed her hands on his shoulders, cutting him short, and showed him possibly the sweetest smile he'd seen in weeks, months, maybe longer.
"Don't worry, you won't." she assured him.
Vixy then leaned forward, even closer than she already was, and placed a kiss on his cheek, letting it sink in for a second before she finally released it and backed away. There weren't any words here, none were needed. James was content to stand there dumbfounded in the wash of his own feelings, and Vixy was satisfied to have left him with such a strong yet wordless statement. And with nothing else, she turned and went her separate way out of the rotunda, while James watched, still caught in the capsule of momentary bliss...
"Yo! Jimmy!" a familiar voice called out.
That was Peppy hare, but he shouldn't have been here, he had no business on Farbound, not as far as was known anyway. But there he was nonetheless, jogging his way across the station's main rotunda toward James, passing Vixy on his way over. She gave the hare a curious look as he passed, but couldn't linger, and soon continued on her way.
"Peppy!" James exclaimed, knocked from his stupor, "What the hell are you doing all the way out here?"
"Why don't you tell me who your lady friend there is?" Peppy suggested, gesturing back the way she left, "You gonna be seeing more of her or what?"
James and Peppy became busy reacquainting themselves, Scott and Pigma didn't seem to give the two old friends much heed, and Vixy was already gone, but Rick and Rachelle smelled something amiss almost immediately.
It wasn't apparent, not to those who weren't looking for it, but the two raccoons became far more aware of their surroundings, scrutinizing every detail for abnormalities. There wasn't much to scour in Farbound's rotunda: the odd spacer here and there, a few of the station's employees. Then Rick spotted it.
"See those suits headed this way?" he said to Rachelle, "At your four and your ten?"
She checked those positions, and found two hulking figures in matching black suits, a pair of dark lensed glasses, and minuscule earpiece comms. "Bodyguards." Rachelle discerned.
Rick wasted not another moment, bolting up from his table and went straight for where Peppy and James were, while they still engaged in friendly greeting.
"Peppy, who did you come here with?"
Rachelle want after him though, tried to get his attention, "Rick, wait–"
"He's with me..." a blunt voice replied.
The speaker was none other than Owen Phoenix, bearing an expression of such disgust, such pent-up an focused frustration, all of which he directed squarely at the Rick and Rachelle Cooney.
"What the hell have you done to my crew?" he demanded in bitter, accusing tone.
Everyone gathered was too speechless at the sudden arrival of Owen Phoenix to make an immediate reply. The fox simply stood there, glaring down the two somewhat surprised raccoons, until Rick got a grip and offered a reply.
"Honestly, Owen, I wish I knew."
"Don't give me your spooky spy bullshit, alright?" Phoenix spat back.
"We haven't heard from them in four days, not since we got here. We have no idea where they are or what's happened to them." Rachelle defended, standing up to the angered fox, "We're just as in-the-dark as you are about them, so get off our case."
"Look, I know where they are..." Owen Phoenix set out a sigh and scratched his head, wincing, uncomfortable, "If you'd like to know too, then you'd best tell me exactly what it was they were doing that got them there. It's a simple trade: you tell me what I want, and I'll tell you what you want. "
"Where did you learn this?" Rachelle asked, surprised at the revelation.
"If you know where Cerberus is, then why haven't you gone after them yourself?"
"Because beyond getting a special contract from you two stooges, I don't have foggiest clue clue what they've gotten themselves into, and I'd have no idea what to expect." Owen answered, only growing more irritated as the conversation tangled up, "So I ask again: what sort of insanity did you send them on?"
"We were up against Harrow..." Scott said as he stepped forward, glaring Phoenix square in his eye.
"Scott?" the fox blurted out, not expecting him to be here, "What are you– I thought–"
"Now ye're gonna tell us what ye know, or so help me, I will punt your skinny wee executive arse out the nearest airlock, and all the way back tae Corneria! Out with it!"
The terrier had come right up against Owen, eyes aflame, like he'd actually make good on his threat if it came to that. The bodyguards who'd been keeping their distance seemed to reach that same conclusion, and closed in on the suddenly silent group. The commotion had also caught the attention of some of the bystanders within the rotunda, and their curious eyes were felt by all...
The two brutish bodyguards –a pair of larger felines as it turned out– positioned themselves behind Scott, ready to take action, but Owen waved them off. Before he did anything else, the stressed fox took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and finally turned back to the Cooneys.
"Is there... someplace private we can talk about this?"
"We've rented out one of the station's layover suites..." Rick answered, and began heading away, "This way."
The group made their way out of the central rotunda and into the station's corridors, following the Cooneys' lead. Rick and Rachelle spoke to each other in hushed whispers, occasionally glancing back to the small entourage following them, but didn't share their discussion with them. Scott and Pigma were closest behind, the terrier may have gone silent, but also became more restless and agitated, like a bomb on a hair-trigger fuse, which the young swine elected not to try and tamper with, lest it explode. Peppy was there also, not exactly sure what he should be doing, and just followed alongside Scott and Pigma. This left James McCloud and Owen Phoenix trailing in the rear, with only the two ever-alert bodyguards behind them. James didn't have the words for this interaction: as far as he knew 'Owen Phoenix' was a name at the top of Space Dynamics, and a face sometimes seen on the odd magazine cover, not someone to talk to. The older fox had no such qualms, and started conversation almost instantly.
"You must be the McCloud kid." he said, giving James a quick glance as they walked, "I know about you."
