The Machine God-Chapter 191 - Due Diligence

Chapter 191

Maximilian held a hand toward Logan. “Allow me to reintroduce him. Logan is the Throne of Scales’ Lead Predictive Analyst.”

Logan stared at Alexander the same way he had been since they sat down. Unblinking. Eyes lidded.

Alexander glanced between them. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but decided to play along. “And what exactly does a Lead Predictive Analyst do?”

“I provide Logan with information,” Maximilian said. “He constructs probability models from it. Highly accurate ones.”

“So he’s your version of a diviner.” Alexander looked at Logan. “Just more boring.”

Something shifted behind Logan’s eyes. The faintest tightening around his mouth. It was the first sign of life the man had shown since they’d met. He still didn’t speak.

Maximilian shook his head. “I will not permit my guild’s future to balance on the unpredictable nature of powers that see the future.”

Alexander almost rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Max. You summon dragons. But sure, you draw the line at precognition.” He gestured toward Logan. “Meanwhile, Calculus over here is the very picture of reliability.” He leaned forward. “That still doesn’t answer my question. How did you know about the Royals?”

Logan spoke.

His voice was a slow, flat monotone, each word delivered with the same mechanical weight as the last. “We did not know with certainty. Binomial distribution placed the likelihood at ninety-nine point one percent. Normal distribution at ninety-two point seven. Uniform distribution at eighty point four.” He paused, though not for effect. More like a machine cycling to its next output. “Likelihood was therefore sufficient for inclusion in the initial proposal. The intent was to prompt a response.” He blinked. “You have now confirmed it.”

Alexander listened to the entire, painful explanation. When it was over, his left eyelid twitched.

“I knew I didn’t like you,” Alexander said. He turned to Maximilian. “And you. Bringing him here is an offense to my gentle sensibilities. It makes me want to spend the rest of this mediation proving that your pet calculator can’t predict everything.”

Maximilian smiled. A rare, genuine kind that reached his eyes. “I thought it would be beneficial for Logan to meet you in person. For exactly that reason.”

“To offend me?”

“To remind him that some people are far less predictable than he believes.”

Alexander studied Maximilian for a moment, then sighed. He turned to Jasmine. “Save me from tedium. Are there any egregious issues we should address today, or shall we adjourn until tomorrow to give you more time with Maximilian’s first published novel?”

Jasmine looked up from her binder.

Pages of sticky notes marked sections throughout. She’d been ready before Alexander asked.

“Several issues require immediate attention before we can discuss the substance of any section,” she said. Her voice carried the same composed neutrality she’d worn since entering the room, but there was an edge beneath it now. “I’ll address them in order.”

Brandt visibly readied himself. His pen came up, poised over a fresh legal pad.

“Section One. The definition of supervillainry as the basis for cessation is drawn from the UEG’s classification framework. An external body controls that framework with the unilateral power to amend it at any time. My client cannot agree to terms defined by a system he has no control over. Mutual agreement between the parties must establish the definition, specific to this compact, and frozen at the time of signing.”

She didn’t pause for acknowledgment.

“Further, the obligation in Section One is entirely one-directional. Grimnir ceases specific operations, but the Throne of Scales and its affiliated guilds make no reciprocal commitment. If my client is expected to stop operating as a villain on the West Coast, then every member of this compact must agree to stop treating Grimnir as one completely. That means no pursuit of bounties. No cooperation with AEGIS enforcement actions against Grimnir personnel. No participation in any designation framework that classifies Grimnir or its members as hostile actors.”

Brandt was writing quickly. Rashid was also taking notes, recording careful, neutral shorthand from what Alexander could make out.

“If Section Four proceeds to agreement, these protections must extend to Grimnir’s allies and their personnel operating within these same cooperative frameworks. Additionally, Section One requires precise geographical boundaries. ‘West Coast’ is colloquial, not legal.”

She turned a page.

“Section Two. The Superhuman Training Cooperative’s charter was drafted without Grimnir’s input. Twelve guilds have already signed letters of intent for a structure my client had no role in designing. If Grimnir’s participation is to be framed as a requirement rather than an invitation, then Grimnir requires founding partner status with veto authority over cooperative governance decisions.”

Brandt stopped. “Veto authority would undermine the cooperative’s decision-making framework entirely.”

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“Then I’d suggest your client reconsider framing mandatory participation alongside zero institutional authority,” Jasmine said. “Veto power may be negotiable, but Grimnir will not join an institution it cannot influence. That is not negotiable.”

Brandt held her gaze for a moment, then resumed writing. The faintest nod accompanied it.

“Additionally, the knowledge-sharing provisions require a tiered disclosure framework. Information exchanged between member guilds cannot be unshared. Grimnir requires the ability to classify certain techniques and operational methods as proprietary, with controlled access determined at our discretion.”

She looked at Rashid. “I want it noted that arbitration on the remaining sections cannot meaningfully proceed until the governance structure of Section Two is resolved. Everything that follows depends on the institutional framework in which it operates, and the Throne of Scales have indicated Grimnir’s acceptance of section two is mandatory for any agreement on their part.”

Rashid inclined his head. “Noted, Ms. Sharp.”

