NationStates Jolt Archive

The Lodge
Lake Xian'to, the Absolutionist State of Austar Union

Wandering through the cobwebbed halls, Adam smiled to himself as he considered the dollars which were likely hidden in these sturdy walls. A property investor himself, he had more than enough experience to know a good investment from a bad, and this one gave positive signs. It had shabby decore, cobwebbed insides, moss-growing ceiling fixtures, and a broken porch outside. It was perfect, considering the fact that it also came with more than strong foundations; its simple architecture meant more ease in a renovation process; and it was overlooking Lake Xian'to, and thus in the shadow of the Southern Mountain Divide. Indeed, the building and site together were a mere bargain at three million Austarian Dollars. And there was little competition, considering the lack of knowledge this place even existed. Yes, this would make for perfect homestead.

"I'll buy it," he called to the agent from another room.

The agent smiled, and followed the voice to Adam's location, "A wise choice. If I had the money myself, I think I would have bought this myself."

Flipping open his cheque book, Adam began to scribble, "How much do I owe you?"

"In the amount of three and a half million dollars," advised the agent, who leaned against the doorway. "Do you plan to renovate and re-sell?"

"Perhaps," lied Adam, knowing full well that he had much grander plans for it.

Ripping off the cheque, he put it into the agent's pocket himself, "Take good care of that."

"Here's my business card," chuckled the man, pulling that from his wallet. "Call me when you decide to sell."

Adam took the card and simply held it, "Thankyou."

Taking one last look at the room around him, the agent took to his feet again; this time heading toward the door. "Again, congratulations on the property. It'll sure be nice to see it looked after for once," he said, opening the fly-wire entrance. "Uh, you will be alright from here?"

Adam winked, "As always. Thankyou John."

Corporatell Telecommunications
Anatoba City, the Absolutionist State of Austar Union

"Score one," chuckled Adam as he stood himself tall.

Erik shook his head, "Adam, I have to hand it to you. You're a hell of a golf player." He gestured with his hand, the room around him, "But alas, at what expense?"

"I have lackies to do these jobs for me," Adam snorted. "I'm paid to play mini-golf in my office all day -- and to actually pretend they need me here."

"You have a way with the words, thats for certain," Erik chuckled, deep from within his belly. "But dont underestimate your role -- even if it is just a name above all else."

Adam winked, "Which is why I come here, and put in that hard work -- damn, golf is exhausting."

Now leaning onto his vertical club, Erik's face began to straighten.

"Now, I wonder what is it you called me here for?" he questioned, getting down to business.

"A bit 'a this, a bit of 'that," replied Adam smarly -- causing Erik to raise his eyebrows. "No, no. I invited you here to discuss something with you -- call it a business proposition if you like."

"A business proposition?" replied Erik, his eyebrows raising perhaps a little further.

Erik nodded, and pulled out a memo from his desk; detailed with pictures and all, "Read this and tell me what you think."

For a few moments, the office had fallen into silence as Erik's eyes darted along the page. And every now and then he would mutter something such as, "Wow," or "Oh," -- just the standard response from a man learning something new. In the meantime, it was certainly a novel idea which he would read on the page, something new for the Austar Union -- similar to some of the things in existance, but not quite this -- elite some might say.

"The Legitimate Capitalist's Social Club," commented Erik as he finished. "I like it, when does it begin?"

"I am making the finishing restorations to a lodge out on Lake Xian'to. Completely restored to its former state -- and then adding such comforts as a tennis court, golf range; all the perks one could expect," he replied, proud of what he had considered.

Erik grinned, "You have certainly thought this through."

"Actually," he noted. "I have been tossing up the idea for almost half a decade now, considering its ideas, et cetera et cetera." Pulling out a piece of paper, he handed it to Erik, "Here are a list of invitations I will be sending out. Any thoughts, comments?"

"Dear god," Erik replied, eyes widening. "When you said Social Elite, I thought you might have been joking."

"Only the most respectable," winked Adam, grinning from ear to ear. "Shall we head for another round?"

Putting the paper back down on Adam's desk, he grinned back at him, "Only if we play by my rules this time."

