Zach III, Chapter 1 Zach Hunter slouched into the leather chair at the head of the glossy mahogany meeting table, his young gaze flicking from face to face as corporate titans clashed in a storm of words around him. The room buzzed with the electricity of heated debate, each leader a tempest of passion and power, vying to imprint their will upon the future. "Clearly, you've not considered the financial uplift!" boomed the first business owner, slamming a palm against the table. His voice cut through the argument like a laser beam, demanding attention. "The East Side location is adjacent to my complex, yes, but think! The foot traffic alone would boost commerce for all!" He was a mountain of a man, with a wide chest puffed out in self-importance, his hands dancing animatedly as he painted an enticing picture of prosperity. His eyes, ablaze with the flames of conviction, met each pair in turn, willing them to see the vision that burned so brightly in his mind. "Imagine," he continued, his voice now a purring engine of persuasion, "the throngs of visitors spilling into the streets, their pockets lined with credits, eager to splurge after a day at the game arena. Restaurants, shops, hotels – everyone wins!" Zach's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, the only hint of amusement in the otherwise grave tableau. He recognized the dance of desire and strategy playing out before him, a chess game where every move was both an attack and a defense. The fervor of the first pitch still hung in the air as another business owner rose, her voice a sharp contrast to the thunderous tones that had preceded. "Gentlemen, and esteemed lady," she began, nodding courteously to the only other woman at the table, "the West End is where our focus must lie." Zach tilted his head, intrigued, as he watched the woman command the space with a quiet confidence. She was tall and willowy, her gestures fluid like the branches of a weeping willow swaying in a gentle breeze. The softness of her demeanor belied a steely resolve evident in her clear, blue eyes. "Consider the vast open spaces, untouched and ripe for innovation," she suggested, her words painting an image of endless possibilities. "The West End offers not just a location, but a canvas on which we can craft an experience so immersive, visitors will travel the galaxy to witness it." A murmur of consideration rippled through the room. Zach scribbled a note, then looked up, tapping his pen against his chin. "How do you propose to deal with the current lack of infrastructure there?" he asked, the timbre of his voice steady, belying his youth. "Ah," she replied, a small smile playing upon her lips, "a challenge indeed, but one that paves the way for groundbreaking advancements. We have the opportunity to build not just a game arena, but a beacon of modernity, luring guests with the promise of pioneering exploration." Each word was chosen with care, each sentence crafted to inspire. Zach found himself nodding along, her vision infectious. He jotted down more notes, his handwriting a hurried scrawl as he tried to keep pace with the cascade of ideas flowing from the woman's lips. "Infrastructure can be established," she continued, unfazed by the weight of skepticism from some at the table. "We're pioneers, are we not? Let us then pioneer!" Her statement hung in the air, a challenge to their collective identity. Zach felt a spark of his own adventurous spirit flare in response. He was, after all, his father's son—no stranger to the allure of uncharted territories. "Thank you," he said, a grin briefly breaking through his serious façade. "Your point is well taken." He glanced around the table, his black eyes alight with the reflection of new horizons. Each business owner, with their own entangled motives, contributed to the tapestry of the debate—a tapestry Zach was determined to unravel. The clatter of fervent discourse ebbed as the third business owner rose, his stance rigid with resolve. The room, steeped in anticipation, turned its collective gaze upon him. His voice boomed, "Esteemed colleagues, let us not forget the roots from which our corporation sprang." Zach leaned forward, intrigued by the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. This man spoke not of profits and foot traffic, but of legacy. "Right here," he pounded a fist into an open palm, "on the very ground we tread, history was made. We toiled, our dreams in the face of defeat blossoming into the reality we now enjoy. To place our game arena elsewhere would be to turn our backs on the heritage that defines us!" His words resonated with a gravity that tugged at the threads of nostalgia woven into the company's fabric. Zach scribbled a note, underlining the word 'heritage' twice. "Thank you," Zach interjected, his voice a gentle ripple against the tide of the man's passion. "The past shapes us, but how might it shape our future?" Before the murmurs of contemplation could swell, another figure rose. Mr. Gillian of Titan Oil commanded silence, his demeanor as calm as still waters. With measured tones, he began, "While our history is indeed precious, our ambition must reach beyond what we know." Zach's pen paused above his notebook, captivated. "Imagine," Mr. Gillian continued, a serene smile touching his lips, "a game arena not bound by land, but cradled by the embrace of the ocean. A structure so innovative, it defies convention and marries technology with the untamed spirit of the sea." A murmur, low and undulating, swept through the room. Zach felt it—an undercurrent of curiosity pulling at them all. "Such an endeavor," Mr. Gillian said, each word deliberate, "would not only honor our pioneering courage to explore the unknown but also offer an experience unparalleled in the gaming world." Zach's eyes widened slightly. His father had often spoken of the ocean's unfathomable depths and the secrets they held. Now, those same mysteries beckoned, promising a new frontier not just for their games, but for their imagination. "An ocean odyssey," Zach muttered to himself, the edges of his mouth curling upward with the thrill of possibility. "Indeed, young Mr. Hunter," Mr. Gillian nodded in his direction, acknowledging the flicker of excitement. "An odyssey awaits us." The room swiveled into a hive of whispers, each corporate leader's face etched with a blend of disbelief and wonder. They leaned forward as if the sea itself were calling from Mr. Gillian's lips - a call to cast their futures upon its vast, unpredictable canvas. "Building on the ocean?" one leader echoed, skepticism furrowing his brow. "The logistics alone—" "Materials," another interjected, the word hanging heavy like an anchor in the depths. "To construct such a behemoth, we'd need resources beyond our current stores." "True," murmured a third, her eyes alight with the spark of challenge. "But imagine the lure for tourists! 