“Section Three.” Jasmine’s pen tapped twice against the page. “The term ‘all competent superhuman combatants’ is undefined, unbounded, and unacceptable as drafted. Additionally, the operational command structure references in this section lack sufficient detail regarding authority over Grimnir personnel in the field. We will not offer a counterproposal on these points today. If my client chooses to pursue agreement on Section Three, we will return with one.”

Brandt wrote without looking up.

“I have no comments on Section Four at this time.”

She moved to the final tab.

“Section Five. The proposal requires Grimnir to facilitate negotiations with our allies, the Royals. To be clear, Grimnir cannot commit the Royals to any action. We do not speak for them. At best, should Mr. Rooke choose to pursue agreement on this section, Grimnir would act in good faith to propose participation. Nothing more.”

Alexander watched her work. Her version of a poker face was on full display. She was carving through a forty-page document she’d read once and finding flaws while he was still processing the implications. And she was doing it without context on what was driving the negotiation in the first place.

It had been the right call to hire her.

“Furthermore,” Jasmine continued, “we require full disclosure of the two unnamed guilds referenced as members of the Joint Preparatory Leadership Body alongside Throne of Scales and the Northern Shield. My client will not join an organization alongside unknown parties. We also require specific language protecting against scope creep under the current threat definition, which as written could justify virtually any directive. And we require a clearly defined exit mechanism. The agreement as drafted contains no provisions for voluntary withdrawal from the leadership body.”

She closed her binder. Set her pen down beside it.

“Finally, two cross-cutting concerns. The agreement contains no time commitments or duration provisions for any section. That absence is notable and must be addressed. And I would challenge the Throne of Scales to return tomorrow with counterproposals addressing the issues I’ve raised. We will do the same. My client will not even begin to consider acceptance or refusal on any of these sections until all points have been addressed.”

Silence settled over the table.

Brandt finished writing. He reviewed his notes for a moment, then looked at Maximilian. Something passed between them. The older lawyer turned back to Jasmine.

“Founding partner status is a conversation worth having. Ms. Sharp raises valid structural concerns that deserve proper consideration.” He smiled politely. “We will prepare responses to each point and present them tomorrow. I would also note, for the record, that the absence of time commitments was deliberate. We felt it appropriate to establish scope before duration, but we’re prepared to address both.”

Rashid looked between the two sides of the table. “Are both parties agreeable to adjourning for today and reconvening tomorrow morning at the same time?”

Maximilian nodded.

Alexander glanced at Jasmine. She gave him the smallest nod.

“Works for me,” Alexander said. “I could use some air. And lunch.”

Rashid straightened his notepad and cleared his throat. “Before I dismiss myself, standard procedure requires both parties to review my summary notes. These will be the only record that leaves this room, and will be available to the original for administrative and continuity purposes only.”

He slid the notepad to the center of the table.

Alexander leaned forward to read. The shorthand was precise and deliberately sparse. No names beyond guild affiliations. No details about the Sheikha’s message. No mention of prophets, alliances, or murder in the desert. Just clean, procedural language. Party A raised concerns regarding definitional frameworks, reciprocal obligations, institutional governance, terminology scope, command authority, and withdrawal provisions across multiple sections. Party B acknowledged concerns and committed to preparing formal responses. Both parties agreed to adjourn and reconvene the following morning.

He pushed it toward Jasmine. She scanned it twice and slid it back.

Brandt reviewed it next, Maximilian reading over his shoulder. The older lawyer raised no objection.

“Both parties are satisfied?” Rashid asked.

Everyone agreed.

“Then I will leave the notes at my seat for the original to collect once you’ve exited.” Rashid folded his hands on the table. “It has been a pleasure facilitating today’s session. I wish both parties a productive evening.”

He closed his eyes.

His body went limp. His head dropped forward and hit the table with a heavy, wet thud that made Jasmine flinch. His arms slid off the edge, hanging loose at his sides. For a long, uncomfortable moment, he looked exactly like a dead man slumped over a conference table.

Then the dissolution began. His form lost cohesion like smoke in a breeze, edges blurring, features softening, the shape of him coming apart and fading into nothing. Three seconds, maybe four, and the chair at the head of the table was empty. The notepad sat where he’d left it, the only evidence he’d ever existed.

Alexander stared at the vacant seat for a moment. “That was genuinely unsettling. I feel like he could have at least leaned back in his chair or something first.”

“You get used to these things.” Maximilian rose, straightening his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alexander. I sincerely hope you will consider accepting the proposal, even if amendments need to be made first.”

Logan was already heading for the door without a word. Maximilian and Brandt followed.

Alexander nodded, but said nothing. His attention shifted to Jasmine, still packing away her things.

“I appreciate you preparing me for that, Mr. Rooke. You were right to imply I would have a lot of questions afterward.” She closed her briefcase. “I will take you up on your offer now.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“To answer them,” Jasmine added. “You can start by explaining what Mr. de Castillo meant by ‘the world is ending.’ Then we can turn our attention to more important matters.”

Alexander chuckled softly.

“That’s fair.” He stood and gestured toward the doorway. “But let’s grab some food before we begin. This is going to take a while.”