{Open Transmission}
{TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION: Private Connections, Secure}
{FROM: Adam Banks, Corporatell Telecommunications}
{TO: $Private_Citizen, $Location_Value}
{SUBJECT: You Are Invited}
{CC: $Other_Private_Citizens}

Dear $Private_Citizen,

You have been selected from a database of over a thousand individuals, as suitable prospects for a new project I -- and others -- have been working on. As such, you are cordially invited to what I have named officially as 'The Lodge', located on Lake Xian'to, in the South of the Libertarian Dictatorship of Austar Union. And considering for the fact that you might wish to make your own desision on whether or not you are interested, please find attached to this message an information factbook (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9525775&postcount=3) on what this message (and invitation concerns). In the meantime, if you are interested -- even if to only visit for the formal ceremony, please forward your R.S.V.P.'s back to myself -- where I will thus confirm the details.

I have selected a date for the event itself, it being $Event_Time_Date -- however if you could, will you please send your confirmation by $RSVP_Time_Date. I look forward to hearing from you all, and then furthermore -- meeting each of you in person.

With Respect,

Adam Banks
Chief Execuitive Officer

Corporatell Telecommunications
{Close Transmission}

"Sir, the reports are in again. Captain Movard – "

"I'm sure I'll be capable of reading them myself."

The secretary – he really was going to learn their names one day – bobbed, and retreated. The large doors swung to, the two halves of the ram head meeting again to form the somewhat surreal seal. He waited until he heard a good ten paces, and then opened up the second drawer. Even though it was only a transcript of a communication, he held the paper gingerly by its edges, as though it were a treasured photograph. He scanned its text again, even though by now he knew the words as he did his mantras.

The idea of being picked – 'selected' – like this filled with some deep and rare emotion, but at the same time he was pricked by a slight unease. Being a 'suitable prospect' for a 'project'. Still, he'd done as much as research as he could: this Banks guy was the real biscuit. Tresch stood slowly from the crackling leather of his chair, and lay down the invitation. He felt like pacing the office, but there wasn't really room; between piles of overdue paperwork and boxes of filing reports, he was restricted to a few thin channels.

For two days, the invitation had been burrowing away at him. Even yesterday, walking the old familiar docks, stepping round decaying fish guts and pools of animal blood on the path, casting his eyes over his mighty fleet, it had...preyed on him.

More than anything, Gillern Tresch had built up his company on the basis of the rawest of instincts – when an opportunity could be passed by in favour of something more preferable, and when one so unique presented itself that it had to be grasped in the instance. He rested his weight on the desk, spinning a pen idly on his finger. And, it was decided.

He returned to the desk and scrabbled around for a pad of thick paper he kept for special invitations – acceptances to the Court, usually. The paper was almost inflexibly thick, and a deep, rich creamy colour. It was absorbent, but smoothly textured. His personal crest – not the gaudy, corporate pseudo-wank tat of Abzhanta Oceanic, or the faecal smear of FNG, or the oppressive blob of Allied Fuels – but his own elegantly composed heraldic emblem adorned the top of each page. His initial attempts were clumsy – he hadn't handwritten a letter in at least a year – and even the final copy had blotted squiggles in place of e's and aggressively sprouting trees for t's, but he managed something vaguely presentable within the hour.

It took him until the evening to summon the courage to put the letter in an envelope, and a further day to actually mail it. But once sent, it weighed less on his mind, and Gillern Tresch returned to the shuffling tedium of organizing his corporate empire.

Dear Mr Banks,

tapi wen? It would be my pleasure to accept your generous invitation to attend your ceremony in The Libertarian Dictatorship of Austar Union. Naturally, I offer my most profound thanks for the information you sent me, and have read the factbook with the greatest interest. Your venture intrigues me, though like many, no doubt, I do have one or two lingering questions that you might be able to address more easily in person. I should thus like to take the opportunity to engage you in a few moments' private discussion before the ceremony. I look forward to seeing you at Lake Xian'to on $Event_Time_Date, and wish you every success with your future endeavours.

