Tatooine gangland! Our baby gangster has come into his own.
Luke stood and shook it. “Luke Whitesun.” He gestured lightly, then smiled at Nenea. “This is Nenea.”
Vask turned smoothly, offering her a charming smile as he took her hand as if she were normally welcome. “Welcome to the Mirage”
They sat, Vask slid into the booth opposite them. “We hear Flip is on the ups. Construction there is complete, correct?”
Luke tipped his head. “Everything is proceeding on schedule. I understand you’re interested in establishing something similar there?”
Vask beamed. “Yes, you see we’ve done very well here. Very well indeed. I believe we could do even better in Flip. With the arena reopening, there will be increased movement through the district. It’s ripe for business.”
“Your cousin mentioned making it a human-only establishment,” Luke said, leaning back. “I’m not entirely persuaded. That kind of thing could work here, for offworlders. But Flip’s population is different. And the Marked Lady doesn’t like leaving credits on the table.”
“Yes, of course, but the arena will bring more offworlders, and offworlder credits have no ceiling. Exclusivity is less about barring entry than it is about cultivating a certain mystique.” Vask leaned forwards, gesticulating. “A Core executive arriving on business will look for what feels familiar to him: a place where he can sit among his own, briefly unburdened by the unfamiliar.”
Nenea suddenly felt nervous, but showed none of it as she leaned to Vask. “Offworlders don’t always want familiar,” her voice was a low purr, “A lot of them come here to get away from the boredom of where they come from. They’re looking for something different. New.”
Luke smiled at her, feeling her nervousness dissipate as she smiled back at him. He turned to Vask briskly. “You’re also assuming it stays busy.” He gestured around them. “What does a place like this look like on an average night? You have numbers to show me?”
His smile congealed. “Numbers will come in time. The arena isn’t even open yet.”
“We can go by the Mirage,” Luke specified. “Give me your breakdown: locals vs offworlders, peak hours, spend per head?”
“I don’t think raw breakdowns would be especially meaningful at this stage,” Vask said, settling back as if Luke had asked for something quaint. “The Mirage is not run as a ledger-first operation. It’s curated. The value is in the experience curve.”
He tapped one ring lightly against the table.
“We optimize for flow, not static counts. You understand—peak impressions, dwell time, repeat desirability. Credits follow atmosphere, not the other way around.”
“Atmosphere is funded by credits,” Luke pointed out.
Vask laughed briefly. “Of course. But credits behave differently depending on context.”
The server arrived with a tray—despite no one having ordered anything. Three drinks were placed down anyway. Clear liquid, condensation already forming on the glass.
Vask slid one closer to Luke without looking at it. “What I can tell you is this: the Mirage has a retention rate well above district average. Especially among visiting professionals. That’s the segment we’re interested in replicating in Flip.”
Luke’s eyes flicked once to the drink, then back. “Retention rate measured how?”
“Return frequency. Brand recall. Referral propagation.”
“That’s not what I asked. Credits in? Bodies in? Spend per head?"
Vask’s smile returned, but more carefully fitted. “Then perhaps I misunderstood the request.”
Luke leaned forward slightly. “You understood it correctly. You’re choosing not to answer it. And I’m not here to play games.”
For a moment, Vask didn’t respond. One of his fingers rotated slowly around a ring, as if checking its fit.
Then he exhaled through his nose, almost amused again. “Master Whitesun, you’re approaching this like a compliance audit. The Mirage operates in a different register. We’re not a utility.”
Luke’s gaze didn’t shift. “Flip is a utility district.”
Vask adjusted, smoothing it over. “Of course. And I respect that. But what you’re asking for is operational disclosure that would be… premature, given our current stage.”
Luke tilted his head. “We can wait until it’s not premature.”
Vask’s tone softened, persuasive again. “You’ll find, in practice, that partnerships in this district work best on trust signals rather than accounting. We establish alignment, we build momentum, and then—”
“We’re not talking about this district,” Luke cut him off. He stared at Vask until he looked away. “We're talking about my distrct. We can skip the philosophy. I want last quarter’s Mirage figures. Even partials. If you don’t have quarterly, give me monthly. If you don’t have monthly, give me weekly credit intake ranges and estimates. You can black out suppliers. You can black out names. "
He lifted a cautionary finger. "The Marked Lady does not deal in signals, she deals in credits.”
Vask’s expression stayed composed, but the charm had thinned to something more strained. “I’m afraid that’s not information we distribute outside our oversight.”
“Then you’re wasting my time,” Luke told him flatly. He glanced at Nenea. “Let’s go.”
Vask stiffened, smile leaving his face. “Wait. Just…give me a few minutes? Please. Order whatever you like, use the facilities...I’ll be right back.”
