"Another beautiful overcast day, eh Lexi?"
Three well-dressed men were making their way up a ramp leading to the deck of a submarine, where two Red sailors were waiting for them. The one who spoke brought up the rear, pulling a cart behind him with crates of different sizes on it. The man up front ignored him, staring disinterestedly into the metal grate of the deck from behind a pair of sunglasses. The man with the box piped up again, this time more loudly, "I said, it's another beautiful overcast day, isn't it, Alex?"
The leader stopped and turned on a heel to face the man bringing up the rear, shoving his partner aside for the moment.
"Glenn Stone." He said firmly, "You will remain quiet and keep your sarcasm to yourself or I shall discipline you. You will also refer to me as 'Mister Foster' for the time we spend working together. Let me also make it clear that I am not your friend, so there will be no time in which you should not refer to me as 'Mister Foster'. This is the last time I will tolerate your exasperating tendencies."
The one who'd remained quiet up to this point now spoke. "Now you see why I've been quiet the whole time, Glenn. Let's get this over with."
And so, the three well-dressed men trudged the rest of the way up the ramp in silence, before reaching the top and greeting the Reds who awaited them.
"Lucas. Captain." Alex ran one hand through perfectly combed hair as he spoke, "Where's your usual contingent of Marines?"
The Captain frowned, replying in a gruff tone, "First Lieutenant Lang has taken them out on a raid. As Chief of Security, Second Lieutenant Jackson is the only one who stayed behind with me."
"I see." Alex nodded along with the story, "An interesting development, to see that you're conducting raids on Black Syndicate turf. This will raise prices."
The captain stepped forward with, "Don't you try to swindle me, you dope-pushing grease ball. I'm a powerful ma-"
"Understand this, Captain." Alex stepped forward too, bringing the men face-to-face. His glasses slid down his nose, revealing a hideously scarred left eye. The flesh was torn and there was no color, no pupil. The blank eye drilled into the Captain's mind, sickening him slightly and unnerving him as well. And while the eye pressed him, stared heavily at him, Alex kept talking,
"It doesn't matter how powerful you are. The Reds and the Blacks have a working agreement. Conducting raids against Greens we probably make money off of in our territory most certainly violates that agreement. If you have no interest in respecting in price-changes reflected by that violation, I will gladly inform both of our bosses of your decision so that we may take appropriate action."
The Captain glared at Alex for a moment. He stared deep into Alex's eyes. The most disturbing thing about the encounter was that, to all appearances the blank, all-white, glazed-over eye seemed to carry more emotion than the real one. It sent a shiver down his spine. Finally, he barked an order to Lucas. "Jackson, pay the man, take the boxes, and bring them down to my quarters. Then, call FLT Lang and ask him to kindly withdraw my men from the field." The embittered officer then turned to board his submarine. As he was pulling open the hatch, Alex stopped him once more.
"Captain, one more thing: If you ever refer to me as a 'grease-ball' or any other sort of derogation, I will see to it that you visit the bottom of the ocean without the help of your submarine."
Lucas chuckled as the Captain grumbled and continued into the sub. Once the door was closed, Lucas approached Alex with cigarettes for the both of them. Alex pushed his sunglasses up on his nose to cover the wounded eye.
"You've had that nasty-looking eye for years," said Lucas, an arm lowered to light Alex's cigarette, then his own, "When are you gonna give in and get an implant, or at least a glass eye?"
Alex shook his head in a puff of smoke, "I don't intend to waste money on anything like that. I am not a vain person. I do not require cranial decor. Implants promise increased productivity, but no surgeon of Cyberplasty has been able to convince me that one could adequately help me."
Lucas chuckled again, exhaling his own tiny puffs of chuckle-smoke. "You're such a stubborn Mule. Whelp, I gotta get back to work. Say, don't tell the captain anything, but I'm thinkin' about gettin' out. Lang's been talking about it, too. If anyone else you sell to is talking about it, give 'em my number, okay?"
"If you wish." Alex turned back towards the ramp and stepped down. He headed for the dock, taking his two associates behind him. They had a lot more stops to make before the day was over. Lucas just watched Alex and the others leave with a bit of jealousy in his eyes. He thought to himself that he might be lucky enough to have the Captain call Alex a grease ball again so that Lang could take command and they could get out of the Red Faction once and for all.
