My entry into this contest finally rears its ugly head. :U It was fun to write, except for the bit where I kinda improvised a fair chunk. Hopefully y'all enjoy the reading too.----
Ahviala
As the holoscreen before the middle-aged man deactivated silently, a number of things happened. Most significantly, if not most noticeably, normal operating priorities were returned to the fluid router nestled somewhere in the building's concrete viscera that quietly mediated that exchange and a thousand others, bringing an end to the increased GalNet connection latency that most had attributed to some manner of technical fault along the way. Much more obvious, albeit less important, was the man's heavy sigh betraying exasperation and fatigue in some combination, almost as soon as the link to some Sukuvestaa representative's office Maker-only-knew how many light years away was severed.
While he gathered and disposed of the empty mugs, spent dermal patches and used autoinjectors – caffeine, ampakine, diethylpropion, myriad other stimulants of various legalities and origins – that scattered his desk, to the busy negotiator as bullet casings are to the soldier (at least, on the occasions when the Powers That Be decide that more advanced weaponry is unnecessary), an abrupt realisation hit him as he shuffled around in the room's near-darkness, picking through the aftermath of his latest battle. If he took the penultimate point upon which they has reached an agreement in conjunction with the fourth – or was it the sixth? – then that'd mean that-
Wait. Darkness? The talk had only lasted an hour, at most, and it hadn't been much later than midday when it began. There should have been plenty of light left; what had happened? Stars don't just quietly go out; was there an eclipse with one of the moons that he wasn't aware of? Had some disaster mandated that the opaque containment fields be raised around the most crucial districts? Trillions of nanobots released into the atmosphere by the terrorist group of the month to block out light and allow them to make whatever vague ultimatum they sought this week?
In his befuddlement and absolute certainty of the talk's duration, it took him about three minutes to think to check a clock instead of pacing from wall to wall, emptied autoinjector earlier destined for waste disposal in hand. At first, he was convinced that the clock was wrong, that he and the Sukuuvestaa man had been talking for no more than sixty minutes, but presently his nootropic-marinated mind caught its error: one, it was night. Two, he had been intensely focused on the task at hand. Three, given the sheer number of topics they had needed to work through, there was no chance that it would have fitted in an hour, or two, or three, unless they had been speaking like hyperactive children who had gorged themselves on starcakes.
Ergo, the talk had lasted longer than first thought. QED. Right. Good. The series of increasingly absurd explanations flitted out of his brain as quickly as they had entered; problem solved. Halfway through a meaningful stride to the door, he ground to a halt for the second time and frowned at the syringe in his hand. “NOH Stims: 'Onirvura' line”. Used. Empty. Oh. Bin, yes. Nugoeihuvi nootropics, not necessarily narcotising in nature, nurture and nourish nascent notions (neuroses?).
Twenty-three minutes later, the man was almost back home, feeling rather proud of himself despite a nagging sense on the edge of his mind that suggested that, maybe, he had exceeded the amount of stimulants that would be advisable or indeed safe. So what if he'd wake up feeling like someone had performed brain surgery upon him in some garage somewhere with a knowledge of medicine gleaned only from holoreels? He'd sent off a message to those immediately below him hierarchically, and they'd no doubt be happy with the results and would let others know – and he had convinced a notoriously recalcitrant Sukuuvestaa representative, Arikola or something, to adopt a more favourable position with what was, if he did say so himself, one of the most cogent arguments that he had ever created. Elegant.
No, created didn't do it justice. He had
composed it, outdoing even the most famous of composers from Raata antiquity in what could only be described as a mind-bogglingly, soul-shakingly beautiful combination of logic, rhetoric, economics, business judisprudence...
He couldn't help but think the series of motion-sensitive floodlights on the fronts of a number of houses on the way to his own as the spotlights on a stage. Each would blaze into adoring life with the faintest of 'clunk's, banish the darkness' anonymity, and track him until the next house took over as stage-hand.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, here to conduct his latest work for negotiator and orchestra, we have the honour and pleasure to present to you the master of the diplomatic stage, sejikiin of the spoken word, Ahviala Suokka!He collapsed into bed to give his body and mind some much-needed rest and a chance to filter out the tremendous excess of stimulants in his system twenty-nine minutes later. His mind did not return to the abrupt realisation.
From: Oirtio Eyjerleinn
To: Aleira Arikola
113.02.02 13:09
Thank you for the swift reply.
As I said, this is not to be compared with a disciplinary action; the colony has performed well for its lifetime. That considered, however, it must also be noted that a number of potential clients, primarily subsidiary corporations of DCMI or M, have expressed interest in the mineral wealth of the area. SC, however, has determined alternative colony locations of potentially higher return, detailed below. The leader of this one, while exceptional at his work, is notably stubborn (refer to the opposition to the proposal of decreased fluid router bandwidth in return for larger supply shipments); I imagine that you will need to be subtle if you are to convince him.