'Play amongst the waves,' they'll say." Zach scribbled their doubts and dreams alike, his quick, dark eyes missing nothing. "An alluring notion indeed," Mr. Gillian agreed, hands clasped behind his back as he paced with the rhythm of a calm tide. "Yet the greatest hurdle remains: a dome of sufficient size. How do we build it? Ah.” The single syllable fell from Mr. Gillian's lips like a pebble into still water, rippling out silence. "We don't have to." Curious glances followed him as he stopped, facing them with the serene certainty of a captain at his ship's helm. "Mr. Tackett," Mr. Gillian said, turning to address a man seated at the far end of the table. "Would you care to share the news of your recent acquisition?" Mr. Tackett, a sturdy figure with eyes that bore the weight of secrets, nodded, the ghost of a frown tugging at his lips. "It's a colony dome designed for extreme environments," he admitted grudgingly. "I found it during a patrol of the system. I’ve already paid Earth Colonization Office for the salvage rights." "Your salvage rights are worthless," Mr. Gillian corrected gently, though his eyes gleamed with unspoken triumph. "That agra-dome was originally the property of Agra Farming Corporation, and abandoned twenty-five years ago when the hyper-drive failed. When we arrived as marooned refugees, Captain Hunter, being an actual licensed salvager, filed claim on any potential derelicts and abandoned properties in this system. And, being that he received confirmation of his claim a week before the revolt that caused us to scurry across the galaxy for refuge here, that derelict legally belongs to him." "I'm telling you now," Mr. Tackett's voice held the firmness of bedrock, "it wasn't meant for your... aquatic fantasies. It's not up for donation." "Understandable," Mr. Gillian replied, his calm never wavering. "But consider the potential. A dome that can withstand the harshness of space will surely thrive atop the ocean's embrace. Our gaming arena could be housed within, safe and majestic." A collective breath seemed to hold in the room, the scale of the proposition dawning upon them like sunrise over the sea. Zach felt a twinge of awe at the image forming in his mind—a grand dome cradling their dreams, floating upon the endless blue. A game unlike any other, waiting just beyond the horizon. Faces around the table turned, their expressions a complex tapestry of disbelief and ire. The air crackled with tension, thick as the silence that had once filled the void between stars, now shattered by the news of Mr. Tackett's hidden resource. "You hid that dome from us?" The word erupted from Mrs. Kincaide, her usually composed features twisted in displeasure. "A resource like that, hoarded away? Think of the ventures we could've bolstered, the progress stifled!" "Indeed," another agreed, voice sharp as a laser scalpel. "Our settlements struggle for materials while you sit on a trove meant for colonization! It's not just unfair—it's unconscionable." Zach observed, his eyes flickering from face to face, reading the narrative of betrayal written upon their furrowed brows. A tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth, an echo of humor found in the absurd theatre of corporate indignation. Mr. Gillian, standing amidst the storm, remained the eye of calm. His hands danced lightly over the holoscreen, bringing forth an image of the dome—a structure as impressive as it was elusive. "Let us focus on the horizon, shall we?" he suggested, voice smooth as the surface of a pond untouched by wind. "This dome," he gestured to the hologram, "is built to outlast time itself. Its skin, tougher than any alloy we can forge, can weather cosmic storms, deflect solar flares, and yes—" his eyes met the assembly, "—it was designed to float in the event its final destination ended as a colony on a water world." Murmurs rippled through the room, curiosity piquing like the first glimpse of dawn after a night of darkness. "Imagine," Mr. Gillian continued, his words painting pictures more vivid than the display before them, "our game arena, suspended upon the waves. An odyssey set against the endless canvas of the ocean. This isn't just a dome—it's the seed of legend, a tale waiting to be told." Zach leaned forward, drawn into the vision as surely as a star is pulled by gravity. He scribbled notes, ideas already forming like constellations in his mind. "Can it truly be converted for our purposes?" someone asked, skepticism waning, replaced by the glow of potential. "Effortlessly," Mr. Gillian assured. "The design is modular, adaptable. We could have a gaming paradise ready to welcome Captain Archer’s challenge." "An odyssey," Zach whispered under his breath, the word tasting of salt and adventure, "on the ocean." And just like that, the room filled with the sound of the future—a symphony of agreement and ambition, each note resonating with the promise of what was to come. Captain Thomas Hunter stood, his presence casting a definitive shadow over the meeting table. The murmur of voices dropped to a hush as all eyes fixed upon him, the weight of