A Gentlemanly First Meeting

Our one-eyed gentleman was every bit as unusual in character as he was in name. Just as the gallery had described, he carried himself with a courtesy so thorough it bordered on the absurd — a picture of polished, old-world manners wrapped around a body that had no business possessing them.

I nodded along and decided to introduce the two people already present.

"This rabbit beastkin is my adjutant, Jessica."

"Hello, Miss Oxianor."

"Indeed, a pleasure. As the Commander's adjutant, I expect we shall have frequent occasion to converse."

Oxianor extended a tentacle tipped with a claw, offering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jessica a handshake with a languid, undulating flourish. Our Jessica managed — just barely — to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching, and somehow forced a smile as she shook the thing.

And then, unlike Jessica…

"Mm… and this one here is Griyanaar, who more or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠less serves as our base's head of research."

"Ohohoho~ How truly delightful to meet you, Miss Oxianor?"

"Rather a spirited young lady, I see."

She was being openly friendly, sure — but delivering the greeting behind that signature little-devil smile of hers left a distinctly odd atmosphere swirling in Oxianor's eye.

Once that brief round of self-introductions was finished, Oxianor — who had already told me there was no need to address her so stiffly — blinked her eye a couple of times and continued.

"I shall primarily remain here, but do contact me whenever the need arises."

"Hmm."

"However, as a relationship of trust has yet to be established between yourself and our faction, I must ask that you understand I cannot yet offer any substantial assistance."

For a second I froze, wondering what she meant by that — then it clicked.

Ah. That.

A scrap of half-forgotten knowledge from the old days slid back into place. Joining a faction didn't automatically hand you their buffs, free fleets or superhumans that cost no player points, or a steady stream of resources. Full support only came after you'd actually earned it.

There was always the chance I'd simply misremembered — dementia, or just the fog of something too old to keep straight — but then a fresh notice appeared and settled the question.

According to the new guide, I hadn't been wrong. I nodded and answered.

"I know. We only met today — expecting too much would be bad manners."

"Hmm. Compared to certain other ill-mannered sorts, you appear far more proper. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see hope for the future."

The moment those words landed, a notice bloomed in front of me announcing that our trust relationship had taken its first step.

Oh — fast trust gain.

Not a bad start at all. I decided to seal it with a handshake.

— Squelch.

…Ugh. That's a rather peculiar sensation.

Going forward, I made a quiet mental note: dry claws would be preferable to a tentacle dripping with slime.

And so, having brought our first meeting with the Kaiju faction to a thoroughly successful (?) close, I headed straight for the command post, tapped the command console, and checked whether any daily quests were still outstanding…

"Nothing much left."

"Pardon? Nothing much of what, sir?"

"No, it's nothing."

Apparently installing the Kaiju neural-link module counted as a base upgrade — which explained the unexpected clear mark on Base Upgrade ×1. Aside from that freebie, the daily quest window looked exactly as it always did. Satisfied that nothing was on fire, I moved on to an actual base upgrade.

First, though, I had Jessica check our resources.

"Minerals are at about twenty-three thousand… no, twenty-three thousand five hundred. Rare resources around five thousand."

"Mm."

"And a transmission just came in — the resource mining fleet returning to base is carrying three thousand five hundred minerals."

"Plenty."

With Jessica's report in hand, I opened the base construction window on the command console.

After a brief moment of thought, I decided to start with the Weapons Development Lab. Construction orders issued, I set the command console aside — nothing more to do with it today — and opened the community window on my status screen to take a look at the newly added Trade & Auction House.

Players had already been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bartering among themselves on pure trust for a while, so a system-regulated marketplace ought to be reasonably active. And if anything worth buying turned up, I figured I might as well do a little shopping.

The Trade & Auction House I stepped into for the first time was even livelier than I'd expected. The only problem was that it was lively in a slightly different way than I'd imagined…

What was unfolding on the auction floor was a full-blown human-trafficking operation (???) built entirely around superhumans.

Wow. I thought I was heading to a trade and auction house. Turns out I walked into a slave market.

The sight left me with a thoroughly complicated, thoroughly uneasy feeling — but of course players weren't going to trade and auction only superhumans. A few pages further in, the kind of listings I'd actually been hoping for finally started to appear.