Sean-Michael Argo - Trade War

“That is the beauty and the danger of the Merchants Militant; they serve you only in so much as they serve the contract, as you veterans of Tetra Prime now understand with terrible clarity. I know many of you served alongside the Folken against the very corporation that employed them as our foes.” Lord Indron smiled as he leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his hip flask before changing the subject. “We play these games of war and economics, and we hope that we leave something of a legacy behind us. We did some good today, gentlemen.”

The remainder of the ride consisted of small talk and the swapping of old war stories, mostly from Vorhold. Once the palanquin reached the center of the camp Lord Indron disembarked with a curt farewell. They had reached his headquarters, and the Lord was eager to resume direct command of the ongoing defense of Gedra Prime.

Wynn and Samuel were escorted to a simple tram system, predominantly used to rapidly move troops and supplies across the expanding network of pillboxes, bunkers, and air defense batteries that were being constructed around the dead city.

“He really had me convinced he was some kind of by the book Reaper, for years he pulled that act. It’s strange to see Boss Aiden be so cavalier, even boastful,” Samuel observed as he boarded the tram car and squeezed himself into one of the small open air seats in the mostly empty troop section. “He fought just as hard as anyone; don’t get me wrong, just strange to see the shift in personality and realizing the man I thought I knew never existed.”

“It happens more than you think, Prybar,” Marsters said with a shrug. “The elites will do what they will do, that’s one of those constants in the universe.

Sometimes the great Houses will send their lesser heirs, the second sons and daughters if you will, into either industrial management or attach them to an enforcer division. Gives them an on the ground perspective of how Grotto works. Military deployment was an unorthodox choice, though it seems to have changed him for the better,” Boss Marsters squinted into the fetid wind of the planet as it blew against them once the tram picked up speed, “Elites aren’t bad people, Prybar, they’re just so detached from the reality of the civilization they preside over that sometimes their choices seem strange, callous, or just plain villainous.”

“Serving with us certainly could have factored into his actions, I’d call that a change for the better,” responded Samuel with a raised voice in an effort to be heard over the wind rushing around them, “Even if the only reason he had us ride back with him from the Actuary’s shuttle was so he could brag about his schemes.”

“That’s the lesson, Samuel, even when it looks like the elites are helping us; they’re really just helping themselves. I’m about to be the Reaper Union Boss and drawn into the political and economic stratagems of Grotto Prime.” Marsters turned and faced Samuel, “For him to flippantly go into details of his schemes wasn’t just him confiding in old war buddies, which is what anyone watching will think, by informing us of them, he’s made us complicit, and thus implicated, in his actions. It was a power play, the first of many, and now he has a bond of secrets and of blood with the freshly minted Reaper’s Union, that may prove to be a fairly potent item in his political and economic arsenal.

No offense, but you’re here just to keep the old comrade charade believable. With you expatriating the first chance you get, there’s little risk for him in exposing his plans.

We are greedy and selfish organisms, marine, but armed with the acceptance of that fact you can adjust fire. If achieving our goals allows the elites to achieve theirs, even if there has to be some compromise to get everything lined up, then civilization stays secure.” Boss Marsters pointed to the Actuary’s ship as it launched upward from the planet’s surface and streaked into the upper atmosphere. “The Anointed know that, and that’s why they’ll subvert the board when they have to, or play the elite houses against each other, or relent to the demands of a labor strike. Keep civilization secure.”

“Time enough for civilization when we’re at war,” uttered Samuel. He glanced at Marsters with a grim smile. “That’s what the Folken say. I think I’m inclined to agree.”

“You and half the scavengers and pirates on the Red List,” Boss Marsters replied with his own smile, something Samuel had only seen him do on the rarest of occasions. “You’re gonna do alright, Prybar, I think the frontier has the kind of freedom you’ve been looking for.”

“What about you? Executive meetings and an office block on Grotto Prime for the rest of your life?” asked Samuel as the tram began to slow down when it neared the trooper drop point just outside the tent city that housed the Reaper Corps, “The Anointed didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“I’m from Uralisk 12, and I mustered out with the Uralisk Reaper tug a week after graduation. The Reaper life is all I know or want to know. I have two brothers, a sister, and more cousins than I can count.

In the Marsters family, one person from every generation signs on with the Corps, no exceptions. That person stays in the service as long as they can, until full retirement, death, or a crippling injury that’s just too expensive to fix. That’s been a tradition for nine generations of Marsters men and women. This is the job,” said Wynn, with an edge of emotion in his voice and the glint of pride in his otherwise cold eyes.

“We take no spouse, we have no children, even if we want that, and trust me, I’ve wanted that, but they’re too expensive. Our job, our tithe, is to make our wage and send it home, all of it. We help with life-bonds, we cover medical expenses, and we send the others to school. The death benefit just compounds what we can send home.

By increments, from generation to generation, the Marsters family climbs the corporate ladder on the shoulders of the Marsters Reapers.

We’ll never be elites, but there’s a kind of freedom that my family has because I’m in necrospace doing my duty. That’s the choice we make for our family, and why I understand what you’ve been fighting for all these years.

I’m going to Grotto Prime to make sure that being a Reaper is still worthwhile, to empower whichever of my nieces or nephews decides to take up the rifle and the torch. For you, the right choice is to leave, and Jada too, for the rest of us, it’s Grotto for life.”

As he spoke, Marsters stepped off the tram and began to unfasten the hip belt he wore that had the large revolver and holster clipped to it. The Reaper seemed to smile to himself, then he handed the belt and weapon to Samuel.

Samuel was speechless, but before he could say a word, Wynn clapped him on the shoulder and walked away into the tent city.

Samuel watched the former platoon leader, now union boss, disappear into the Reaper camp. In all the years that Samuel had served, not once had Wynn Marsters spoken of himself, his family, or his own beliefs. There had been hints and rumors going around the tug ever since the founding, but nothing seemed to stick.

For the longest time everyone assumed that Wynn and Lucinda Ulanti were an item, especially after the nightmare on Vorhold, and yet for months now, Boss Ulanti and one of the unassuming engineer techs who served as crew on the tug had been together. The two of them weren’t even trying to hide the fact, so even that theory was dismantled.

Soon, the Anointed would send a shuttle for the union boss and Samuel suspected that he had just said goodbye to a man he’d never see again in this life.

As news of the negotiations and agreements between the Anointed Actuary and the Reaper’s Union traveled through Grotto Corporation, the marines of Tango Platoon returned to business as usual.