Sean-Michael Argo - Trade War

“Hold up, you’re telling me Wynn Marsters is calling for a Reaper strike?” Samuel said incredulously despite the fact that he was swiftly buckling his own kit to his body and preparing for muster. “He’s the definition of a company man, how does that make any kind of sense?”

“Ask him yourself,” ordered Boss Ulanti as she turned to go, “Strap on and move out marines!”

Samuel and Bianca finished preparing themselves and left the tent to make the quick march to quartermaster station twelve. They were joined by the rest of the surviving members of Tango Platoon as well as the new members.

As was the practice, the marines who belonged to platoons that had suffered catastrophic losses were re-assigned to other units that had open positions. After the passing of Virginia Tillman, Marcus Baen, and two other marines who had not been part of Tango long enough for Samuel to commit their names to memory, there were four spots open.

To Samuel, even with the new additions, Tango Platoon seemed stretched pretty thin with Harold Marr, Abasi Hondo and Ben Tekada all recovering from their wounds in the medbay.

Along the way, Tango’s march through the camp was noticed by many, and within minutes of the platoon reaching the quartermaster station there were several dozen onlookers, most of them marines.

Boss Marsters was standing with his back to the quartermaster station, facing the fourteen marines as they lined up by squad, every marine armed and armored for war.

“Tango Platoon locked and loaded sir!” shouted Boss Ulanti as the last of the marines stepped into place.

Samuel noticed that Boss Ulanti had activated her broadcaster, so when she barked into the com-bead her voice was carried out across much of the camp. She and Boss Marsters each wore one of Tillman’s vid recorders.

As he watched, Boss Ulanti keyed her bead to the Task Force Channel which had remained active in the anticipation of a long and difficult occupation of the planet surface. Anything they said would be broadcast into the com-beads of every marine on the task force, including Reaper Command and any of the stormtrooper officers who happened to be on active duty at that time.

“Recorders are uplinked to a live feed and simulcasting with the command channel,” Boss Ulanti stated, squaring her shoulders and planting her feet firmly at attention. “Good to go, Boss.”

“Grotto Corporation has existed for over a century without any labor unions,” stated Boss Marsters as he addressed both Tango platoon and the growing crowd of off duty marines. “Hundreds of years prior to that, the few unions that did exist were either weak or puppet organizations for the establishment, and our society is the poorer for it. Many of you have heard about the underground unionist movements that have been active and growing all across Grotto space, especially in the Baen system and those movements have found their way into the Reaper Corps.”

Already there was radio chatter coming in on the com-beads and Samuel knew that not everyone listening would be sympathetic to what they were hearing. For Boss Marsters to even speak about the existence of unions, much less with a positive spin, was outside of usual protocol. It was one of the unspoken rules in Grotto society that unionizing and collective bargaining were simply not discussed, much less considered, by any good and loyal corporate citizen. To have a high profile marine such as Boss Wynn Marsters giving a pro-union speech, especially in the wake of the Tillman footage, was certain to garner extreme and negative attention from Command, House Indron, and Grotto itself.

“Virginia Tillman died yesterday in a heroic effort that saved the life of fellow marine, Harold Marr, who even now is recovering in med bay. She was a decorated veteran and a valued member of Tango Platoon.

Tillman died in combat against a superior Helion battle force so that Grotto Corporation, through the auspices of House Indron, could lay claim to this world.

She died in service to the Bottom Line, as have so many marines since the founding of the Reaper Corps on Grotto Prime years before any of us were born.” As he spoke, Boss Marsters unslung his rifle and checked the slide to make sure a fresh round was chambered.

“Reapers from generation to generation have been fighting and dying for the enrichment of the Grotto Bottom Line.

As Reapers, we see little of our own enrichment once we cover our life bonds and medical expenses. There is no percentage for us, only a modest pay rate and an eventual death benefit.

We don’t get the lavish palace barracks, the gilded armor, or the health and pension plans of the hereditary stormtroopers. We don’t command the wages and the autonomy of the Merchants Militant.”

As Boss Marsters continued speaking, more and more marines, most of them off duty and dressed down, joined the crowd.

“Our place is in the salvage yard, not on the front lines,” Marsters continued. “We don’t have the training or the equipment to go up against the enemies that we are made to confront. Yet, when ordered into the fight, we fight, and some of us die, but we are not compensated beyond our scrap wages for going above and beyond what we were trained and expected to do. Are our lives truly worth so little to Grotto Corporation?”

The steady stomp of marching boots could be heard, signaling that at least one company of stormtroopers was moving through the camp toward the crowd. The assembled group began exchanging nervous looks, except for Tango Platoon, who stood grim and silent as their leader went on.

“The common workers have seen the Tillman footage that you have seen, and much more, as many members of Tango Platoon have been recording their actions.

The common workers would rise and strike if the strong are willing to lead them, if the Reapers are willing to stand up,” Marsters cast his gaze over the assembled crowd, “And stand down.”

A low murmur began to emanate from the group at these words.

“Many of you are already secretly avowed unionists and many more besides are sympathetic to the cause. We helped take this planet. Grotto Corp needs us to keep it, which is why now is our moment to make our voices heard.” As Boss Marsters spoke, Boss Ulanti and Abasi Hondo leapt over the clerk’s counter to join the clearly sympathetic quartermaster as they began opening weapons lockers and setting loaded rifles on the counter.

“We can refuse to fight,” Marsters said. “Without our help, on this field or in the void, the Grotto war machine will grind to a halt until our demands are met.”

“If we aren’t going to fight, why are you in full kit and stacking rifles?” called a marine from somewhere in the crowd.

Marsters stared out over the crowd, but before he could reply, Ben Takeda’s digital voice came loudly over the shuffling and noise of the crowd.

“The last labor strike on Baen 6 was a hundred years ago, at Assemblage 23.” He turned to face them with his grim mask, reminding the other marines of the price he’d already paid for Grotto’s Bottom Line. “And instead of getting the negotiations they asked for, the strike ended with the massacre of one hundred and seventy four unarmed workers at the hands of enforcers.” He picked up a rifle and held it aloft. “So we have guns.”

Boss Marsters’ voice rang out again. “The collected Tillman footage has shown the common workers of Grotto that the Reapers are just as exploited as they are, but unlike them,” he held up his own rifle, “We have the power to force an honest negotiation.”

Columns of stormtroopers, near the back of the crowd, were beginning to muscle their way into the camp.

“ Tango Platoon, defensive pattern, arms at the ready!” barked Boss Ulanti. At her command Tango Platoon locked step to form a semi-circle around the quartermaster’s counter and unslung their weapons.