"The fact that you left this station to some Xeno sympathisers rather than blown it all up after it was rid of its old Commonwealth inhabitants leads me to believe that, despite your refusal to admit it, you would like for it to keep some sort of semblance of commercial activity. Because, despite your claims to being just a political movement, I know what Xenos do with foreign transports. I also know that because of it not many people like you. And even if they do, reputable members of high society cannot exactly reveal themselves to be sympathising with your political movement. It's not really, shall we say, fiscally profitable to be politically incorrect."
She sighed theatrically. "I swear, political ideologues lead such contrived lives."
She placed her palms on the table and continued. "I know you might not believe me, but money for financing political movements doesn't grow on trees," she smirked. "You're going to tell me that Xenos have no cashflow problems?"
Obviously he hoped she'd get right to the point rather than beat around the bush and ask more questions, but the more time she wasted equated to less time he'd need to spend here. There was no sense in denying a fairly obvious fact, he didn't even try to pretend that he was offended by the question when responding. "Cash flow's always been a problem. The loss of two Freeports is choking our access to supplies. We were managing off our ability to barter loot for essentials with people like the Zoners. But with the recent massacre in Bering and developments in Magellan, that chain is buckling. So of course an alternative and equally free market was necessary." For a moment it seemed as if he were distracted, glancing down at the table and letting his mind wander through thoughts that had nothing to do with this meeting. His expression not changing from marginally relaxed blankness. Though he'd neglected to mention it, Rochester's current inability to function was a compelling reason for people to start diversifying the nodes through which the black market flowed. Fontana was in one such ideal location to profit from it, with Pittsburgh's sprawling hives being the other.
Her expression did not show it, but she felt a certain hint of satisfaction by finding a point of leverage. The pathways through the conversation appeared in her head, like a branching tree of decisions, of words to speak in order to achieve the desired result.
The satisfaction was adulterated, though, as he didn't tell her anything that she hadn't already known or strongly suspected. Xenos weren't a complicated riddle, their situation was clear and their application was more as a blunt cudgel rather than some nuanced instrument. Yet, this was far too simple. There must have been something more.
She recalled an article in a business netmag she picked up one day while waiting in the lobby of Hawaii. It advertised itself with the headline "Negotiation - The Art of Letting Someone Else Have Your Way". She remembered it mostly because, despite pretending to be clever, it was completely wrong. Negotiation, if anything, was the art of uncovering secrets. More specifically, of getting the opposing side to uncover certain kind of secrets. There were things Damian knew, but didn't want to share. There were other things that he realised he didn't know. And finally, there were the "black swans" - the things he didn't know that he didn't know, but that would turn out crucial to ironing out a plan that satisfied both parties.
She was after the black swans. But she was not ready to drop any offers yet or share any plans. There was still more exploration to do.
Feigning relaxation, she sighed wistfully. "Ah, Magellan. Those were the days. Biggest paychecks in my professional history, the yields on Royal Navy ships were ridiculously rich. It's unfortunate to hear you got your supply depot blown up, but I can assure you I did my best."
She paused for a second to gather her thoughts and plan out a calibrated question. "So, if I understand right, what you're after is a place to get supplies from the south of Sirius and to fence the goods you procure? It seems like you realise that if this place continues to have traces of Xeno activity, it won't get enough steam because, to put it bluntly, very few people like you, but if you withdraw, the Commonwealth might take it back."
She turned her purple eyes towards Damian. "Am I right?"
She fully expected the answer to be a "no". However, even if it were, she hoped an explanation would follow.
She had still not gotten to the point he hoped she'd have reached by now, in fact she was started to remind him of an Ageira executive he met with all those years ago when negotiating the sale of a proof of concept endeavor. Intending to make him give up pertinent details rather than move on, show him the fine print and get a signature. "If I recall correctly, a few moments ago you said we'd be talking about business. So if you will, get to the point and explain where it is I come in." He remained partially distracted, absolutely uninterested in playing any games, if there was business to be done then he wanted to be finished with it and on his way. Not spending his time here playing intellectual chess with a silk-gloved socialite with a penchant for reading.
Haze paused for a moment. Not exactly the answer she expected. Her reply, because of that, might have turned out a little more abrupt than she would otherwise intend.
"I'd rather you come out, in all honesty. If you want this place to function, Xenos have to disappear. I'm not saying 'leave', mind you, I mean become invisible."
She did have a certain vision, but Damian's reply baffled her enough to not think precisely about what she wanted. Indeed, Xeno "disappearance" was an essential component to getting the station to function properly. She was quite sure Liberty corps would buy fenced cargo as long as it was not easily tied to an obvious hit and as risk-free as possible.
"I know it's a hell of an ask, but what do I need to do to at least make the impression that this place operates above board?"
Now it was his turn to chuckle, albeit in a manner that seemed hushed. Something about the things she'd just said had clearly amused the budding demagogue, when his laughter had died down he shook his head and responded plainly. "You're saying all of this as if you were the Administrator of the place. You aren't. And furthermore, I don't have the kind of pull to make every Xeno stay away from an establishment that has an open door policy. My authority begins and ends with the Alliance, and not every Xeno is a volunteer under it. I can't help you, better off finding another rock to hollow out and calling it your own if that's what you're after." While he had certainly not been entirely forthcoming about the true arrangement the Freeport abides by, his statement regarding limited authority lacked the same veil of potential deception, he was being entirely serious that trying to assert control over every Xeno was simply not something he could, nor wanted, to do.
"Power tends to creep up in most unexpected of places. I'm no administrator, nor do I want to be, but if there's a vacancy for a caretaker, I might be interested."
She shrugged and continued. "You, however, seem to either misunderstand the distinction between authority and power, or are pretending to. Which, effectively, amounts to the same thing. I believe it is in both your best interest and mine to ensure that if the LPI were to raid this place tomorrow, they wouldn't find anything that stuck. If you cannot use your own authority, or power, or influence, or are unwilling, or just simply disagree, this might as well end here, as that would indicate that we have diverging positions on the fundamentals."
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he'd grown weary of potentially repeating himself. "Look, it's really simple. This is a station like Ames for example. We did oust the former management, because they were becoming a liability, but we couldn't afford to run the place. The vote went the way of giving the station away, and so we did. And now this is a Freeport run by Freelancers. If you want to stay here and help, go ahead. I don't run the place. The Freelancers here do, and they open the doors for everybody that wants to do business." His statements came across as definitive and quite conclusive, clearly he did have no authority to dictate who did what here, given the policy behind its status as a Freeport. That was to be expected when power, as he alleged, was relinquished or transferred.
Haze sighed. Seems like she would have to go about her plan in a different way, but she was still determined to keep up relatively friendly relations with the Xenos.
"Very well. I guess it is now indeed a freeport run by Freelancers, by your own declaration." A declaration that, she thought, undermined his position considerably. She was determined to show him the extent of his error, but that would be another day.
She stood up. "I'm sorry we could not reach a more favourable agreement, Damian. Perhaps another time." She extended her right hand for him to shake.
Nodding once to affirm both his own words and what he'd just been told, he moved on to wrap up this meeting. His mind had clearly been wandering for most of it and he almost seemed relieved when he was on his feet again. "Talk to the guy that runs the place and see if he'll take you up on that offer. I'll put in a word for you on my way out which should help you along with.. doing whatever it is you want to do with this place. Keeping people convinced you're the right for the job, you're on your own for that." After saying all of this, he simply glanced at her outstretched hand and then back up to her face, as if debating if he should bother with this gesture or not. In the end he did, albeit with a gloved hand. Promptly leaving his visitor alone, but not without an agreement, at least not entirely.