The Changing Face of Business

[Micah tol Powl]

The Corellia Digital Building
Meccha, Drall, Corellian System
Territory of the One Sith

Business was a lot like litigating a case before a jury.

It was less about what the facts were, and more of what you could convince a jury to believe. Corporations operated with shareholders. A board of directors. It was very similar to a jury trial in many respects. And the Gungan lawyer was adept at convincing a jury to believe his interpretation of events.

Under Sor-Jan Xantha's disastrous leadership, the company had invested in the markets of the Techno Union. Built capital on the planet of Druckenwell. Planned to grow their finance through the advantage of a intergalactic economy founded upon free trade and interstellar economics.

But the Techno Union had collapsed.

Sor-Jan's gambit had been a faux pas. A single mistake, but a Jedi with no previous experience at the helm of a corporate institution. That was it, just a single mistake. But, in business, as in war, it was a single mistake that could be the downfall of a giant.

So the Gungan had worked. Quietly at first, hired in to be the president and financial manager for Corell Financial. He was the former Republic Senator for the planet of Cyrillia. His credentials as a manager, and a lawyer, had more than qualified him for the job.

Then he had artfully secured a seat for himself at the table with the trustees. Chief Financial Officer. He controlled the credits. He controlled the books. It no longer mattered what Corellia Digital's profit or loss was, it only mattered what he could make those shareholders believe the financial report said. And he ensured that the financial statements and reports reflected the narrative he wanted told.

Each quarter was the prosecution's exhibit.

And, now, they had arrived at the closing arguments in the case. The annual shareholders meeting at the corporate headquarters on Drall. It was all an elaborate affair, bringing together the major investors and stakeholders in the company's various projects and divisions. Tables set for a catered dinner in which the direction of the company in the year ahead would be decided.

"The chair recognizes the Chief Financial Officer for the Annual Earnings Report."

Rising from his seat at the vaulted table where the officers and trustees sat before a room of the investors, the lanky form of the Otollo Gungan rose to his full, impressive height. He towered over the diminutive Jedi Anzat in every respect.

He was better adept at business. More knowledgeable in finance. More qualified in tax or labor law. More experienced in strategic, organizational leadership.

"Ladies and da gentlebeings," the Gungan intoned, his Naboo accent largely muted but played for effect. He could be a very compelling, exotic speaker. Entrancing his audience. Lulling them into being receptive to what he said, soothed by the soft tones of his voice. "Da financial reports for dis year are distributed on da datapads available at each of your seats."

To demonstrate, the Gungan lifted up a datapad even as screens around him appeared, populating charts, graphs, and numbers depicting a variety of business data. Profit and loss by sector, by division, or overall. "As in da last quarter, our actual revenue missed da anticipated response from the markets," the Gungan noted, setting aside the datapad and grabbing, instead, a pointer which he used to quickly highlight several dips in the line graphs where the earnings had dropped.

"As yousa Chief Financial Officer, and da president of da Corell Financial, I feel it is meesa duty to not just reports da financial trends but to also offer analysis of da cause of dis lack of performance," the Gungan proclaimed, facing the audience for a moment, before pivoting just enough so that his eyestalks could peer over toward where a single youngling sat at the head table. "And it is meesa judgement that this is a direct reflection of the total mismanagement of dis here company."

As the last words dropped, there was a murmur of conversation out in the crowd.

"Trustees, shareholders, meesa call for a vote of da no confidence in da leadership of Sor-Jan Xantha."

Spoiler

Below are those characters who I'd identify as a stakeholder or investor in Corellia Digital, and thus are welcome to participate as such during this thread. But no pressure to do so is meant or intended. ​

[member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] | [member="Matsu Ike"] | [member="Marque"] | [member="Coci Heavenshield"] | [member="Judah Dashiell"]​

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Well, that definitely spoiled the mood for this evening.

...no, not the Gungan. Whoever had put chocolate mousse on the catering menu had one sick sense of humor. White chocolate was not the same thing as chocolate. And whatever they were paying the caterer for this dessert, Sor-Jan felt cheated and wanted a refund.

As for Jon Jon Nemo, he was a ray of sunshine, as always.

Except, Sor-Jan hadn't hired Nemo because he was particularly friendly, or even pleasant to be around. The Gungan certain could be those things. He was a politician. Like a thespian, he played his part very well. Except that the Anzat was a telepath, and even when he wasn't trying to be intrusive... sometimes mere presence alone was indicative of when someone was being genuine... and when they just faking the funk.

Jon Nemo was one the fakes.

He'd known it, but Nemo was also damn good at his job and so Sor-Jan had been willing to let slide the personal failings or character flaws that he saw in the man. Force only knew, Sor-Jan certainly wasn't the perfect Jedi. And, honestly, he didn't believe in the zero defect society. Everyone was fallible. Everyone made mistakes.

