The sky had turned sour as the aero had landed near the top levels of the Fengjia superstructure, but at least the wind and the rain had relented that day. Instead, the temperature was rising, as did the evaporated water that had previously scoured the city.

The humidity was rapidly becoming insufferable at street level, but this far up, the atmosphere was far more bearable. In more ways than one, as the corponation's Southpac branch headquarters was spotless, clean and spacious to the point the vast open plaza they had descended into elicited a sense of wonder in Ben.

Earlier that day, Ben had arranged a meeting with his franchisor, a corp topscaler by the name of Feng Guiren. Whether he was adopted into the Great Family or had a lineage that was part of the inner circle for generations, Ben could not tell, as direct communication with the elusive elite that ran the corpocratic affairs from the shadows was few and far between.

He suspected Guiren to be of intermediate status, insofar that could be said of a true topscaler, as he had met him before to represent the franchise on official affairs: Once to close the deal to become a franchisee, and also on the bi-annual corp meetings, although he rarely had the opportunity to speak to the man directly.

Now, he had every reason to.

Mike remained behind, while Ben disembarked from the aero. Up here, in the secure, physically isolated top levels of the massive Fengjia complex, there would be no need for his services.

Rather than the black-clad officers from the Security Cartel, the compound had its own internal security, a privately-owned militia. Their sentinels stood immobile at regular intervals, their distinct cadmium yellow armor and opaque visors giving them the appearance of otherworldly sculptures.

Ben followed his escort into the main building, which bore a vague resemblance to a monolithic, smooth-walled cube, hollowed out and polished to exacting standards. Without stopping, the young woman that accompanied him handed Ben the case she was holding, which felt noticeably heavier than when Ben had submitted it for security inspection.

It had cost Ben nearly two months worth of earnings to bribe this lady into producing the perfect present for the Feng topscaler.

"Mr. Feng will see you now," she said, as she led Ben through the portal that led into the corp exec's office.

Guiren sat at his desk, a solid chunk of veined gray granite, in front of a floor to ceiling window of frosted glass that doubled as a display screen, currently projecting the corporate logo of the franchise, and below it, the corp sigil of Fengyueda, the Great Family's prime holding corp.

"Mr. Woodward, sir," she said curtly, before the exec dismissed her with a nod of his head.

The lighting was dim, the colors subdued, the minimalist interior simultaneously elegant and unwelcoming. Ben walked across the cold stone floor and bowed politely to the man dressed in the black and yellow Fengjia livery opposite.

Guiren did not rise to meet his bow, but simply inclined his head.

"Good morning, Mr. Woodward. Please be seated."

Ben sat down on one of the hard chairs ranged around the periphery of the table, put down his case on the floor, readied his datapad, and tried hard to make his posture appear confident.

"Mr. Feng, my sincerest thanks. It is a pleasure to see you again."

Guiren did not reply immediately, instead shifting through the reports on Ben's business results, which were displayed in monstrous size on the window behind him for Ben to see. Guiren on the other hand was not looking at anything in particular, his eyes caught trailing irregular, unnatural motions. Ben knew that all the topscale execs were cybernetically enhanced, and this might have been a mere eccentricity, but he was not sure, Guiren being the only topscaler that had afforded Ben any of his precious time.

"Ah, your... career. Very satisfactory. Most interesting. You have done exceptionally well in the field of operations, and the corp is fortunate to have you in their employ," he said, in a manner that suggested that he had been thinking about something else entirely.

"I appreciate it," Ben said, and smiled nervously.

"Indeed, I must confess I am rather curious to hear the details of your proposed transaction."

Ben had prepared for the opportunity, and had his account of the events that had transpired in recent months and weeks rehearsed in his mind. He hoped to his utmost that his story had a ring of truth to it, and that he sounded convincing. He wanted to appear the sort of solid, eager fellow that these topscaler execs, who were more than merely wealthy, would deem sufficiently reliable to be worth investing in.

He was not confident he could do it, though. He was anxious, and his palms were moist and clammy.