decision palpable in the air. "Mr. Tackett," Captain Hunter began, his voice carrying the gravity of asteroids colliding, "the dome is a marvel. It's a shame it's been collecting cosmic dust when it could've served us all." Mr. Tackett shifted in his seat, his knuckles whitening against the tabletop. "However," Captain Hunter continued, "the needs of the settlement eclipse individual gain." He paused, ensuring his words resonated with the force of a decree. "The dome will descend to our planet. You will not be compensated, as it never belonged to you." A collective breath seemed to be released, yet the air grew thick with tension. Mr. Tackett's glare bore into Captain Hunter, a silent storm brewing behind his eyes. "I paid Earth a fortune for the salvage rights?" Mr. Tackett's voice was taut, like a tether on the brink of snapping. "This was my ace in the hole, Hunter. My investment. My future." "An invalid claim, since I already owned the salvage rights on any derelict found in this system. However, your future is still yours to build," Captain Hunter said, unmoved. "But not at the expense of our settlement, and not at the cost of unity." The quiet rage simmering in Mr. Tackett threatened to spill over, his lips pressed into a thin line. Zach noted the clenched jaw, the barely restrained fury. A mental note etched itself alongside his sketches and ideas – Tackett would remember this. Men like him, they never forgot. And they always settled scores. Silence swept the room like a sudden eclipse, all eyes turning to Captain Hunter. The weight of his decision pressed down on every shoulder around the table. Zach watched as the corporate leaders exchanged glances, their earlier fire quenched by the gravity of unity and common purpose. "Very well," Mr. Gillian declared, breaking the hush. His voice carried the softness of a man confident in victory. "Let's build upon the waves, create something this galaxy has yet to witness." His gaze swept across the faces surrounding him. "An oceanic game arena will be our beacon." Nods trickled around the table like dominoes tipping into place. The murmurs began, cautious at first, then swelling with enthusiasm as the leaders envisioned the possibilities. "Imagine the draw!" one leader said, her voice tinged with excitement. "Tourists will flock from every corner of space," another added. "Unique. Profitable. Unforgettable," Mr. Gillian summarized, his hands planted firmly on the table. The consensus was clear; they would forge ahead with an idea as boundless as the sea itself. Zach etched the final word in his notes: Ocean Odyssey. He rose from his seat, the hum of agreement a backdrop to his departure. The conference room, once a battleground of words and wills, now buzzed with a shared vision. In the adjacent room, Zach found his team huddled around screens, their faces illuminated by the glow of digital landscapes. They looked up as he entered, anticipation in their eyes. "Pack up, Red Snake Rising," Zach announced, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. "Captain Archer has seen enough snakes to last a lifetime." A collective pause took hold, the previous project's code and concepts hanging suspended in the virtual air. "We're diving into uncharted waters," Zach continued, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "We've got an ocean to conquer, and a year to do it. We’re going to create a new game, Ocean Odyssey." "Ocean?" One developer's eyebrows arched high, mirroring the waves they were tasked to create. Zach laid out the plan, but didn’t mention the dome they had acquired, yet. "Start dreaming of submerged cities, aquatic beasts, and treasures hidden in coral mazes," Zach said, his words painting pictures more vivid than the screens before them. "Think big, think deep. We're crafting a world where Captain Archer will find himself out of his depth." "Quite literally," someone quipped, and laughter rippled through the room like a gentle current. "Alright, team," Zach clapped his hands together, rallying his crew. "Let's make waves." Zach patted the lead programmer on the back and motioned for him to follow. Outside in the hallway, the wiry man gave Zach a nervous grin. "Whenever you say 'walk with me,' I know you have something planned," he said. Zach nodded knowingly. "I don't want to get everyone's hopes up without being sure. We're not upgrading our fifth generation dome or building a new one. However, there's an abandoned agro-dome in the asteroid belt with a failed hyper-drive that might be salvageable." "I'm not sure how we would transport it here," the senior programmer replied skeptically. "Even if we could tow it under sub-space speed, it would take years and use up all of our fuel." "I know, but I have a special mission for you. We need Marcus and his team to fix the hyper-drive. Can you track him down?" "Marcus has been in hiding since the revolt," Greg replied with a sigh. "It won't be easy to find him." "I'll go pick him up, and I need your help with one more thing," Zach said eagerly. "What is it?" Greg asked with a skeptical tone. "We need game pods," Zach stated simply. Greg let out a whistle. "You're not planning to build another vintage arena, are you?" "No, I’m going to build a twenty-eighth generation arena," Zach replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. Greg's expression turned from confusion to laughter. "Are you running on jet fuel or something? Ceres only has a twenty-seventh generation arena, and it's considered top-of-the-line." "I know, but I want to push the boundaries even further. You help me get Marcus and the necessary technology, and I'll make this happen." "You'll need more than just game pods; there's a whole list of advanced tech required for this kind of project," Greg warned. "I don't care. You find it, and I’ll get it here," Zach declared determinedly. Greg raised an eyebrow. “There’s not really that much difference between a salvage pilot and a pirate, is there?” Zach laughed. “Probably not.”