The real test of character was whether someone would choose to learn from those mistakes, or merely keep repeating them.

Perhaps he was talking about himself. Perhaps he was talking about Nemo. In either case, the boy raised one hand to catch the attention of the crowd and quell the murmurs of conversation that had risen from a mere whisper to a growing roar of scandal.

"The distinguished gentleman from Cyrillia still has the floor," the boy noted, subtle nuances in how the Force could interact with the molecules in the air allowing the youngling's voice to project across the crowd without the aid of microphones.

That display, in or of itself, was a quiet display of power. And one of which did not appear to have been lost on the Gungan, as the two locked eyes for a moment.

It appeared that the Gungan had elected to play a Game of Thrones.

If he thought to intimidate the small Anzat, then he may have missed the mark. Nonplussed, the boy gestured toward the lanky fellow. "Perhaps there is more you would wish to say, so that our shareholders can make an informed motion and vote."

 

[Micah tol Powl]

What was the Jedi playing at?

The eye stalks of the Gungan narrowed as he peered over at the small boy in a mixture of confusion and disgust. With a wave of his hand, the youngling had just taken control of the room and then passed the audience back to the Gungan orator as though he had needed the boy's help.

By yielding the floor to Nemo, the boy had just demonstrated that he was in command here. Not the Gungan. It was a subtle war of words, and one in which the Anzat had demonstrated an efficiency that had caught the lanky lawyer by surprise.

Perhaps he'd been out of politics for too long. That shouldn't have happened.

"Mister President, yousa invested da aurodium ingots we received from Sasori Research into the economic markets of Druckenwell, then a member planet of the Techno Union," the Gungan stated, making a point for the benefit of the audience even while addressing the boy. "You directed da investment into capital on Druckenwell, namely da Ardwell Building, and da establishment of a Corellia Digital Store there."

Directing his pointer back to the screens overhead, the Gungan brought up a screen displaying the earnings report for the former Techno Union sector. "Our profits are down twelve percent since da fall of da Techno Union," the Gungan remarked, highlighting the downward trend before he turned back toward the small boy.

"Do you deny this?"

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Numbers.

To people like Jon Nemo, numbers meant a great deal. To hell with facts, to hell with motive or intent. The numbers said it all.

The Gungan was obviously trusting that his audience relied on numbers as he relied on numbers. Speaking for himself, Sor-Jan wasn't sure he was prepared to make that same assumption. One of the more interesting facets of the universe in its current form was that the chaotic, unpredictable nature of open war in the galaxy caused a great deal of philanthropy to take place across borders.

It wouldn't surprise him if Nemo brought that up in the negative as well.

"No," the boy answered finally. "I do not deny that the investment into the Techno Union was, in hindsight, a mistake."

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Ah, and there it was.

The most quintessential evidence in any legal proceeding. The accused's own confession.

Rising up to his full, impressive height, the Gungan stated formally, "Mistah President, you do not get the luxury of making mistakes with our credits."

There was a light smattering of applause at that declaration. Enough to bolster the Gungan's confidence as he addressed the crowd. "But the decision to invest in the Techno Union has not been your only mistake," the lawyer asserted, talking now to the crowd rather than to the Jedi seated behind him. "We have invested millions into the Kathol Sector, including coverage of the Marcol Void."

Pausing a moment, Jon let that statement sink in before asking, rhetorically, "What possible profit motive could there be to an investment in any area of space in which NOTHING resides?"

The Gungan surveyed the crowd, his eye stalks moving from side to side, allowing the silence to grow uncomfortable before he broke the ice. "The answer is, there is none."

This was a business, not a charity, and it was time to remind them of that fact. "There is no profit motive here," the Gungan repeated, aiming a finger back at the small Anzat as he stated, "Sor-Jan Xantha is a Jedi, and expects that our shareholders should be donating to his own personal charity fund."

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

"Personal charity fund?"

The smile played across his cherub-like face as he echoed back the words. That was actually quite amusing.

Rising from out of his chair, the small boy stepped out in front. He had donned the distinctive green robe of the Corellian Jedi for this event, smoothing the front of it as he moved up beside where the Gungan was at the front of the raised stage upon which the head table was located. He wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was a Jedi. Far from it. The values of the Corellian Jedi were his business ethics. He wasn't going to try and run or hide from that now.

With a faint motion toward the monitors overhead, the boy referenced the bottom line earnings as he said, in jest, "Well, we've obviously done a terrible job at being a non-profit..."

A murmur of laughter passed through the crowd. He gave time for that to subside before he commented on that fact. "Seventeen thousand in current quarter earnings alone, and that's just the sales figures from the galactic release of Endormon GO..."

