Zach II, Chapter 2 The sky, a tapestry of blues and purples, began to ripple with the arrival of new titans. Corporate leviathans from distant stars pierced the atmosphere, their descent a slow dance of power and precision. The sleek ships, each brandishing the insignia of their corporation, and the burn marks of desperate escapes, cut through the clouds, casting grand shadows upon the land below. On the ground, a sea of faces tilted upward, eyes alight with anticipation. Zach Hunter, shoulders squared in his too-large jacket, stood among them—a mosaic of corporate refugees all hungry for a fresh start. His black eyes mirrored the excitement that charged the air, his youth unable to mask the eagerness of witnessing history unfold. "Look at 'em, Dad," Zach said, nudging Captain Thomas Hunter, who watched with an unreadable expression. "They're like giant metal birds." "More like vultures descending on opportunity," Captain Hunter replied, his voice firm but not unkind. It was clear he saw more than just vessels; he saw potential alliances, the framework of a society reborn. Laughter bubbled among the crowd as children pointed at the silhouettes breaching the sun's glare. Merchants hawked their wares louder to be heard above the growing hubbub, their voices intertwining into a symphony of commerce and hope. Engineers discussed the mechanics of the variety of ships arriving, while laborers speculated on the jobs these new ships might bring. The ships touched down gracefully, one by one, their hulls gleaming under the alien sun. Dust swirled, and the thrum of engines filled the air, heralding the beginning of a new era on this untamed planet. Captain Hunter strode through the throng, his gaze sharpened with purpose. The sea of new faces parted for him, sensing the quiet force of his presence. He approached each corporate leader with a measured grace, extending a hand not just in greeting but as an invitation to something greater. "Unity is strength," he began, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Alone, we face the trials of this world—unpredictable and unyielding. Together, we can forge a path that benefits us all." He listened intently as one leader spoke of logistical concerns, nodding at intervals to show understanding. With another, he discussed security measures, his black eyes holding a steady command that conveyed both reassurance and authority. "Consider a council," Captain Hunter proposed, his suggestion hanging amidst the murmurs of assent and skepticism. "A unified governing body to guide us through these nascent stages." The leaders exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and calculation. "Imagine the prosperity we could build with combined resources," he continued, painting a picture of a thriving community where cooperation was the cornerstone. In the following days, Captain Hunter's initiative took shape. He organized meetings under canopies that shielded them from the alien sun's glare, a round table where every voice could be heard. His arguments were structured and compelling, each point a stepping stone to mutual gain. "Divided, we compete for scraps," he stated, gesturing to the untamed wilderness beyond the settlement. "United, we share the bounty." Skepticism lingered in the furrowed brows of some leaders, yet interest piqued in others, their postures leaning forward ever so slightly. It was a dance of diplomacy, and Captain Hunter led with finesse. "Your independence is not lost in unity," he assured, his tone both firm and persuasive. "It is amplified by the collective power we wield together." Slowly, the tide of opinions shifted. Nods replaced shakes, and tentative agreements were voiced. Through Captain Hunter's strategic dialogue, the foundation for alliances was laid, each conversation a brick in the edifice of cooperation that would shelter them all. Zach Hunter squinted at the screen, his black eyes reflecting a gridwork of code, lines blurring as frustration seeped into his gaze. He tapped keys with a rhythmic urgency, trying to coax life into the Virtual Game Arena's dormant systems. A sigh escaped him—too few hands on deck, too much work to be done. The lack of arriving technicians felt like an anchor dragging down his every effort. "Come on," he muttered, tapping harder, as if the force of his will could bridge the gap of missing expertise. The gaming consoles sat inert, their screens dark and unresponsive. He needed engineers, programmers—the kind who dreamt in code and spoke in algorithms—but Ceres Corporation's finest were mere whispers in the void, their whereabouts unknown since the exodus. "How you doing, Zach?" a voice asked, pulling him from the tangle of his thoughts. "Running on fumes