Hunter hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe an SUV, like the one Joyce had sent to pick him up from Seckina, or something a bit more incognito and mainstream which you would see hundreds of while driving through the Oberon Capital. What hunter hadn’t expected, although he thought the he probably should have, was for a Kellese— a construct-dominant car designed by a company called Kreig with high-society clients in mind, built for people who have plenty of credits and affinity to spare.
As far as Hunter knew, Kreig had been around since near the beginning of the automotive industry, and their shift towards incorporating constructs in their products had been revolutionary at the time. They’d maintained something of a monopoly on the luxury end of their niche; not lucrative enough to afford a Seat at the Council, but certaintly enough to net them worldwide recognition, and Hunter would be willing to bet that most Council Seats had one or two stored away in a garage somewhere.
Hunter wondered how the mind of such an individual worked. What was Trey’s intention? Was this a message to Hunter?
For once in his life, Hunter didn’t mind the idea of having his psychology toyed with by a super-rich monarch. Next to getting himself inside of a ship bound outworld, this car was the second best thing.
Hunter hadn’t known who he was supposed to meet, or where. would he get a call to tell him to meet someone at the lobby? Would they expect for him to wait outside the building for them? As the minutes counted down towards the appointed time, he found himself getting nervous. But he had nothing to worry about, the driver knocked on his door at nearly 12pm sharp.
His name was Barry. He introduced himself with a smile and a tip of his hat. They enjoyed a short and awkward elevator ride together and Berry led Hunter out the back of the building. When Hunter had seen the Kellese parked by the back entrance of the hotel, his heart had skipped a beat. There was a reason that it was considered a symbol for power. Where the most typical automotive design tended to lean towards right angles and practical design elements, the Kellese was made to look like a predator, poised to strike its prey, ready to accelerate as fast as the speed of light.
Kreig went far off the beaten path when it came to how they designed their cars. He’d heard people say that the Kellese was an eyesore, but Hunter couldn’t disagree more.
Barry opened a door for Hunter, and Hunter stepped into a level of luxury he hadn’t enjoyed in many, many years. The thought almost brought back a pang of grief, but he pushed it away before it could ruin such a sweet moment. Barry entered the drivers seat and put his hands on the wheel, and at his touch, the car came to life. He could hear it sing— the etherium, he could feel the desires rise and fall as it flowed from glyph to glyph, accelerating here, decelerating there, amplified here, reinforced there, he could hear the subtle songs of Fire and Ice glyphs, he could here a whirring chorus from the front of the car, underneath the hood. It was angelic.
But it was also inefficient. He could sense some subtle, familiar distortions, where the etherium desired to soar, it was made to bare weights. Where it wanted to scream at the top of its lungs, it was made to whisper. He could feel that at certain points, the etherium would disappear, kind of like how eyes had a blind spot, it felt the same with the etherium. Hunter would need to verify it himself, but it would seem that Kreig had been experimenting with using Drawstone shards in lieu of Link glyphs. It was an old method— extremely expensive. Drawstones were cheap, but cutting a drawstone with precision was an expensive process, and it demanded a high AR cost. Based on feel alone, Hunter would say that the AR requirement of this ride was over 50 at the very least, and might even go as high as the 60’s.
The process of using shards in lieu of link glyphs had been a short episode in the history of constructs and networks— lasting a small handful of years before his father introduced Link. He wondered why they were using shards, given the inefficiency. Surely a Link glyph would suffice. But then he remembered that these types of products weren’t geared towards consumer who had pragmatic ideas about cost and effectiveness. He’d heard stories of how wealthy clients mostly preferred form over function— especially wealthy clients with high AR’s. He’d heard that Krieg’s core customer base came from the Pacific Shield. Most of the Pacific Shield's core business was security; retired or active military family's, having trained their AR like they would any muscle.
Hunter was impressed by Barry. He had never once shown any hint of strain or exhaustion from keeping the car activated for an extended period of time.