Three well-dressed men were making their way up a ramp leading to the deck of a submarine, where two Red sailors were waiting for them. The one who spoke brought up the rear, pulling a cart behind him with crates of different sizes on it. The man up front ignored him, staring disinterestedly into the metal grate of the deck from behind a pair of sunglasses. The man with the box piped up again, this time more loudly, "I said, it's another beautiful overcast day, isn't it, Alex?"
The leader stopped and turned on a heel to face the man bringing up the rear, shoving his partner aside for the moment.
"Glenn Stone." He said firmly, "You will remain quiet and keep your sarcasm to yourself or I shall discipline you. You will also refer to me as 'Mister Foster' for the time we spend working together. Let me also make it clear that I am not your friend, so there will be no time in which you should not refer to me as 'Mister Foster'. This is the last time I will tolerate your exasperating tendencies."
The one who'd remained quiet up to this point now spoke. "Now you see why I've been quiet the whole time, Glenn. Let's get this over with."
And so, the three well-dressed men trudged the rest of the way up the ramp in silence, before reaching the top and greeting the Reds who awaited them.
"Lucas. Captain." Alex ran one hand through perfectly combed hair as he spoke, "Where's your usual contingent of Marines?"
The Captain frowned, replying in a gruff tone, "First Lieutenant Lang has taken them out on a raid. As Chief of Security, Second Lieutenant Jackson is the only one who stayed behind with me."
"I see." Alex nodded along with the story, "An interesting development, to see that you're conducting raids on Black Syndicate turf. This will raise prices."
The captain stepped forward with, "Don't you try to swindle me, you dope-pushing grease ball. I'm a powerful ma-"
"Understand this, Captain." Alex stepped forward too, bringing the men face-to-face. His glasses slid down his nose, revealing a hideously scarred left eye. The flesh was torn and there was no color, no pupil. The blank eye drilled into the Captain's mind, sickening him slightly and unnerving him as well. And while the eye pressed him, stared heavily at him, Alex kept talking,
"It doesn't matter how powerful you are. The Reds and the Blacks have a working agreement. Conducting raids against Greens we probably make money off of in our territory most certainly violates that agreement. If you have no interest in respecting in price-changes reflected by that violation, I will gladly inform both of our bosses of your decision so that we may take appropriate action."
The Captain glared at Alex for a moment. He stared deep into Alex's eyes. The most disturbing thing about the encounter was that, to all appearances the blank, all-white, glazed-over eye seemed to carry more emotion than the real one. It sent a shiver down his spine. Finally, he barked an order to Lucas. "Jackson, pay the man, take the boxes, and bring them down to my quarters. Then, call FLT Lang and ask him to kindly withdraw my men from the field." The embittered officer then turned to board his submarine. As he was pulling open the hatch, Alex stopped him once more.
"Captain, one more thing: If you ever refer to me as a 'grease-ball' or any other sort of derogation, I will see to it that you visit the bottom of the ocean without the help of your submarine."
Lucas chuckled as the Captain grumbled and continued into the sub. Once the door was closed, Lucas approached Alex with cigarettes for the both of them. Alex pushed his sunglasses up on his nose to cover the wounded eye.
"You've had that nasty-looking eye for years," said Lucas, an arm lowered to light Alex's cigarette, then his own, "When are you gonna give in and get an implant, or at least a glass eye?"
Alex shook his head in a puff of smoke, "I don't intend to waste money on anything like that. I am not a vain person. I do not require cranial decor. Implants promise increased productivity, but no surgeon of Cyberplasty has been able to convince me that one could adequately help me."
Lucas chuckled again, exhaling his own tiny puffs of chuckle-smoke. "You're such a stubborn Mule. Whelp, I gotta get back to work. Say, don't tell the captain anything, but I'm thinkin' about gettin' out. Lang's been talking about it, too. If anyone else you sell to is talking about it, give 'em my number, okay?"
"If you wish." Alex turned back towards the ramp and stepped down. He headed for the dock, taking his two associates behind him. They had a lot more stops to make before the day was over. Lucas just watched Alex and the others leave with a bit of jealousy in his eyes. He thought to himself that he might be lucky enough to have the Captain call Alex a grease ball again so that Lang could take command and they could get out of the Red Faction once and for all.