To use anything immoderately rarely ends in the user feeling pleasant afterwards, and the cocktail of nootropic and stimulant drugs just about evicted from the cells and blood and tissues of the businessman and / or diplomat and / or artist was subject to that same rule. He was acutely aware of this as he stumbled around the house the next morning while steeling himself for the day, and as he went about the administrative duties as diverse as they were uninteresting that refused to evaporate even in the afterglow of yesterday's apparent victory; indeed, it only began to fade in any particularly noticeable capacity as the day reached its close.
More than the quiet embarrassment he felt did, at any rate. The physical effects of such an excess of mental enhancers are reasonably similar to the wreckage left by one too many SuVee Sabretooths (which felt suspiciously like just two, to his recollection): by all accounts, a severe hangover. The disparity arises with memory; where an overly zealous drinker finds the mind's eye needing drastic vision correction looking back on a night, the too-enthusiastic diplomat found that the mind's eye had undergone some heavy cybernetic enhancement. Made for less amusing tales than not being able to remember small elements – or large swathes – of what had happened, he thought.
Replaying the previous night's symphony to himself, he found himself at the mercy of a particularly unpleasant combination of chagrin and shame; were some of the things he had thought not the most ridiculous things? He knew he was good at what he did, yes, but a composer? Surely not – though he was intensely proud of the work... well, perhaps he was just a little talented. Not as much as he suggested to himself. But quite.
No sooner had the physical wake of the drugs subsided than he was told about a party in one of the more upmarket districts of the colony, insofar as such a relatively small settlement could have districts. He had tried to politely decline, mumble something about a long day, being too tired, there
was an absolute mountain of work to get through – but what could the harm be? Apparently, they were mildly impressed with what he'd achieved; it was proper that he show up, no?
From: Oirtio Eyjerleinn
To: Aleira Arikola
113.02.04 17:32
Having reviewed the transcript provided, the execution was somewhat more heavy-handed than one with which I would have been personally comfortable. A touch callous, even, if excessive subtlety or obfuscation can be called as such, but I suppose that you achieved what was asked of you to the best of the specification.
“Ahvi!”
The shout was barely audible over the music's insistent blare, but lead the supposed artist's eyes to Dahtoh's grinning face, at a table a little way away. Yet again, he found himself somewhat unnerved by his friend's almost unshakeably cheerful demeanour and, more than that, the toothy, slightly daft grin that he would plaster over his face at the slightest provocation, but that was a minor grievance, at most.
He didn't particularly feel like it, but he tried to pick out a path to Dahtoh regardless and succeeded only if the clumsy collisions with a few patrons were ignored; Ahviala silently cursed the music, not that he thought it would have been heard even if vocalised. So loud; couldn't hear himself think, nor what others were saying. It wasn't as if his body had entirely relented in its punishments for the previous night's excesses, either: much better than he was feeling when he woke up, granted, but a slight headache persisted, as if the ancestors understood
why he had taken so much, if not been in complete agreement with it. Slightly too analytical and easily distracted, still, too, but that was something anyone who used them regularly learned to deal with until they wore off – and he liked that simile. More reference to the ancestors in his next attempt at diplomacy or coercion couldn't go awry.
“Ahvi.”
The second, more emphatic statement had Ahviala's reverie shatter around him, stranding him in the here-and-now of reality once more.
“Oh, Dahtoh. Uh, saisa. You know I've been busy today; I should probably be getting some rest now...”
“Nonsense. You spent most of yesterday convincing SuVee to lessen their demands. Yeah, they employ us and this is their colony, but to decrease the fluid router bandwidth we have available to us woulda crippled us, and then to reduce the frequency of shipments too would have been adding insult to injury. You did well; take some time off. Want a drink?”
Dahtoh lifted his glass slightly as he said this, still with his characteristic grin, indicating the silver-blue liquid therein. A SuVee Sabretooth; tremendously strong, originally the creation of a group of maintenance engineers that quickly found itself integrated into Sukuuvestaa's corporate culture (or so the myth went, anyway). Not a bad drink, but a lot of alcohol. Still hadn't shaken the hangover completely, and what if something in the deal fell through and he needed t-
“Ahviala!” A pair of blunt albeit well-manicured fingers snapped in front of Ahviala's face, making him jump almost tangibly, to his second self-absorbed internal monologue as a railgun would be to a paper cup. “How much did you take in the boosters department?”
Ahviala winced; this description of it, again? “Come on, Dahtoh. I've explained before. They're not boosters. NOH's mental stimulants are used widely by anyone who needs to be more focused on something on short notice, and if you stay up for hours, you're going to tell me you're not going to have one of their stim cocktails, or at least a few coffees?”