He drove Hunter out of the city, along one of the most scenic countryside's that Hunter had ever seen. He brought Hunter out towards Hook— a small mountain that the Oberon’s had come to call home over a century ago. Hunter hadn’t realized that the Oberon’s lived so far away from the city. It took an hour after having reached the countryside to make it to the Oberon’s estate. Barry must have had an AR in the high 60’s at least. Maybe even higher. Hunter would have places his age somewhere around the late 40’s, too. That wasn’t a bad score. People’s AR typically tend to plateau as approach their 40th year. It was only those who train religiously with drawstones or have a high natural affinity that see growth into their later years, and who also tended to benefit from an increased longevity. On average, a person with an AR over 50 tended to live at least 10 years longer than average. Those with AR’s over 100— which incredibly rare— have been known to live as long as 140 years.
Hunter had never been to the mountains, and he enjoyed the novel scenery. Eventually the thin, winding road flanked by forest gave way and up to a manicured lawn that seemed endless. The lawn must have ran for half a mile on both sides. He wondered whose job it was to maintain it. How well would the Oberon family pay that worker? The lawn was trimmed along the edge closest to the road, or in hindsight Hunter would call it the driveway, with an assortment of trees that all appeared to have been shaped as they’d grown, their trunks twisted in spirals, their branches arcing in symmetry, creating something of a sparse canopy, colored red, yellow, and orange as autumn rose in summer’s retreat.
Just before the Oberon mansion, the road bifurcated around a floral arrangement that appeared to resemble a crest— a family crest, too complex for Hunter to give much thought too. And who else would it belong to? As they passed the crest, the mansion itself appeared. A study in sleek design— old fashioned gravitas meeting modernity— it was a squat building, only 3 storey's total. The front of the house was shaped like an arrowhead that pierced towards the sky, the front door was nested behind two large columns.
Barry disengaged the car— the etherium continuing to flow after Barry had taken his hands off the wheel. It was fascinating. Hunter wanted to take the car apart and understand every inch of its design. He wondered if they used small batteries to siphon a small charge, which would slowly discharge over time. The car would naturally deactivate over the course of seconds as the glyph networks demanded and devoured the etherium held in the batteries’ grasp.
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After regretfully leaving the Kellese behind, Barry led Hunter to the front door. Mrs. Verilion appeared to be expecting them, opening the door before they could knock. She wore a bright smile and waved Hunter in.
“Thanks for the smooth ride, Barry! Such a beautiful car,” Hunter said, still getting over the high of having been inside such an artisnal masterpiece.
“Always a pleasure to drive someone who has an eye for true beauty, Mr. Koar,” Barry bowed, and then left to bring the car to wherever it called home.
“Welcome to the Oberon family estate, Mr. Koar. You seemed to have enjoyed the ride over, which I’m proud to hear. Mr. Oberon thought you’d appreciate the Kellese more than most. He is just concluding some business, and will be ready to receive you shortly. Come on in, have you eaten?” Mrs. Verilion asked, moving before Hunter could answer.
“I’m starving,” Hunter said. He had never pushed himself like he had over the last couple of days. The morning coffee had done a little to tide over his appetite, but it started to return with a vengeance during the drive. She led him to a small waiting room outside what he assumed to be Trey Oberon’s home office. A large wooden double door with intricate chrome handles; one of the more modern additions to the mansion, Hunter assumed. The door itself was framed by a wall that appeared to be solid rock. Whether it was a facade or not, Hunter couldn’t tell. He figured that the Council Seat could afford to have a rock wall installed inside his house, if for no other reason than the fact that it looked badass.
Hunter realized that he was feeling very impressed by Trey Oberon so far. He wondered if this had been his intention with sending a driver in a Kellese to pick him up. Hunter wouldn’t put it past a Council Seat to know how to knead at peoples emotions for their own advantage. Hunter started to calm down. With the upset from his ranking yesterday, maybe he was just looking for a reason to ride a positive emotion for all it was worth. Had Trey Oberon been counting on that?
He shuddered at the thought. Maybe he was overthinking it, but it would serve him well to remember that this was a bureaucrat at the highest level of society. He couldn’t know if he was being paranoid, or entirely practical and realistic in his assessment. Trey Oberon led one of the most successful mega-corporations in the world. The other Council Seats have all proven themselves to be mercurial, cold, and desperately hungry for whatever scrap of advantage they could get. He had no reason to believe, personally, that Oberon Enterprises would be any different. This would be a meeting that would require every ounce of brainpower Hunter could summon. He would not allow himself to be taken advantage of.
His future would depend on it. He wasn’t delusional, he knew he couldn’t outwit a career politician. But he would have to try. Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise himself.
