“So if you knew, why the interrogation? You know I want this footage for the cause, so what’s the point in asking me questions you already know the answer to?” demanded Virginia, her eyes flashing with the passion that had become something of a trademark during her brief stint as a rally speaker for the fledgling unionist movement.
“Spencer Green died today, and before that we wiped out a cadre of naval security staffers so that we could effectively kidnap a bunch of engineer ratings. The vid caught the whole bloody affair,” snapped Samuel as the alcohol started buzzing in the back of his head and his emotions began to get the better of him. “If you show this to anyone but Command then it will be an Alpha class felony. It’s not like you to manipulate, to keep secrets. There’s a narrative behind this, and I want to know what it is, or I won’t help you anymore. I want to forget about what I saw today, not see it on newsfeeds over and over, and maybe end up in the brig for my trouble, unless the goal is worth it.”
Virginia took a deep breath and finished her drink, only to have two more be set up on the table at a gesture and a thanks from Samuel. Now that he was Boss Hyst he, like the other squad leaders, didn’t have to jostle his way back and forth from the bar to get a fresh drink. At first it had made Samuel uncomfortable, until he began to watch how Wynn Marsters would conduct himself in the cantina. He would never get drunk, though he would nurse several drinks throughout the night, and pleasantly thank whichever marine happened to refresh his table. It was a subtle kind of power exchange, and one that Wynn used to cultivate a sense of gratitude and service in his squad, even as he created a respectful distance from his own people. Wynn Marsters, like Lucinda Ulanti, and now Samuel Hyst, was a Boss, and as such nobody outside of his rank would ever truly be his friend. They were a breed apart, and seemingly subtle customs like those of the cantina served to reinforce their authority while cultivating the willingness in the others to follow them into danger.
“Tango Platoon is more than just fifteen salvage marines, Samuel,” said Virginia as she looked across the cantina. “You mustered out and moved to Pier 16 before I solidified my position with the unionists. I started attending the sanctioned rallies, and it was shocking. We had these little fenced in areas where we were corralled by the enforcers, and once locked in our ‘free speech zone’ we were allowed to have our meetings. I knew from the start that there was no way our movement was going to accomplish anything from behind a cage.”
“Those cages you’re talking about are the only places the public is allowed to gather, outside of retail plazas and recreation parks,” said Samuel, keenly aware of where the discussion was going, but intent upon making Virginia come clean with him, “Are you telling me that you joined the unionist underground? That’s risky business, marine.”
“Risk and reward, it’s the Grotto way, that’s what they taught us and that’s what we’ve done. Look, Samuel, most of us are Grotto patriots, the unionist movement isn’t about tearing down the corporation, it’s about making our place within it more dignified and secure.” Virginia paused to sip her drink, not wanting to make her exchange with Samuel look anything more than casual. “That’s my point, we fight and die for the corporation, whether that’s on the battlefield or in the factory, and as human beings we should be compensated fairly for our contribution.”
“So you want the right to engage in collective bargaining? This is about demanding a raise?” scoffed Samuel, his own Grotto indoctrination getting the better of him, as the very idea of collective bargaining had been deeply ingrained in his mind as something that only happened in other, lesser corporate societies.
“Boss, it’s about raises, life-bonds, taxes, the penal system, education reform, it’s about the soul of Grotto Corporation itself. It’s about working and risking your life knowing that you and your family will be provided for.
This system is rigged against us from birth to death. I am a human being, not a human resource. Most people aren’t like you Samuel, they want to live in their homeland, the answer for you might be the frontier, but for most of us the answer is re-shaping Grotto for the better. This is our corporation, and they have tried to disenfranchise us into believing that it belongs only to the elites.” Virginia set her drink down and removed a small pic-viewer, which she handed to Samuel. He scrolled through the images of dirty factory workers and weary laborers from what seemed to be a multitude of time periods in contemporary and ancient history. “Labor unions and proletariat uprisings fail because those movements begin and end with the powerless,” she continued.
“There’s an old quote that says there are two kinds of people, those with loaded guns and those who dig. The citizens of Grotto do and dig as they are told, because who else but each other can they look to for inspiration, or to protect them when the enforcers kick in their doors and tell them it’s back to work or pack up for the penal colony. You’re thinking the same thing the elites and their enforcers are thinking when you see those pictures…these people, they aren’t changing anything.”
“Now look at them,” said Virginia as she picked up her glass and gestured towards the men and women who filled the cantina. “They know what it’s like to be the person who digs, but they also have loaded guns. Grotto is eating away at itself from the inside, and these people are the only ones who can save the corporation. If the marines side with the unionists, everything will change.”
“A Reaper strike,” breathed Samuel as his heart began pounding at the very thought of it, so insane an idea and yet it surged through his mind.
“The elites take us for granted because they know we need the money and the citizens have no idea what we really do because they’re too busy making ends meet to become an informed populace,” Virginia snarled with passion just before she pointed to Ben Takeda as the machine gunner wrapped an arm around the shoulder of a smiling Gretchen Voss. “I want to show them the truth about Reapers, about the war, about necrospace. Grotto Corporation can be something we are proud to be a part of, and that all starts with Tango Platoon.”
“Wynn won’t let you rig up the whole group, and if he finds out its being done under his nose he’s likely to turn you over to Command,” said Samuel.
“Right, and because of our military experience we’d immediately be mustered into a penal legion and end up fighting the same battles we would as Reapers, but without the paycheck,” Virginia replied with contempt. “I understand the irony and I understand the risks. I wouldn’t ask anyone to do something I wasn’t willing to do myself. We don’t need everybody, just one rig in each squad. Tango Platoon has been the tip of the spear for the Baen Reaper fleet since the founding. Command didn’t plan on it that way, but that’s how it’s played out. Our platoon wasn’t the only one to start out with hardcore veterans as squad leaders; they pulled Bosses from across Grotto space. For whatever reason, we rose up, we distinguished ourselves, and because of that, we keep getting pushed to the front of the duty line because talk of the tug is that Tango Platoon gets it done.”
“You’re talking about turning Tango Platoon into the rally point for a strike, and I respect that, Virginia, I really do.” Samuel paused and looked deeply into his glass as if the answer might be floating there. “Maybe it could work. We have a hell of a reputation, and if we crossed the picket line then plenty of other platoons would come with us, most of them if Boss Marsters was with us.” Samuel nodded, then swept his gaze across the room, giving his head a slow shake. “It just might work.”
“So you’ll keep the rig? Keep filming? That’s all I need from you right now. I’ll filter the footage back to my people using some black channels, another Alpha felony, I know, and they’ll use it to swell the union membership at home,” answered Virginia, actually flushing visibly from excitement. “The marines we bring into the fold by word of mouth, on the tug or in the field. Once we have enough members, and the moment is right, we cease fire and force Command to negotiate, maybe even get the attention of the Anointed Actuaries.”