Trey considered the latest report from his daughter, and compared it to the report from his people embedded within the school's faculty.
She'd taken care of Pippen Visgold, but she wasn't sure who was pulling Pippen's strings—could it have been Jason Chan, whom she wrote about, or perhaps the Lockes? Or maybe the Visgolds were making a play on Barnum, and ultimately, on him?
Barnum would be the place to do it, but everyone knew that there were certain procedures in place. To avoid a full-blown brawl over teenage drama, escalation needed careful measurement.
He expected his respected colleagues to happily comply. Unless, of course, they wanted to use that drama to strike debilitating blows against himself, or the people he cared about.
Trey knew all about what happened at Barnum. He knew how the faculty often ignored the after-hours activities of the wealthy students under their supervision. Of course, it wasn't up to the Barnum faculty to raise those children.
That was up to the parents. Trey knew how such children were raised; often in the same way his parents raised him. Their trainers instilled ruthlessness and decisiveness in them from birth; they became the greatest friend to whoever was useful and the worst enemy to those who proved to be obstacles.
Few had the heart or stomach for it. Trey did, and for most of the first 2 decades of his life, he'd relished in his talent for making money at the expense of those who mattered little to him.
So he knew how to think like them — the children and their parents, both. At least for the chosen who were selected to attend Barnum, and the ambitious weavers of the social fabric who sent them.
He'd taken some time to investigate the Chans. He'd been aware of them before, but hadn't realized that they'd been so ambitious as to reach for the Visgolds seat beside the Locke's. The plan was cunning, a slow burn designed to catch its victims unaware. They must have been planning and taking silent action for years. Only in recent months had their actions become more overt.
Trey sat before two men, both of them among his most trusted analysts and advisors. They'd taken the time to read the reports that Trey had just finished viewing. Dean was an athletic man dressed in a blue blazer and matching dress pants. McKay was the other, sporting a greying buzz-cut and was 15 years Dean's senior.
"Thoughts, gentlemen?" He asked, lighting a cigar and leaning back in his seat, preparing for a rather long strategy session.
"It's clear to me that the Locke's are going to move through the Chan's. They've been protesting our outworld expansion rate for years — citing anti-monopoly clauses' in the Council's founding constitution," Dean said.
"I'm well aware," Trey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a long-standing debate among the Council members, and it was a load of bull. The Council corporations were monopolies. They owned almost all the business that happened in their domain. They had final say over every transaction, not that they cared to abuse that power.
In fact, Trey had begun contemplating the wisdom of total power. What was its use? Security? It was a good argument. It benefited himself, his family, and as long as they could remain honourable, the people in his domain wouldn't have to worry about an unfair abuse of power. But he couldn't predict that honour would run true through his bloodline forever.
He wondered if his ancestors had struggled with these same thoughts.
"The Chan's are ruthless. I think we may need to make a pre-emptive move," McKay offered. "They're beginning to make off-world inquiries, acquiring some smaller trading businesses, and we all know what that means."
"Care to enlighten us?" Trey asked.
"It's the Chan's," McKay said, spreading his hands as if the answer was obvious. "Smuggling is one of their most profitable businesses. The last thing we need is for the drug trade to gain a foothold outworld. I say we increase our security presence on all our outposts, and patrol the most likely routes that Chans could use to undermine our domain, both within Sanctuary and without."
To Trey's surprise, Dean was nodding as McKay spoke. He glanced at Dean, and Dean shrugged in response.
"I'm usually the first one to counter McKay's more aggressive ideas, but this time he might be onto something. I've heard rumours — some substantiated, some not — and all I've got is a bunch of hearsay, but the trend is a bit troubling."
Trey had heard similar rumours.
"Before you mention them," Trey said, "I'm aware of the meetings between the various Council Seats, as well as their 'joint military exercises'. What you might not know is that during one of those exercises, one of our black sites in the Locke's domain went radio silent."
McKay frowned.
"I wasn't aware of this," he said. And he was right to be troubled, being in charge of a considerable portion of the Oberon Security Force.
"I was keeping it close to my chest, as I had some things I needed to verify. Before this meeting, I cleared both of you to hear the news. Boys, I've got something big I'd like to share with you."
Trey stood and walked down to the front of his office to grab some coffee. He offered them some, and Dean declined. Trey remembered to bring his cigar this time. He was careful not to get any ash in the coffee.
