Mutual Understanding
No matter how I thought about it, this so-called "mutual understanding" reeked of a scam. Look at him rambling on instead of addressing how they'd back up their demand for my voting rights with actual force. Lining up all these vague things they "could do" to paralyze the other side—classic con artist's playbook. Sure, marching in troops out of the blue to "restore" my property rights would be shady too. But people who won't give a straight explanation and just say "trust me, it'll work out" are usually either frauds or drunk drivers. Of course, I'd need to test the waters a bit more to know for sure.
"Truly impressive, Shareholder. You prepared all this in such a short time?"
"Hoho, I've ridden the same ship as your father, you know. This much effort is nothing."
"Even those who stayed neutral during the last war—how did you get those heavyweights to move?"
"Well, everyone's taking the situation seriously, that's all..."
Look at him trailing off like that. It wasn't a lie that those companies were condemning Anastasis. Who wouldn't curse out the lunatics marching boots into the City of London, a place that's held its status since before Joseon was even founded in the Far East during the Magna Carta era? But had they really gotten explicit buy-in from the actual decision-makers? Or were they just twisting "positive consideration" or boilerplate well-wishes into "agreement"? What if it was a blank sheet they were waving around like a blank check?
"And what about plans or options for military confrontation?"
"I'll do my best to avoid that. I'm sick of pouring money into wars."
"Even after the fighting's already broken out in Acton?"
"That's why I brought you here. If you don't want a second corporate war, just don't make any sudden moves."
Yeah, no real resolve beyond saber-rattling. They were planning to pressure the other side into negotiations. Which meant from the start, they had no reason to actually restore my voting rights. Sure, it'd be nice if it worked, but for them, just squeezing Anastasis to recoup their war losses would be enough. Hell, they might even put me on the negotiation table. Either way, I wasn't pinning my safety on these guys. Better safe than sorry.
Some might think, "Why's this guy nitpicking the people who saved his ass?" But even without dragging up Anglo-Saxon misanthropic DNA, remember they didn't save me out of altruism or pity—they needed me for their own reasons. It's not ingratitude; it's just that since they saved me for their benefit, they could ditch me the same way. Especially with Bell at risk if I screw up. Always plan for the worst.
Still, whatever their real motives, they'll help me for now at least. They'd proven they had the connections and pull to deploy mercs right under the City's nose to extract me—and even roped in my mentor to boot. Plus, I could mesh their plans with mine. At least I'd found solid ground that Vector hated this mess. Yeah. Mutual understanding. Stick together where it aligns, bail when it doesn't. With that settled, I smiled at the Shareholder and spoke.
"It's reassuring to have you going all out like this. But if you could grant one small request, I could support your plans even more wholeheartedly."
"Hmm, a request? Does our Straford Earl have some discomfort?"
The Shareholder narrowed his eyes. He seemed annoyed that I was bargaining as an equal—or maybe jittery about an unpredictable variable.
"First, send me to Birmingham. I have business there."
"Birmingham? With Vector? They've already expressed willingness to help."
"Other matters too. It's too personal and trivial to bother explaining."
Reasons to go there were plenty. One: Question Vector—deeply involved in my Heart production—about my condition. Two: Fully escape Greater London for a friendlier environment to secure my crew's safety. Three: Widen my options to slip away from this shady "benefactor" anytime. And one more, but I'd gauge the situation before deciding.
The Shareholder glanced at me and the dozing Bell beside me, then smiled.
If he refuses, how do I persuade—
"Very well."
"Pardon?"
Wait, what? Why... accept so easily? I figured he'd drag it out to keep me leashed.
"You asked—why the surprise? We're all on the same team anyway; doesn't matter where you go. Do as you wish."
"Thank you. About transport to Birmingham—"
"I'll arrange it. Carefully, for safety. Anything else?"
"No, that's all."
No point asking more; it'd just rack up debts.
"Right, then this meeting's done. Rest up till transport's ready. If bored, have Kate Coleman show you the commercial district."
I gave the Shareholder a perfunctory bow, hoisted Bell on my back, and left the drawing room.
.....For people who'd talked about "kidnapping" me, this was suspiciously smooth. Was I too jaded from Harold Dudley Wentworth's betrayal? Still, too many red flags to fully trust. My head was a mess. Best to crash and think later.
"Productive talk?"
Back on ground level, Coleman greeted me with a bright-eyed smile. Transco had prepped a safehouse for me; she'd drive me there in an armored sedan.
"Yeah... we [frankly exchanged views] and reached a [substantial agreement]."
"Whoa! Diplomatic phrasing! As expected of nobility—did they teach you that too?"
Huh. I'd have been a jobless NEET otherwise. That was just snarky news-anchor lingo. But those sparkling eyes? No way I'd admit the truth.
"Anything before the safehouse? Meal, or other needs?"
"Nah, beat. Straight to the safehouse, please."
"Got it! Right aw—"
"Get out of the way!!"
Suddenly, someone bellowed at us. I whipped toward the source: a ragged guy sprinting our way, pursued by uniform-wearing security types. Fleeing some crime, probably. Not my problem.
"Excuse me, William." Coleman paused mid-door-open, her vibe shifting ice-cold. She dropped into a fighter's stance.
"Fuckers, I said move!!"
The thug thrust his pistol forward, unperturbed—threatening since we were blocking him.
....Wait, what happens if I get shot now?
Thwip!
No time for that—Coleman launched forward. The guy flinched in surprise, then fired for real.
Bang!
Ears ringing from the shot. But Coleman crossed her arms, casually deflecting the bullet, grabbed his outstretched arm, hooked his leg, and flipped him airborne.
Thud!!
"Gahk... urk..."
He hit pavement hard, writhing and groaning. Blood trickled from his cracked skull across the sidewalk. Right on cue, the security arrived. Coleman stepped aside for them to cuff him, snapping,
"What the hell? In front of an important guest?"
"S-sorry, Chief! We raided an ideologue meetup, but he slipped and bolted."
"Ideologues? What, mandatory pineapple on pizza?"
"Not that serious. The reds I reported last time—"
"Enough. Later."
She cut him off coldly, shooing the team away. Then turned back to me with her sunny smile again.
I'd seen that scary boss face, but whatever. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Ideologues, Hawaiian pizza—whatever. I just wanted sleep.