here," Zach replied, spinning around in his chair to face one of the few tech recruits. Her name was Kara, a junior developer whose spark of potential flickered in her eager eyes. "Keep at it," she said, offering an encouraging grin. "We'll light this place up soon enough." Outside, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows between the trees lining the shore. Zach traded the confinement of circuits and screens for the open air, where another project unfolded. He watched as workers hauled logs, turning nature's bounty into the beginnings of shelter. "Hey, boss!" called out one burly man with a saw over his shoulder. "Cabin's coming up nicely." "Good work, Raul," Zach replied, surveying the half-constructed cabins. They were simple—one room each—but their value lay beyond timber and nails. In this new world, privacy was a currency all its own. "First one's yours, right?" Raul joked, wiping sweat from his brow. "And the second one’s yours," Zach shot back, humor lacing his tone despite the weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. As evening approached, the first cabin stood complete—a solitary sentinel against the backdrop of an alien twilight. Zach nodded in satisfaction; it wasn't just a room, but a promise of stability, a cornerstone of a community that would thrive under his watch. "Tomorrow, we build more," he announced to the crew, who responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. "And then, we build an arena that'll make history." "Sounds like a plan," Raul agreed, clapping Zach on the back before the workers dispersed, dreams of their own cabins dancing in their weary minds. That night, Zach lay in a makeshift hammock slung between the walls of his new cabin, gazing out the crude window at the stars that seemed so different from the ones he knew. They were a reminder of the vastness of their challenge and the potential of what they could create. With each cabin, each line of code, they were building more than structures and games—they were shaping a future. "Tomorrow," Zach whispered to the night, determination etched into his young features. "Tomorrow, we move forward." With each rise of dawn, the air hummed with activity as Zach surveyed his growing village of cabins. Each one, a testament to his vision, stood proudly among the whispering trees, their simple structures promising comfort and solitude. His real estate endeavor was flourishing, with every new structure rented out before the sawdust settled. "Another day, another cabin," he mused, watching workers measure and mark with focused intensity. But amidst this tangible success, an invisible frustration gnawed at him. Inside a temporary command tent that doubled as his office, lines of code flickered across screens, taunting him with their incompleteness. The skeleton crew of junior developers tapped keys with hesitant fingers, trying to resurrect the Virtual Game Arena from its digital ashes. "Any progress on the Dragon Melee reboot?" Zach asked, leaning over the shoulder of a programmer whose eyes were rimmed with fatigue. "Sorry, Zach," she replied, pushing back strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Without the original algorithms, we're shooting in the dark." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If only the senior developers were here," he thought. "Keep at it," he encouraged, forcing a smile. "We'll figure this out." Later, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of fire, Zach approached his father, Captain Hunter. The man stood solid, like the ancient trees surrounding them, eyes scanning the horizon. "Hey, Dad," Zach began, shifting on his feet. "The arena's stuck in a loop. We need the senior devs for Dragon Melee, but they might as well be ghosts." Captain Hunter turned, his gaze settling on his son with a gravity that belied his calm exterior. "Zachariah," he said, using his full name only when the matter was serious, "the juniors may lack experience, but they're not without potential. Have you considered simpler projects?" "Like what?" Zach's curiosity piqued despite his weariness. "Survival games—teaching skills for this new world. Hunting red snakes, for instance," Captain Hunter suggested, a spark of challenge lighting his eyes. "Red snakes, huh?" Zach's lips quirked upward in a half-smile. "That could work. A game that's actually useful." "Exactly." His father nodded. "Let them cut their teeth on something achievable. They grow, and so does our community." "Thanks, Dad." Zach felt a weight lift, replaced by a cautious optimism. He clapped a hand on his father's broad shoulder. "I'll set them on it first thing." "Good man," Captain Hunter replied, pride resonating in his voice as he watched his son head back toward the command tent. The gaming arena Zach was building really didn’t amount to much more than a backyard holo-ring thousands of teenagers before him had built from a game-kit sold by the Ceres Corporation. The only difference was that the store-bought kit came with a mini Dragon Melee game console. Zach was building his game-ring from parts he’d found lying around. Zach couldn't help but feel buoyed by the idea—a game that mirrored their reality, that could mold novice developers and help settlers acclimate. As the first stars of evening pricked the darkening sky, he knew tomorrow held the promise of innovation, a different kind of building—one line of code at a time. