Lanis did some public-net research on Versk Energy Corporation the morning after her first night with Mirem. They’re a relative upstart in the corporate world, at least compared to the heavy-hitters of the real planetary Zaibatsu, but they’re clearly on the way up. Part of that journey, according to Mirem, means having at least token representation in the Arena Games. It’s signaling: We’re a company that doesn’t fuck about, and we have money to burn. The Versk Suit Division is only about a year old, and it’s a young team, not afraid of taking chances. It helps that Versk’s flagship product is cutting edge deep-core mining technology. Mirem explains it all again as they exit her apartment building and board a private ground shuttle to the Versk Suit Division’s hangar complex at the edge of the city.
“Think about it; advanced metals, explosives, deep-boring boring sensors and semi-autonomous AI. It’s a perfect match.” Mirem says as the ground shuttle gently accelerates, her hands animated, unable to restrain herself from devolving into a pitch for the company’s fledgling efforts. Still, she acknowledges, there are growing pains, starting with mishaps with the development of the in-house weapons platforms. You don’t just suddenly compete with the big boys, and Versk’s Armored Suit budget is still, by necessity, only a fraction of its mega-corp competitors.
“To play devil’s advocate,” Mirem continues, “and you didn’t hear this from me— but it could be a stupid play. I’m sure the Versk board thinks they know what they’re doing, but bootstrapping a Suit division can be an extremely shitty business decision. When you take into account all the support staff you need, the technical expertise, the pilot pay, fine tuning the AI, and the Armor itself, which, need I remind you, is often fully destroyed at the end of a match… it ah, adds up. At least they’re just focusing on five tonne models. For now.”
The shuttle only takes about ten minutes to cover the thirty miles to the city’s periphery, the gleaming towers slowly morphing into squat buildings and warehouses that whip by outside in a blur of muted pastels. The onboard AI chirps, and then they’re drifting smoothly off the expressway and into one of the industrial parks.
“Here we are. By the way, just so you’re not surprised, I’ve introduced you as a pilot prospect, as per your request, but you’re also a guest. Don’t worry, I’ve told the technical leads about your qualifications, and that you’ve never piloted before; fair warning, they’re very eager to meet you.” Mirem’s lips tighten slightly, and Lanis wonders what exactly she means. “Anyway, no one expects you to know the niceties of corp etiquette, but you’re going to be getting a lot of deep bows. You only need to return an inclination of the head. Unless a higher up is around, then just follow my lead and don’t speak unless spoken to. I know, I know” Mirem says, shaking her head, recognizing the beginning of Lanis’ smirk. Fleet was an egalitarian commune compared to what this sounds like, Lanis thinks. “They’re not all like this, but Versk is strangely traditional in some ways.”
The onboard AI chirps again as they glide up to the Versk Armor complex. The whole area is surrounded by high, reinforced walls topped by razor-filament wiring. Behind this, looming massively, is a hanger-like building, VERSK ENERGY proudly stamped across one side in slanted blue-block letters. They draw up to a guard post, the only entrance that Lanis can see on this side of the complex, where a guard in pale blue Versk corp livery greets them with a deep bow. They wait as the shuttle and Mirem are authenticated and Lanis’ identity, as well as her lack of criminal or rival corp affiliation is scanned and declared clean. Lanis notices that the guard here only has a pistol and stun baton at his side. However, on the other side of the entrance, she can see another guard standing stiffly behind a low blast wall. This guard is fully armored, their polished face-shield and at-rest autogun glinting dully under the morning sun. It’s funny, but Lanis had never given much thought about physical security while at Fleet. Mirem had told her about Zaibatsu sabotage, but the ramifications of such competition hadn’t quite sunk in until now.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Welcome to Versk Ms. Seto, honored guest Osgell. Please check in at reception for a guest pass, Ms. Seto,” the guard says in an elegant voice, bowing again. The shuttle glides ahead slowly beyond the blast wall. Lanis turns as they pass: A twin-linked auto-turret, hidden from the entrance, slowly tracks them as well. Are they really that worried? she wonders, and makes a mental note to ask Mirem later.
“Ms. Seto, welcome back. And welcome to Versk Energy, Honored Guest Osgell.” They’re greeted in reception by a tall, smiling, man in an immaculate suit standing behind a gleaming counter, his deep voice sliding over them like awell-aged whisky. He’s handsome in an uncanny way that reminds Lanis of the models at Origin, but his arms and shoulders bulge in a way that would put the Origin’s bouncers to envy. A woman stands beside him, slender and equally beautiful, but also equally capable of being a formidable sparring partner.
The whole reception area feels like that - like some sort of exclusive club, but also with an undercurrent of competence that can’t be disguised by the soft lighting and the pleasant murmur of ambient chords. On the other side of the room are a series of scale models on lit pedestals— bulbous, curved, sharp toothed things, their shadows sprayed somewhat menacingly upwards. Lanis guesses must be models of Versk’s mining equipment.
“Well, this is quite nice,” Lanis murmurs, unable to help herself.
The receptionists bow again. “Thank you. As Miss Seto knows, we at Versk Energy pride ourselves on the aesthetics of function. Now, with humblest apologies, if you might deign to look into this screen for a moment, and put your finger just here? It should only take a moment.”
Lanis places her finger against the offered scanner, its blue screen turning green against her finger. The moment becomes several seconds, and Lanis can see the male receptionist’s smile tighten, ever so slightly.
“Ah, there we are. All clear,” he says, the smile relaxing again, his eyes unfocusing when the readout comes up. “Oh. Thank you for your service, veteran.” There’s the smallest twitch of his eyelid when he sees the veteran conferral status come up for the twenty two year old Lanis, but he covers it up smoothly. There’s a low whirring sound, and he reaches under the counter, coming back up with a time-stamped lanyard that he holds out to Lanis with both hands and yet another bow. The woman beside him elegantly gestures to a set of double doors at the far end of the reception area.
“Just don’t, like, touch anything without asking,” Mirem says as they walk through the door and down a short, brightly lit hallway, straightening her jacket and adjusting her Versk corporate pin. Lanis looks at her sidelong and can’t quite tell if she’s joking; then the doors at the end of the hall open with a quiet hiss, disgorging them into the hanger bay of Versk Energy Corporation’s Armored Suit Development Division, and Lanis has to make a concerted effort to not let her mouth fall open.