"Present economic circumstances leaves us dealing with a situation of great complexity," he began, choosing his words carefully, "and there is a good chance that the very nature of the case will preclude the possibility of a simple solution. I have therefore been asked to approach the matter with the intent of proposing a different angle. There are a number of components to the issue, and the solutions to each problem are of course not necessarily mutually exclusive. There are, in fact, likely to be synergies among the elements that have not yet been considered."

He paused.

He had not failed to notice the blank look on Guiren's face.

"Do go on," said Guiren, his voice perfectly normal and flat.

Ben got the hint and skipped to the point.

"Despite the present market downturn, I would like to request an investment to open a new dependency in Westbrook Plaza. As you may know, the construction and completion of the mall has created some degree of speculation that its level zero units leases may be put to market ahead of schedule, thus reducing the overall tax burden on the public sector. I believe the specific criteria of such an acquisition include proximity to existing retail outlets serving low-mid income populations; suitable location for external support facilities—facilities whose existence cannot seriously jeopardize business viability for the region as a whole—"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

If Guiren had frowned, his features became as unreadable as the dim glass behind him. "And why should I give credence to your unsubstantiated allegations concerning issues involving local socioeconomic climate and population demographics when so many similar accounts have already come and gone?"

"This is only conjecture," agreed Ben, "but there seems a logical nexus where direct acquisition of property rights granted by current owners becomes strategically beneficial..."

Once again, there came that terrifyingly neutral expression, and this seemed even more ominous somehow because this time Guiren did not comment to contradict what Ben had said.

They continued on a bit further before Ben mentioned peripheral matters; he expounded upon certain basic commercial strategies whereby his forecasted liabilities would rapidly recede back to manageable proportions and terms once the expansion costs incurred during site development would start to become recuperable.

After several minutes of his spiel, Ben paused. Neither party spoke or otherwise betrayed any interest in the proposal that was now on display at the back wall, outlined in vast tables full of red and green numbers and charts. When the silence finally cracked, in the form of a single question—so clear that Ben felt as if he heard the precise syllables uttered aloud, "What guarantee can I trust in seeing the figures substantiated"—the experience left Ben feeling numb, almost nonplussed. He sought desperately for another subject, unable to devise anything remotely adequate. His audience listened silently, unmoved, but Ben knew he had just mere moments before Guiren would cut him off and dismiss him.

He paused again, knowing the next words he would utter would be his last chance.

"My daughter..." he finally blurted, saying the one thing he had desperately attempted to avoid mentioning.

Guiren slowly leaned forward, almost impassively. Then abruptly his metallic features softened slightly. Something pensive crossed over them briefly as his image darkened faintly, then brightened again. A flicker passed over his smooth visage, vanishing without leaving a trace. Perhaps Guiren cared for his family - did he have children, Ben wondered. Perhaps not - this man was cold, unforgiving.... Whatever Guiren thought, it seemed to please him, however fleeting. The mouth curved upward ever so subtly.

Ben swallowed painfully, gazed imploringly towards those deep and startling eyes.

"Ah, a gifted child. I understand," Guiren finally said. "I assume you wish to endorse her into enfranchisement?"

Ben nervously wet his dry lips and nodded.

"We need skilled hands and excellent judgment in our offices here. We require talented young people like your Elisa if our corp is to expand its holdings here, far as we are from our core territories. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"Actually, yes, there is," Ben said, while clumsily reaching for the case, removing the package, and putting it on the table.

As Guiren made no move, Ben leaned forward and slowly shoved the object into Guiren's direction until it was nearly directly in front of him.

"Please, open it," Ben said, sounding almost pleadingly.

Guiren had put up his unreadable face once more, seeming completely immune to emotion and devoid of human reaction except that his stillness remained complete and indifferent throughout Ben's performance. Slowly, he reached for the package and removed the wrapping. For the first time, genuine surprise played across his face.

"How did you know?", he asked, smiling as he revealed the priceless dark bottle of a rare, century old whiskey. Upon opening, clouds of fragrant amber fumes rose up sweetly into Guiren's face, a strong aroma that blended intoxicating floral perfume, earthly tones and heavy smoke.