So making money wasn't the issue. Those earnings just weren't where Jon Nemo thought that they could be. Turning, the boy looked up as he posed the question to the crowd even while regarding the man before him. "You asked for a profit motive for providing coverage of the Marcol Void," the young Jedi said, looking out at the audience for a moment before he paced a bit. Pausing, turning back toward the Gungan, the youth noted, "You used that as a punch line, but allow me to enlighten you as to just what our investors are doing in the Kathol Sector."

With a wave of his hand, the boy banished the monitors for a moment. Shut down the holographic displays, to put all attention on him, and merely have a conversation. Pacing again, the boy held up one hand as he said, "For the first time, perhaps in centuries... perhaps ever... the Kathol Republic and citizens as far as Exocron now have access to emergency and civil services from as far as Demonsgate or Kal'Shebbol."

There were a few pockets of quiet applause, silence lingering as the boy just let that statement sink in.

"We have enabled sector-wide search and rescue efforts, including subspace communications coverage across the Marcol Void," the youth noted, when he had spoken again. He paced back toward the Gungan as he added, "And that charity has not been to the exclusion of new business, it has brought new business to us. Ships in the Kathol Outback, using our CD-9 series subspace radios. Just like in the Corellian Sector, or the Voss Sector."

Tit for tat.

Would you rather nickel and dime your client? Or build a relationship with them? "If that is worth nothing to you, then I'd say you're paying too much attention to quarterly earnings and not enough to who our actual customers are."

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Well, that smelled stinkovich.

"Our actual customers are the shareholders," the Gungan asserted firmly. A sweep of his arm indicated the room behind him as he bent down toward the lad and said,"Who reasonably expect a return on their investment."

Pulling out his remote, the banker brought the holos and monitors back up, once more highlighting the earnings and deficits on the report.

"A return which would have been substantially higher had my suggestion to increase business with the Galactic Republic not been ignored," the Gungan declared forcefully. It was a subtle way of putting his own platform out there. Return to doing business with the Republic. A return to the fundamentals of capitalism!

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

So this was the line in the sand.

To side with the Galactic Republic or not.

Once upon a time, he'd not have hesitated to stand up for the Republic. But that day was long past. "The Galactic Republic has had three different capital planets in the last six months alone," the Anzat remarked. Quite saddened by the fact, his voice soft as he said it. But it was still a fact nonetheless. "That kind of instability is not condusive to good business."

Particularly not when any business with the Republic was likely to draw the attention of the Mandalorian Clans. Now, there was a group that the boy had no intention for working either toward or against. Avoiding them seemed the best strategy. And that would mean avoiding any outward support for the Republic as well.

"We would find in-roads there, true, but we may find ourselves caught up in another's war for supporting that government," he noted, in vague reference to the idea of inviting Mandalorian terrorism at one of their own factories or warehouses.

So far, they'd managed to live under the Sith. But the Sith were predictable. The Sith could be trusted to act in their own interest.

Mandalorians? They were motivated by honor.

And 'honor' was an easily given excuse for a number of sins.

 

[Micah tol Powl]

"There is more profit to be found in the Republic than in the Marcol Void."

He knew that much to be true.

But, there had been enough talk. "Is there someone who will make a motion for a vote on Sor-Jan Xantha's leadership?" the Gungan asked, his voice authoritative as he turned back to the crowd. Surely, having heard that, they knew that the course laid out for the Corellia Digital could not be allowed to continue un-changed.

A man stood, at one of the back tables.

"You, sir," the Gungan uttered, calling attention to the standing individual. "Do you have a motion?"

"No, just a question," the man shouted, rocking back on his heels as he planted his hands into his pockets. With a nod of his head toward the small figure on the stage, the man added, "Could SJ tell us what the plan is for the next year."

The Gungan grit his teeth, a low growl escaping before he merely sighed with a shake of his head.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The next year?

"Excellent question," the boy intoned, motioning for the Gungan to step aside as the youngling took center stage.

"Our contracts with the Silver Sanctum Coalition are good, but we can do better," the youth remarked, pacing slightly as he paused and looked down. When he looked back up, he said, "I've just negotiated a deal that will provide us with the official sponsorship of the Coalition."

Light applause moved through the room. Holding up one hand, the boy quieted the room before he said, "...and with that, we will be opening new production facilities on Laekia exclusively for the production of our military hardware to the Coalition."

He let the applause rise up again, pacing across the stage as he waited for it to die down. When it had, he resumed. "And those contracts have become a hallmark of our business. So we're going to be expanding that." With a snap of his fingers a graphic of a soldier holding up one of the CD-95x radio repeater units popped up on the screen. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Corellia Defense."

More applause. Louder applause.

The boy paced as he spoke. "When we began, we made datacards. That was it, just datacards," A series of images played overhead. World of Build-a-Bear Knights. HoloStation 4, XJ9 HoloLink. "Then we made hologames, comlinks. We pushed the envelope of computing and technology," he said, as the logo of their O/S Cresh popped up on the screen.

He stopped pacing. "Now we're going to do it again."

Electronic warfare, redefined.