He served out McKay's and sipped his own between puffs of his cigar. It wasn't a magnificent combination, but he would need all the stimulus he could to stay optimistic. He was about to make a big play.
"Considering the trend of escalating aggression in recent years, especially towards our domain and holdings both in and out of Sanctuary, I've been creating some contingency procedures should the worst-case scenario come about."
"Worst-case scenario?" Dean asked, and McKay mirrored his concerned look.
"The Council appears to be gearing up to introduce a new member into its ranks, but in order to do so—"
"Another one has to go," McKay said, his eyes widening, understanding what Trey was implying.
"No one can doubt the strides that our company had made in the last couple of decades. That, and our lack of cooperation in certain matters that violate our sense of ethics has always troubled the Council., have left the Council feeling as though we are turning our back on the world's order. So they protest in variou ways, and then we counter their protests with our own — tariffs, taxes on businesses based in foreign domains, and driving ourselves to become as self sufficient as possible. Regarding the latter," Trey said, standing before the men and leaning to open a drawer on the side of his table. "We've reached a critical threshold that allows me to prepare the ultimate phase of our contingency."
He picked out a rather large folder, which was bursting at the seams with documents. He dropped the folder on the table, which landed with a satisfying thud. It was the product of hours of research and organization, tracing potential causes and effects, moving certain people and resources into positions where they would prove the most effective.
He hated to admit it, but the likelihood of having to enact the plan he'd been hatching for years was increasing day by day. It was time to bring more people in, people with enough authority to move resources without him having to provide a writ of approval.
A chance remained to avert the necessity for the plan, but he knew the Council. Overthrowing the Oberons and installing a puppet regime they could control would be too tempting for them to resist.
"I present to you Operation Exodus: a play to relocate as many Oberon resources as possible in the event of a joint-operation against us. That includes industrial capacity, security forces, employees from both within and without sanctuary, as well as their family's."
"But where could we go? If such an attack happened, we would need to move fast—faster than we can move. The scale of this would be ridiculous. I'm not sure it's even possible," Dean said. McKay elected to remain silent.
They knew Trey took risks, but he was not a foolish man. McKay considered Trey with a contemplative gaze, waiting for him to elaborate.
"20 years ago, a scout vessel of ours disappeared, far from Sanctuary. It was one of the longest scout missions in our brief history of exploring the inter-realm space. After having been presumed lost for 2 years, they returned. They encountered a strange astral phenomenon, something that seemed to launch them very far away. In the intervening time, we've dubbed this phenomenon the corridor, as it appears to lead to a location far, far away. Farther than the rest of the Council will reach for generations."
"What's stopping them from finding this shortcut?"
Trey smiled. "It was the Cloud. That ship has an unmatched advantage in this Corridor, one no other ship will possess for a very long time."
"The shield," McKay said, understanding dawning with a sly smile.
"The Cloud? You mean the flagship? What about its shield? I know shield constructs have been advancing at a considerable pace, but what sets the Clouds' shield apart from others?" Dean asked.
"The Merciful Cloud started as a scout ship, which was tasked to explore deeper into inter-realm space than anyone had gone before. During their travels, they encountered ruins from an ancient civilization, one that appeared similar to one we all know."
"The Asutnahem," McKay said, and Dean appeared like a fish out of water, his jaw opening and closing, as he wanted to protest the information he was hearing, yet couldn't dismiss the authority and intellectual capacity of the men he was talking with.
"Our Asutnahem?"
"The same," Trey said, smiling. His reaction had been similar. "Among the ruins, we found an artifact. We rebuilt the Merciful Cloud, integrating the artifact we discovered, and adding several tonnes to its mass — graduating from a scout vessel to something more like a streamlined destroyer. It can go blow for blow with anything any other Council Seats can field, and what's more is that they won't be able to scratch the Merciful Cloud in return."
"The shield you mentioned," Dean said, putting the pieces together, "I think I've caught up now. Using this shield, they could traverse this Corridor that was discovered, which catapulted them deeper into Inter-realmal space. I've yet to hear how deep it sent them. Am I to assume that it's far enough that you would feel safe establishing, what, a new domain?"
Trey smiled and nodded.
"I'd like to introduce you both to an outpost we've been establishing on the far side of this corridor, give or take a month of travel. We call it Skyhold, and it could very well prove to be our new home for a very long time."