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the bustling settlement. Zach Hunter, with a confident stride that belied his youth, wove through the crowd. His black hair was a wild dance in the evening breeze, eyes alight with the fire of ambition. The settlers around him buzzed with talk of the Virtual Game Arena, their curiosity piqued by the promise of escapism and digital glory. Meanwhile, Captain Thomas Hunter, large and imposing, held court among his peers. His salt-and-pepper hair spoke of years weathering the storms of space and corporate warfare, yet his demeanor remained as steadfast as the mighty ships he commanded. "Progress," he began, voice resonant, "is a tapestry woven from countless threads. Alone, they may seem inconsequential, but together, they form something enduring." "Poetic, Hunter," chided Director Lin, her skepticism a thorn among the roses of diplomacy. "But words are wind without action." "Then let us tether our words to deeds," Hunter countered, gesturing toward the horizon where the gleam of metal and glass reflected the dreams of many. "Joint ventures in agriculture, combined efforts in security—these are the anchors of our collective success." A murmur of agreement spread through the assembly, slow and cautious, like the first drops before a deluge. Eyes met, decisions weighed, and a silent consensus began to crystallize amidst the gathering dusk. "Very well," conceded Lin, her tone warming to the prospect of partnership. "Let's see where this journey takes us." "United," added another, his voice joining the chorus of newfound camaraderie. Back at the heart of the settlement, Zach watched his father's silhouette against the deepening sky, pride swelling within him. He turned back to the eager faces around him, their energy infectious, their hopes pinned to the flickering screens and digital realms he promised to resurrect. "Alright, team," Zach announced, a grin spreading across his face. "Let's build an Arena that'll make history." As night embraced the planet, the stars above whispered of change. Beneath them, a unified governing body emerged, its foundation forged in the fires of negotiation and the steel of shared purpose. Captain Hunter's diplomatic dance had set the stage, and now, it was up to Zach and the settlers to keep the rhythm going. The Virtual Game Arena hummed with life, a beacon of neon and noise on a planet still whispering the secrets of its ancient soil. Zach Hunter weaved through crowds thick with anticipation, his black eyes shining with pride as he watched gamers from every corner of the settlement come together, their differences forgotten in the glow of shared excitement. "Who's up for a round of *Asteroid Dodge*?" Zach called out, the words bouncing off the walls like a challenge. Laughter rippled through the throng, as hands shot up and voices clamored to join. "Make some space, folks! We've got champions in the making here," Zach joked, his grin contagious. It was time to test the first simple games to emerge from the junior developers, and soon the more complicated survival games. Above them, screens flickered to life, and avatars leapt into action, dodging virtual debris with daring that belied the safety of their seats. The players cheered each successful maneuver, banding together in the face of pixelated peril. Each new game brought strangers shoulder-to-shoulder, transforming them into comrades by the minute. "Looks like we're onto something, eh?" Zach muttered to no one in particular, a sense of camaraderie settling over him like a warm blanket. But not all was cause for celebration. Days after the test trials in the Arena were successful, Zach stood before the Planetary Board, the air heavy with a different kind of tension. A decree had been passed down, casting a long shadow over his real estate ventures—taxes were due. Zach, ever the quick-thinker, tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Absolutely, I agree to pay taxes," he said. "Just one tiny question—what currency are we