NOVEL NEXT Chapter 91: The Martian Acquisition
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Hiram: Failure to prepare is preparation to fail.
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Sol 499 FY 26, 08:30 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
The wall display buzzed once, then settled into clarity. Across the kitchen table, Marie glanced up from her coffee, spoon midair. Gordon barely looked. He was too busy slicing through a plastifoil packet of freeze-dried fruit. He already knew the tone. Corporate. Smug. The kind of voice that meant someone had made a decision on your behalf.
"This is a Martian public affairs broadcast. We will be streaming an event of colony interest in fifteen minutes. Please stand by." it said.
"—Well. If it isn't Administrator Flowers," Gordon said.
The voice was smooth—refined. One of those rare tones that made people want to listen. There's a word for it, Gordon thought. Euphonic? Something like that. Pleasant. Beautiful, even.
It drifted down from a ring of speakers set around the edge of a large, empty podium onscreen. Not like the AI's sourceless voice-from-the-air-itself. Gordon still wanted to know how it did that.
The broadcast icon shimmered—a stylized helix wrapped around a Martian globe, rotating too fast. Gordon stabbed a berry with his spoon.
"Colony interest," he muttered.
"Maybe it's a new water discovery," Marie said. Not convincingly.
"It's Hiram."
"Of course it's Hiram."
Fifteen minutes later, the holoscreen expanded across the far wall. Marie set down her mug. Gordon didn't look up until he heard the voice.
Hiram and Administrator Flowers had begun to speak—an obvious presentation. Choreographed. Already agreed upon. Hiram was being an asshole. No surprise there.
But what struck Gordon wasn't what they said—it was how they said it. No charm. No warmth. Just polished power, flowing one direction.
It wasn't just Hiram's presence. It was Flowers' lack of it, velvet speaking voice aside.
Across from Hiram's towering frame, Administrator Flowers looked like a cornered man.
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"I don't mean to overstep," Hiram said, smiling faintly, "but I think it's time Mars began exporting."
Gordon's spoon paused midair.
Marie leaned in. "Is this the logistics proposal?"
"That's not quite how Hiram does things."
"You're feeding yourselves now. That's good. Independence of supply chains is step one. But sustainability is just survival. Growth requires trade."
Hiram spoke like a man bestowing reason itself.
Flowers nodded, eyes flicking to the datapad in front of him—one of Hiram's, naturally. Gordon could see the polished renders from across the broadcast. Orbital freight hubs. Transfer manifests. Prefilled launch queues. Hiram hadn't brought a contract. He'd brought a fait accompli.
"You've thought this through," Flowers said.
"I try to do my homework," Hiram replied.
Marie made a sound. Disgust, maybe. But small. Controlled.
"Today," Flowers said from the podium, "we enter a new era. . ."
Gordon watched him sweat. The Martian humidity regulators had gone out again—still not fixed. The banner behind him read:
A polite round of applause followed. Some staffers in front clapped harder. Stage-managed.
"Mr. Stone's generous contribution represents the kind of Earth-Mars cooperation we believe in. Not charity. Not oversight. Partnership."
Marie looked at Gordon. His expression hadn't changed, but his hand was clenched around the spoon.
"This is a corporate acquisition," she said.
He nodded once.
"Bloodless. But . . .yeah."
The broadcast panned to Hiram, standing stage right, hands behind his back. Unsmiling. Not triumphant—just inevitable.
Gordon already knew what the contract contained. Or rather, what it enabled. Hiram had secured a veto—on freight routes, docking schedules, orbital maintenance procedures. Not a dictatorship. Just a bottleneck.
Everything from here on out would pass through him.
"I used to think people in power had to be charming," he said. "That they'd want to be liked."
Marie turned toward him. "Because of them?"
"Because of everything," Gordon said. "I don't believe that anymore."
Vera nodded. "Charm only matters if you're talking to someone who can say no."
Marie looked back toward the screen. "They probably think they're being civil. Just. . .strategic about it."
"They believe they're acting on behalf of their whole system," Vera said. "Hostility as representation."
Gordon nodded. "And it works. That's the sad part."
Marie sighed. "That's. . .fair. That's a fair take."
"You had Vera worried for a second," she added, teasing him.
He gave her a lopsided look. "She doesn't know me yet. Making her worried shouldn't be that hard."
"Making me worried shouldn't be the goal," Vera said.