Sean-Michael Argo - Trade War

Now that the strike had ended there was little for the soldiers to do but return to their duties, only now they did so replete with the knowledge that they fought for themselves when they took up arms for Grotto Corporation.

As expected, there was a rash of retirement requests, all of which were post-dated for the next rest and refit of each individual Reaper fleet, though not nearly as many as Command had feared.

In keeping with Wynn’s assurance, the average marine was willing to fight harder and serve longer once they were in a position to see real improvement in their lives and hard numbers reflected in their bank accounts.

The talk of the tug was that Helion had been made aware of the dramatic change in Grotto Corporate policy within their military. The announcement from Grotto had precipitated the cessation of open trade war hostilities. The war was declared concluded less than two weeks after the negotiations were finalized and the marines went back into combat.

Even though both Helion and Grotto had sustained heavy losses they had also realized tremendous profits. Neither was willing to yield, but had nevertheless accepted terms for a return to normalcy. Rough borders were established, and within a month the relationship between Helion and Grotto had returned to the usual clandestine warfare and tedious economic sparring.

For the Reaper Corps this meant a return to their former duties as a militarized salvage operation. Thanks to the collective bargaining they would no longer be ordered into frontline combat duties without additional contract negotiations and a right of refusal. At this point the Baen tug had pulled anchor and was left Gedra Prime in the care of House Indron.

The marines, after long months of hard duty on the planet surface, were aboard the tug and enjoying a brief respite from active status. This meant that they were in a position to eat in the tug’s mess hall, which was a gourmet restaurant compared to the MRE fare that the marines had been subsisting on ever since the assault.

For once, they had been able to sit down and enjoy a meal without pressure to wolf it down and return to their positions.

“We’ve been pushing hard into Ellisian space for nearly two years now,” said Ben as he swirled the remnants of his nutrient mixture in the bottom of his dispenser, “With the stormtroopers and the mercs taking over the straight military operations, there’s nothing left for us to do but salvage our way back to Baen.”

Samuel’s mind was afire with thoughts of the future, and for the first time in years he felt hopeful. He was about to fight his way home, and this time it would be the real thing.

Sura had sent him images of the homestead, and it was beyond his wildest dreams. He had never imagined that there could be so much green and life in one place. For Samuel, it had looked like paradise, even if not everyone in his unit understood that. Ben Takeda certainly did, even if the man did not share the sentiment.

“Which is how it ought to be. Leave the guts and glory to the professionals,” Gretchen added.

“I got that piece of good news last night over the Boss feed,” agreed Samuel, who couldn’t help but smile as he looked across the table at the dozen or so marines from various platoons who still lingered in the mess hall. “We’re taking the long way back. Command has us making salvage stops in nearly every system from here to the Ellisian border, then it’s a hard burn to Baen 6 for rest and refit. Looking at another six months of salvage ops between here and there, though plenty of them could be hostile.”

“We can handle hostile,” wheezed Ben, and those who had known him long enough recognized the sound as what passed for a laugh from the man’s reconstructed and digitized vocal chords.

“Talk of the tug is that Red List squatters have been sweeping in behind both Grotto and Helion fleets,” said Gretchen in between sour bites of molded algae, “Setting up migrant labor camps, scrap haulers, the usual stuff.”

“Everybody has to make a living, and we know better than anybody how good the salvage can be in the wake of a trade war,” nodded Samuel, “Squatters and pirates, like maggots on a fresh corpse.”

“Okay, that’s enough!” grumbled Holland, who was seated nearby. He threw down his fork, stood up from his seat and made to leave. “If I have to eat this pressed algae crap I don’t want to do it with you lot talking about dead bodies and bugs!”

Sometime later Ben and Samuel left the mess hall to the sound of Gretchen’s gruff laughter.

“Jada Sek is shipping out with the Dire Swords on the morning cycle,” said Samuel as they walked, “Apparently she waged some serious war in front of the mercs and then helped them kill the Alpha cyborg. They gave her enough data coins to join the Merchants Militant three times over.”

“Good of Grotto to let her expatriate before de-briefing back on Baen. I’m proud of that badass marine, she’s got more soldiering in her than the Reaper Corps can utilize,” agreed Ben, who then shook his head and added, “Seems a bit unfair that they’ll let her muster out but are making you salvage your way home.”

“Nothing for it, brother,” sighed Samuel, “Besides, I think it had a lot more to do with the fact that the Dire Swords are on a nine month contract with Grotto in this sector than it did fairness. Grotto still gets its pound of flesh, one way or the other, just another reason I’m on my way out.”

“I hope you and Sura find what you’re looking for out there, Sam,” Ben had said shortly before they had walked into the mess hall. “These days I can’t imagine any life other than this one, and honestly I don’t know that I’d want to. Grotto is my home, as ugly as it can be sometimes, and I’m committed to it.”

“You and Gretchen are going to make some epic babies, Takeda,” Samuel had said warmly as he clasped his friend’s shoulder, “And because of their parents, those kids are going to have a real shot at living a good corporate life. Grotto will be a better company with people like you staying the course.”

“How did you know she was pregnant?” asked Ben, his voice crackling with static that made Samuel think the man had been giving him his best approximation of a gasp. “The medicae is supposed to keep that confidential until the second trimester, when her armor won’t fit anymore.”

“I’m Boss Hyst remember? Protocol dictates that the medicae automatically update squad leaders with any physiological shifts in marines under their command,” answered Samuel as the two of them paused at the doorway to the mess hall, both taking a moment to watch Gretchen and Harold finishing up their night cycle meal before the large man left with several of his gambling buddies from Epsilon. “The medicae sent me your paternity feed and Ulanti double-checked it with me after she was sent Gretchen’s pregnancy confirmation.”

“Corporate life,” growled Ben in his digitized voice, which would have sounded menacing had it not been for the man shaking his head and putting his hand to his face dramatically, and then the two men had shared a laugh as they entered the mess hall.

Samuel smiled at the recent memory, and silently hoped that the two marines found a kind of happiness within the bosom of Grotto Corporation that he had never been able too. Of all the malcontents of their compulsory education division, Samuel would never have expected Ben Takeda to grow up to be a company man.

Perhaps the growing Takeda-Voss family would turn themselves into a military dynasty like the Marsters line and slowly transform Grotto into a better company.

The strike had shaken things up, and now the labor unions were making progress of their own in the wake of the military bargain. Everyone paid a tithe, whether it was with blood, sweat, or both, and now the common people of Grotto were in a position to benefit from that price paid.