using today?" Silence fell, the kind that swallowed words whole. The board members exchanged glances, a realization dawning like a slow sunrise. There was no currency, only the give-and-take of bartered goods and promises. "Ah," murmured one member, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "It appears we've jumped ahead of ourselves." "Seems like it," Zach agreed, hiding his relief behind a mask of mock solemnity. "I guess we'll have to revisit this tax situation later, once you figure out the small detail of payment." A temporary reprieve granted, Zach left the chamber with another win tucked under his belt, though this one felt less victorious and more like borrowed time. He knew the issue would circle back, but for now, there was an Arena to run and a community to build. And in those pursuits, Zach was becoming a master of the game. A week later, Zach was walking past the chamber the Planetary Board met. He put an ear to the door and listened. The sounds inside were a chaos of discordant voices, each leader pitching their vision for the nascent banking system. They argued with fervor, their gestures animated and faces flushed, but progress was as elusive as shadows at dusk. Zach listened silently, getting a few disapproving glares from people walking past. He listened with an expression that wavered between bemusement and frustration. They really did need a currency, but he didn’t want to pay taxes, and these people were stuck in the old corporate way of thinking; slow and indecisive. Patience was a luxury they didn't have. With a shrug that belied his escalating impatience, Zach slipped out, leaving the board to their endless debate. Outside, the air was crisp, charged with the electric hum of industry and new beginnings. He sought out Eric, whose wisdom had proven invaluable more times than Zach cared to count. "Eric," Zach said as he approached, his stride confident. "We need to build a bank. Like, yesterday." "Easy, Zach, that’s a tall order," Eric replied with a chuckle. "You'll need a separate corporation for that—something entirely new. And backing. Lots of it." "How much?" Zach asked, having no clue what it took to make a bank. "Five million for a Credit Union, or very small bank seems spot on," Eric replied. “But, without something of value to back the currency, it's a tricky proposition." "You need to go see Mr. Gillian," Eric declared with a nod toward Titan Oil's largest ship where the Titan headquarters was located. The meeting with Mr. Gillian took place in a grand, spacious office. The rich scent of new leather filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of ambition. Zach, young but confident like a seasoned entrepreneur, presented his plan to Mr. Gillian. His eyes, piercing and keen beneath bushy brows, narrowed as he spoke. "And how do I loan you money when we don’t have any currency yet?” Zach faltered for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. "Eric says you have to have something of value to back the currency. Loan me 50,000 barrels of oil. That’ll back the bank." A small smile tugged at the corners of Mr. Gillian's mouth, conveying both approval and intrigue. "I like your entrepreneurship, Zach. You’re a young version of me. Here's what I'll do—I'll buy futures in your real estate corporation. One barrel per future." Zach blinked, taken aback by this unexpected offer. "I... don't understand." Mr. Gillian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk as he explained further. "You’ll see. Those cabins are just the beginning. Eventually, you’ll have to build high rise apartments, hotels, and then a resort. That’s what I'm investing in." Zach agreed without hesitation. "Help them draft the contracts," Mr. Gillian instructed his steward. "Two corporations—one for the bank, one for real estate. And I want a seat on the board for both companies forever." "And one more thing," he added, turning to address Zach directly. "You are ambitious, but we need a real bank and you know nothing about banking." Without missing a beat, Zach replied with a grin, "Okay, I don’t care who runs it, I just don’t want to pay taxes." Mr. Gillian chuckled at this response. "You’re going to pay taxes, we all will. But that doesn’t matter right now. Are you aware that Stewards are trained in a great variety of subjects, including banking?" "I didn’t know that," Zach admitted, turning to Eric with a raised eyebrow. "Do you want to be the President of my bank?" Eric grinned, seemingly unsurprised by the offer. "I already expected that, but now we’ll need to mint some coin." "I have metalsmiths that can do that for you," Mr. Gillian interjected. Eric turned to him with a curious expression. "And the ratio?" "One to