“No, suuolo, but there's a difference between that and ripping your innards and brain up with more than can possibly be good for you. You've read about what happens to the addicts. It's not something you want to be too zealous with. You Civire are sturdy, but on the inside you're made of the same squishy stuff.” The grin exposes a few less teeth, but doesn't fade entirely; Dahtoh is annoyed, but it is obvious that he's not livid about the matter. Ahviala simply gives a little shrug that might best be translated as “it'll be fine, I'm sure”, for the moment tacet – unlike that ancestors-damned music.
The awkward silence – or rather, the awkward lack of voices half-shouting above the din – persisted a moment longer before the Deteis man spoke up again, changing the topic. “What were the terms, then?”
Ahviala was much more eager to talk about this, picking up immediately with, “An increased percentage of mineral acquisitions, mostly. Not a problem, since we're already pulling out far in excess of what we can actually put to use, and it's a lower proportion than we'd need to sell to rent the same bandwidth from someone else. Few alterations to taxation and that sort of thing spread over plenty of different clauses.”
“Come on. I know you could easily give numbers if you wanted to,” Dahtoh joked, “But no matter. You got it done, and I don't want to set you ranting again. You're harder to shut up than the hardcore Federals with the 'death to the Caldari!' spiel if someone dares display interest in your work.”
Ahviala laughed for the first time since beginning to prepare his argument for fluid router bandwidth. “And you keep grinning like you've snorted a Serpent's entire stash of 'special blend'. You can't talk.”
The other man held his hands up in a parody of submission, the effect he was seeking perhaps diminished by having to raise his voice against the background roar. “Just saying, you know? I'm sure you must memorise every detail of the negotiations you handle, sometimes; you're so
enthusiastic about them all.”
“I guess,” is the retort, in the best approximation of an embarrassed mumble the environment would allow, “But they're a pain, sometimes. Tying something up in a mess of subcontractors, subsidiary clauses and outright obfuscatory language works brilliantly if you want something, you know, but it's a pain the likes of which you can't even imagine to make sure it's not being done to you. And what's more-”
Ahviala stopped as if turned into a statue at the whim of some forgotten god; thoughts of how this really wasn't too bad after all, how Dahtoh was right in his nagging him to relax more, and how maybe risking a half- or quarter-size Sabretooth wasn't such a bad idea with that one woman over a little way away giving him the occasional subtle glance, all ended up cast aside as, not far from twenty-four hours later, he reached the same realisation with the same abruptness as initially. Idiotic to have forgotten. No, less idiotic, more too clever; a snippet of his training came to mind.
'In the position you're all seeking, nootropics and related compounds can be invaluable for the more difficult jobs. That is not to say that they are a magical solution: their adverse effects cannot be forgotten. If you become too easily distracted, the subtleties of a proposal may be lost upon you, all too often to your misfortune.'
He stood up once again, trying to dispel Dahtoh's evident concern with a dismissive shake of the head. “I'm sorry. I need to go. It's nothing; just a... just a headache. Still not quite over the NOH morning after. You know how it is sometimes.”
This elicited a slow nod from Dahtoh, but the grin finally found itself supplanted by something of a frown with a serious, razor-sharp edge sneaking its way into his tone during his answer: “Yeah. I do. You take care of yourself, Ahvi, and don't forget that getting out some more wouldn't kill you. Give the enhancers a rest for a bit, too, but uaaka.”
All he got in the way of a response from Ahviala was a mutter that might have been something like “Yes, mother,” if audible over the noise. Ahviala didn't particularly feel like it, but he pushed his way away from Dahtoh and out of the establishment quickly beginning to feel like a pressure cooker, just as clumsily as on the opposite journey, commenting to no-one in particular that crowds were about as yielding as titanium carbide if you were trying to move against them. Maybe half as polite, if he was generous.
Once eventually excised from the heat, noise, and people – so many of them – a number of things happened. Most noticeably, if not most significantly, Ahviala found himself grateful for the relative silence and the bite of the cold against his skin, more like a furrier trying to play than a slaver hound out to hurt. He didn't know where to go or what to do, still feeling like the impact of his own stupidity (or confidence in his intellect) had dislodged his connection to the world and his own senses, like he was controlling his body as he would a character in some HoloReal game. Aware, mostly, but detached. Not all there.
He went home, the floodlights making a poor mockery of the composer, artist, or diplomat. Playing on his mind wasn't so much what would happen – that would be fine, if inconvenient to some degree for almost everyone – but what had happened: botching a negotiation so seriously was... he didn't know the word for it. He wasn't used to being wrong.
From: Sukuuvestaa Corporation (details within)
To: Ahviala Suokka
113.02.05 04:53
Please find enclosed a selection of stations planetary colonisation opportunities suitable for the relocation of yourself and your colony in accordance with the agreement SVCYCL:IA-32D2. If further information on any of the options presented is desired, contact your assigned representative as specified below; we kindly request that you reach a conclusion by 113.03.05 04:53.
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Topic: [Fiction Contest] Ahviala (Read 819 times)