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 a type of signaling, a way to say we’re a company that doesn’t fuck about, and we have money to burn to prove it. 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 sensors and semi-autonomous AI. It’s a perfect match, really,” 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. Mining tech aside, 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.

  “Though to play devil’s advocate for a moment,” Mirem continues, “and you didn’t hear this from me— this could all 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 bad 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 twenty-five ton 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 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.

  “Right, almost there,” Mirem mutters. “By the way, just so you’re not surprised, I’ve introduced you as a pilot prospect, as per your repeated requests, but you’re also a guest. Don’t worry, while I’ve told the technical leads about your qualifications, they also know that you’ve never piloted before. 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 on the receiving end of 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. “They’re not all like this, but Versk is strangely traditional in some ways.” Fleet was an egalitarian commune compared to what this sounds like, Lanis thinks.

  The onboard AI chirps again as they glide to the Versk complex. The entire area is surrounded by high, reinforced walls topped by razor-filament wiring. Behind this, looming massively, is a hangar-like building, VERSK ENERGY proudly stamped across one side in slanted blue-block letters.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  They draw up to a guard post, the only entrance that Lanis can see on this side of the complex. 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, his polished face-shield and at-rest autogun glinting dully under the morning sun. It’s funny, Lanis thinks, but she had never given much thought to the mundanity of physical security while at Fleet. Mirem has told her about Zaibatsu sabotage, but the ramifications of such rivalries hasn’t quite sunk in until now, seeing those guns and those walls.

  “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.

  They’re greeted in the hangar’s reception lounge by a tall, smiling man in an immaculate suit who stands behind a gleaming counter.

  “Ms. Seto, always a pleasure. And welcome to Versk Energy, Honored Guest Osgell,” he says as they enter, his deep voice sliding over them like a well-aged whisky. He’s handsome in an uncanny way that reminds Lanis of the models at the clubs she frequented, but his arms and shoulders bulge in a manner that would put the red-light district’s bouncers to envy. A woman stands beside him, slender and equally beautiful, but who also looks equally capable of being a formidable sparring partner.

  The whole reception area feels like that, like some sort of exclusive club, but with a submerged edge of competent violence that can’t be disguised by the soft lighting and the pleasant murmur of ambient chords playing over hidden speakers.

  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 these must be examples of Versk’s mining equipment, one of the foundations of their power.

  “Well, this is quite nice,” Lanis murmurs, unable to help herself.

  The receptionists bow again. “Thank you,” he says, smiling. “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 as the readout comes up. There’s the smallest twitch of his eyelid when he sees the Fleet cadet conferral status come up for the twenty-two year old Lanis, but he covers it up smoothly with a simple, “Thank you for your service, veteran.”

  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 breathes as they walk through the door and down a short, brightly lit hallway, straightening her suit and adjusting her Versk corporate pin. Lanis glances 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 hangar bay of Versk Energy Corporation’s Armored Suit Development Division, and Lanis has to make a concerted effort not to gape.