"Yeah?"
"You're fired."
"Excuse me?" James spurted, baffled by Owen's blunt statement.
"You're the sole surviving member of your squad, the rest of whom have been killed in what'll be Caius Company's biggest failure in recent history: the loss of the Amity." the older fox explained, "They're gonna hang that failure around your neck and give you the boot."
"We did our duty, and everyone made it of the Amity alright." McCloud still confused, "They can't fire me for that."
"Yes– Great– Fantastic– That's all well and good but, what of the ship? Its cargo? The management in these companies could care less about what actually happened out there. All they're going to be worried about right now is covering their sorry asses and minimizing their losses. If that means blaming you for something that didn't happen, and then chucking you off the wagon as a sacrificial lamb, so be it..."
Owen Phoenix spoke like he were explaining painfully obvious concepts to a child, which, for all of Jame's lack of business sense, might be valid comparison.
"Trust me, you're fired."
"I could quit, you know." James suggested, after some consideration.
"No... that'd look suspicious and they'll hound you for it..."
Owen glanced over to McCloud, and saw a clueless gape from the younger fox that said 'I still don't get it'.
"Just– let them fire you, walk away from this mess as clean as you can while your bosses scramble to scrape it off their chests. When it's all blown over and settled down, I may have a few job opportunities for you. Goodness knows you're gonna need'em."
Owen felt around for where he kept his business cards, and offered one to James, which he accepted without much thought given to it.
"I'll keep that in mind."
The group soon found themselves inside one of the larger apartments on Farbound. Like the rest of the station, it was built mainly for utilitarian purposes, offering comforts and amenities only just beyond what would normally be stuffed aboard a long-haul vessel. The most welcome of these comforts being space, allowing all ten of the group inside the apartment's main living space without feeling too cramped, even if Phoenix's bodyguards only had room to stand near the entryway.
Owen Phoenix stepped out from the group –above them, almost– and assumed his habitually trained position of 'chairman'.
"Cerberus sent a subspace transmission directly to Château de l'Étoiles, and only to Château de l'Étoiles as far as we know. In any case, the message was encoded using an encryption key we had at our disposal. It reads: 'I have traveled the river into oblivion, and lay anchored in the shadows of the foulest world.'..."
The fox let that hang for a few moments, scanning the gathered occupants for their reactions.
"Does that phrase mean anything to anyone here?"
"You said you knew where they were..." Rick observed.
That drew a whole host of suspicious eyes from everyone else in the room, scrutinizing Owen...
"Yeah. I bluffed. I don't have a goddamn clue where they are." Owen confessed, "But how the hell else was I supposed to get your attention–" he stopped himself short, before he got himself worked up again, "I was hoping someone in this room might know something."
"I know what it means." Scott piped up almost immediately, still with some of that grim pent-up restlessness, "It's meant to inform us that Cerberus has undergone the Lethe procedure."
"And what exactly is the Lethe procedure?" Owen asked.
"It's a ship-wide lockdown that disables all the ship's systems; computer mainframe, propulsion, avionics, primary power; the whole bloody lot of it, save for minimum emergency life-support." Scott explained, "The only it can be reversed without damaging the systems is with the proper encryption key."
"Which we got." Pigma added.
Owen nodded, understanding, but at the same time not understanding.
"Okay, so why the hell are you guys sending these cryptic messages to me of all people?" he asked.
"You're here, aren't you?" Rick snarked.
"Hurr hurr, very funny." Owen -ed, rolling his eyes.
"Well, it makes sense if think about it." Rachelle extrapolated, "The crew didn't really have a way to contact us here on the station, not without going through Farbound's transceiver traffic and risking someone eavesdropping."
"We know that little fortified floating penthouse of yours is secure, and we know how tenacious you are." Scott finished.
"Fine– Whatever–" Owen waved the issue away, and moved on to something else, "Do we know where we're going then?"
"Venom, of course." Pigma answered quickly.
"Venom?"
"The message is a sort of riddle, you see..." the young swine explained, "The 'river into oblivion' refers to the river Lethe, which runs through the netherworld of some ancient myth. Anyone who swims in that river is supposed to lose all memory, to forget everything they've ever known, a state of oblivion–"
"Right, I get it, the total lockout." Owen conjectured, "And the 'shadows of the foulest word'? I guess Venom fits into that, nasty place, but how will you know exactly where to find Cerberus? Is there a certain place on the planet or something you're using as a kind of base? A safehouse?"
"Nah, we're not that crazy prepared." Pigma said, shaking his head, "The 'shadow' in the message is literally the shadow cast by the planet Venom, in its second Lagrange point. It's a point where gravity can lock a satellite, like lifeless Cerberus for instance, into a fixed position relative to Venom and the Sun which incidentally keeps it in constant darkness. The ship's not going anywhere anytime soon, and finding it will be easy enough."
Owen Phoenix paced around the room for a few moments as he cycled through his thoughts. He came to a stop somewhere near the center, and turned to face the Cooney twins, "Richard, Rachelle, and gathered company, I think you all might have a certain operation to discuss..." he then headed to the apartment's exit, while everyone else was left more-or-less speechless, "You're welcome, by the way."
With that he gestured for his bodyguards to follow, and exited the apartment of Farbound station.
/
Entrepreneurs are simply those who understand that there is little difference between obstacle and opportunity and are able to turn both to their advantage.
-Niccolo Machiavelli-