The gleam in Guiren's eye heightened in anticipation. His nostrils flared delicately. The smile spread wider as he reached as he signaled for his assistant.

"The only thing I appreciate about our domestic competitor," Guiren said. "Their fine range of spirits. If only Velezmeritius would part with these items more expediently!" He paused, then added, "But then again, it's the difficulty in obtaining that is part of the pleasure..."

A servant appeared quietly through the door. Quiet, gentle footsteps carried a tray bearing iced glasses, sugar cubes and garnish bottles containing various spices. Pouring himself a generous drink, and Ben another, Guiren addressed Ben once more. "Tell me," he asked after they had slowly sipped through half the contents of his glass, "how does one evaluate a deal? In commerce, buying rarely comes with a warranty of genuineness. Or an assurance of profitability."

"It depends", answered Ben honestly, "on whether the involved party has a record of success, on the market circumstances, on..."

"Let me tell you then," Guiren interrupted him. His speech and movements had slowed noticeably, making Ben wonder whether it was the alcohol affecting him already. "These numbers up there, they don't mean all that much as you think. We ran a comprehensive analysis on thousands of years of accumulated data and statistics, and eeh, we found a pretty low correlation hmm..."

Guiren let the sentence trail off, instead taking another sip. He looked lost.

Is the alcohol affecting his ability to interface with his cybernetics, Ben wondered quietly. Or perhaps he is just faking it...

"What I wanted to say, there is a much stronger correlation between success and the ehhh... the individuals involved. Even if the venture is hmmm, risky or has many eehh... unknown parameters."

Guiren emptied his glass. Ben carefully reached across the table and poured him another one. Guiren seemed not to mind and stared deep into the amber liquid.

"Do you see, therefore, hmmm," Guiren began yet again, looking down after drinking long draughts, barely catching each word clearly spoken, "therefore how best to select trustworthy partners? These early phases must be managed ehhh, prudently..."

"Certainly, certainly", echoed Ben, hoping that his agreements were appreciated enough by his benefactor to keep up the semblance of polite conversation.

"Not you," Guiren snapped suddenly, harshly, irritably pointing a finger at Ben, who cowered and shrank back into his chair. Thereupon Guiren sat quietly brooding for several long minutes, finally summoning the odd phrase past his teeth—"Your daughter", "Quite an asset", "Well worth the investment". He drank a final gulp of whiskey.

Then Guiren sighed deeply, shook his head sadly. With a sudden motion, he shifted upright, remarking in high gravity and steady, booming voice, "...Till such times as that nature shifts outmodedly and places altogether new demands, well indeed. But till then I shall do my utmost to continue along the path which I have chosen.... My people will go on in conquest of the heavens, do you hear?! Wherever labor may find itself, we won the treasures of the outer worlds.... But no longer", he whispered, raising a hand softly, smiling self-contemplatively, "no longer shall there stand idlers amidst them; nor be born but souls that might live anew under other skies and shine therein!"

Just as suddenly as he had made his proclamation, Guiren slumped in his chair, his eyes tired and bewildered.

Ben stared back, waiting, not daring to disturb Guiren and risk another outburst.

"Eehhh, you better go now," Guiren said quietly.

He waved his hand, but nothing happened. In frustration, he repeated the gesture several times before breaking into a barely contained laugh. He strained and focused until Ben saw the mask of impassivity take hold of Guiren's face once more. Assuming a composed posture, Guiren flicked a finger and the door of the office opened. The young lady that had escorted Ben earlier entered.

"Sir?", she asked. Then: "Are you alright, sir?"

Guiren ignored the question. "Wanzhan, please finalize this eeh..."

He pointed his thumb backwards towards the numbers and figures still on display on the screen at his back, "this venture with mr. Woodward."

No one moved for a moment, his assistant eyeing him over.

"Now," Guiren hissed, and Wanzhan lowered her head.

Ben clumsily rose from his chair and bowed profusely. "Thank you mr. Feng, it is always such a pleasure doing business..."