Yours sincerely,
http://img378.imageshack.us/img378/1002/sig6ie.png

Gillern Tresch BSc, MBA,
Chief Executive Officer,
Abzhanta Federated Corporations

"Sir?"

Alexander Hinde looked up from his papers to see his butler carrying a small folder. "What is it, Robert?"

"This just arrived to you in the mail. Foreign correspondance, sir. It has been cleared by the Imperial Mail Service."

Alexander frowned. He wasn't expecting any such correspondance from overseas. "Leave it on my table."

"Very good, sir." Robert did as he was bid, then straightened. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Another glass of wine," Alexander replied as he bent over the financial reports of Treznor Automotive, one of the largest and most prosperous corporations in the Empire. He was not a CEO who preferred to leave everything in the hands of subordinates. The Emperor was not forgiving of mistakes. "A better vintage than the last one you brought me, please."

"At once, sir." Robert bowed slightly and left the room.

Alexander worked silently for a few minutes more before his head came up and stared at the folder on his table. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He got up and went over to it.

The Empire watched any foreign dealings carefully. International business was strongly encouraged, but quietly monitored for any signs of sedition or treason. Alexander was not aware of any such treason by any company or employee, but the Empire still watched. It was said that the Emperor had a saying: "There are two types of paranoia. Absolute and insufficient." It was obvious which of the two he preferred.

Alexander mustered his courage and opened the folder. Out fell a simple letter and a longer document, both addressed not to the CEO but to him. He read through it.

The idea intrigued him. The Empire had recently lifted its ban on Austar Union but no one had found an opportunity to take advantage of it. He wouldn't mind visiting this Lodge and learning more. Then he turned to the factbook and halfway through his blood ran cold.

...To further advocate the freedom of business laws and conditions around the globe, and to spread the message of 'truth' and 'business / political cooporation'.
He slapped the folder shut and closed his eyes, aware of his suddenly pounding heart. That phrase smacked of political lobbying. One could approach the government to make requests in the interests of one's business, but to form a lobby group to influence political decisions....

Alexander knew very well what the Emperor deemed treason, and how it was handled. In his position, he couldn't afford not to know. And with the Empire's 20% mandatory sharehold in every company under its jurisdiction, there was no way the Emperor would not know of this lobby.

The Imperial Mailing Service had intercepted and cleared the message. That meant the government already knew what this Adam Banks was inviting him to do. It meant that he, Alexander Hinde, was being watched and his reaction would be judged. He glanced around fitfully before deriding himself for such childish notions. The government wouldn't place spies on rooftops just to watch him read his mail!

Then he reminded himself of the Emperor's quote. He glanced around again. He was badly startled when he heard footsteps approach outside his door.

It was Robert. "Sir?" An expression of concern crossed the butler's face. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Robert. Thank you." Alexander took the wine glass and drained it, not tasting the ruby liquid it contained. "Take a letter for me."

"As you wish, sir."

"Dear Mr. Banks," Alexander began. "It is with great regret that I must decline your invitation...."

"Ugh... hard copy." Jakob sneared as the envelope was delivered to him, looking at it much as a five-year-old would look at a member of the opposite sex; as if it was contaminated by cooties. He wasn't quite insane enough to put on latex gloves to handle it, but he was damn close.

Jakob -- no last name, last names were out of date -- had long been a member of the Hack's IT department, and had always accused most everyone around him of being filthy luddites. Anyone who didn't have, and use, bleeding edge technology was dreadfully behind the times. He was the type of person who would buy a cell phone every three months to keep up with the newest tech. It wasn't a matter of keeping up with the Joneses, it was a matter of trying to stay ahead of the world. He was the first non-military person to aquire cyberware, and he had modified his own augs substantially. He was one of those guys who was either going to live forever as a cyborg, or burn out like a supernova.

He sighed, rolling his eyes at the envelope and opened it up. He skimmed the letter and the brochure and promptly wondered why in the hell he was getting something like this. He wasn't a CEO or anything like that. He was an inventor, and engineer. Still, there might be something to this association. If nothing else, it would make for an interesting vacation. Calling up the network in his apartment, he sent out a reply:


I'll be there.

He never did have a way with words.