He couldn’t be sure about the Oberon monarch until the meeting started. Hunter had no idea what to expect from the meeting itself, regarding how long or brief it was going to be. He doubted that Trey Oberon would have had Hunter driven all the way over to his family estate just to shake his hand and congratulate him on placing 5th in the competition. Hunter hoped that meant that he’d been thoroughly impressed by Hunters’ performance. Impressed enough to offer him something like a job.
He huffed at the thought. If he’d have told himself a month ago that he would be seriously considering working for a corporation— on his own terms, of course— Hunter would have thought that the Comics had tainted his water supply with a particularly potent hallucinogen. He would have had trouble even dreaming of something like this, not even in his worst nightmare. But Hunter was starting to realize that when it came down to the wire, he was capable of making choices he wouldn’t otherwise contemplate.
He hated to admit it, but he was long past the point of turning his nose at the prospect of having to continually impress, kiss ass, and ingratiate himself to a hierarchy if he had even the barest sliver of a chance of getting off of Sanctuary. And he felt that he would have the easiest time doing what he was good at. If there was one thing he was hoping to sell during the competition, it was that if he had nothing else to offer, what he did have in spades was potential. Potential to learn, to grow, and to make a hell of a lot of money by doing things that the competition couldn’t do.
He’d proven that in his assessment of himself. He’d proven it to himself. It was no longer an abstract notion, he had concrete proof with which to gauge his performance against some of the most capable artisans of his generation. And, given the judges reaction, maybe even the generations previous. He’d known that his sensitivity to etherium provided him with insight that other’s wouldn’t be able to match, but he’d never had the chance to pit himself against others, he’d never had the chance to put his estimation to the test.
But now he felt that his potential had been quantified, and despite the disappointing result of the competition, he was happy enough with the outcome. He knew that he wasn’t done yet. Etherium still had a million mysteries calling him, inviting him to explore and create.
Even with all of that proof, the meeting with Trey still felt like a doorway into a dark dimension. What would the trajectory of his life look like when he walked back through those two large, wooden doors?
Mrs. Verilion returned with a couple of sandwhiches, saying that her morning had been busy as well and that she hadn’t had time to eat yet. He made a comment about Trey being a demanding boss, and she laughed, but then corrected him.
“I knew what the job was when Mr. Oberon brought me on. As far as bosses go, I’ve seen a lot worse. I’ve had colleagues call me during mental breakdowns, hiding in bathrooms where their boss couldn’t find them. It takes a certain kind of person to be a Council Seat, and many of them don’t understand why everyone around them can’t work 18 hour days, 7 days a week like they can,” she said.
“And you’re saying that Mr. Oberon is different?” Hunter asked.
“In some ways he’s the same, of course. He’s running a seated corporation without a board of executives to pass all the big decisions off to,” she said, “you can’t get around the workload and the stress that comes with it, but he’s self aware about how his capabilities, and the capabilities of the people he works with can vary wildly. He tries to be fair, when he can.”
She took a bite of her sandwich and Hunter took the chance to start eating his own. He’d be curious as to whether the quality of the sandwich would match the quality of the car that came to pick him up at the hotel. But it was just a normal sandwich. It was a tasty sandwich, but Hunter had tasted a thousand like it before. Honestly, he’d have preferred a bit more mustard.
Mrs. Verilion checked her watch.
“He should be finished in about 5 minutes, is there anything else I can get you while you wait?”
“Is there a washroom around here?” he asked. She nodded and pointed him to a door down the hallway.
“If that’s all, then I'll see you when your meeting has concluded,” she said, smiling as she left. The next 5 minutes felt like 10. Hunter wolfed down what was left of his sandwich and sighed, wishing that he’d asked for a coffee as well. He’d had a small one earlier in the morning, just before Barry picked him up, but the toll that the competition had taken had affected him more than he’d expected. He felt there was something inside of him that had been strained far beyond what it was capable of supporting. He’d only felt it a few times in his life, and it had only ever been to a fraction of the degree compared to what he was feeling now.
His mind was functioning fine, but something deep within him— it was the only way Hunter knew how to describe it, felt like it was signalling for nourishment. That typically went away after a day of rest, but this was louder than it had ever been before. Loud enough that Hunter could almost notice the strangeness of it. It didn’t feel physical— although he did feel a bit drowsy, it felt more like a subtle inefficiency in a construct.