five," Mr. Gillian replied confidently. "One to ten," Eric countered. "One to seven," Mr. Gillian suggested. After a brief negotiation, they settled on a deal and left with contracts in hand. As they walked out, Zach turned to Eric with a quizzical look. "What was that ratio thing all about?" "It’s a very old custom, but the Planetary Board will put a halt to it eventually, but not before Mr. Gillian gets back his investment," Eric explained. “He gets to keep one coin for every seven he mints for us." "That’s stealing!" Zach exclaimed in disbelief. "Welcome to banking," Eric replied with a wry smile, signaling the beginning of their new venture into this complex world of finance and commerce. Zach pondered this as they walked back into the light of a setting sun, the weight of paperwork in his hands feeling strangely like a key to the future despite the glimpse of corruption he’d have to navigate around. They stopped at the edge of the gaming arena, overlooking the construction site. The arena was small, but in Zach’s mind he saw the sprawling digital colosseum it would become. Workers scurried like diligent ants, welding and hammering, their silhouettes casting long shadows as dusk approached. The hum of machinery blended with the distant laughter of families reuniting after a day's labor. "Looks like it'll be ready for the grand opening," Eric remarked, coming to stand beside him. "Yep," Zach replied, his eyes tracing the arena's skeletal framework. "It's going to be so much fun. People need this." As the two gazed at the arena, lights began flickering on inside the structure, one by one, illuminating the promise of a new beginning. The air buzzed with electricity, not just from the grid but from the palpable sense of anticipation that enveloped the crowd gathered around. Refugees from different corporations mingled, their conversations a tapestry of ideas and aspirations – a united front forged from the necessity of survival and the desire for prosperity. Captain Hunter joined them on the scene, surveying everything with a satisfied nod. "This will be beneficial for everyone," he said. "A place to unwind, compete, and learn...Together." "Unity through virtual combat and teamwork," Zach quipped with a smirk. "Indeed," Captain Hunter chuckled. "And those cabins along the shore are just as important. People need a sense of home just as much as they need a sense of community." "The only reason I'm able to do all this is because you're my dad," Zach remarked. "I only asked you to build the arena; the idea for the cabins was all yours," Captain Hunter replied, playfully ruffling Zach's hair. "I got tired of sleeping outside with the sand snakes," Zach joked. Captain Hunter noticed some documents in Zach's hand. "Is that a contract from Titan Oil?" "Oh, yeah," Zach confirmed. "I now own the planetary bank. And Eric here is the President of the Bank." Captain Hunter raised an eyebrow. Zach had always been an overachiever, but owning a bank? This would be interesting. He glanced at Eric. "I'll keep an eye on him, Sir," Eric assured him. "Is Mr. Gillian involved in this?" Captain Hunter inquired. "Zach purchased 50,000 barrels of oil to back the bank," Eric explained. Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you better explain how this went from ‘Zach, how about building a gaming arena’ to ‘Hi, Dad, I own the First Planetary Bank’.” Eric shrugged. “One thing led to the next. He needed workers for the arena, cabins for the workers, money for taxes, and an ally to invest in his ventures. A bank was the next logical conclusion.” Captain Hunter let out a weary sigh. "No, it wasn’t. Stock offerings was the next logical conclusion. But I sense there is something more behind your actions.” "I am a Ceres Steward," Eric stated simply. The Captain understood immediately. He was familiar with the intensive training and unwavering integrity of Ceres Stewards. For this new world to thrive, there needed to be an independent, impartial Planetary Bank. The Stewards had made a bold political move by taking control of the bank. Zach and Gillian would have no say in its operations; it would solely be managed by the Stewards. "I don’t like Zach being used like that, don’t do it again, Mr. Steward," Captain Hunter warned, using the traditional term for all members of the black-suited league of commerce experts. As the night deepened and stars decorated the sky, mirroring the sparkling lights of the arena, Zach felt a surge of pride. He had transformed this once barren land into a hub of activity and life. His gaze landed on the eager faces in the crowd, their expressions filled with hope. They were ready to embrace this new world, and the arena stood as a guiding beacon for them.