Conversation · Joyce Messier

"I'm afraid the Emergencies Act was put in place by the same Coalition government that leases the RCM the right to police West Revachol."

"Wouldn't want to disturb an octopus. Better let it be."

"I am glad you see it that way. To repeal the act would mean repealing the Coalition government. The one that leases you the right to police West Revachol..."

"How do I repeal it then?"

"Why, by throwing off half a century of foreign domination under the Coalition! Unfortunately for you, the Coalition also leases you the right to police West Revachol..."

"I have other questions."

She nods: "I hope I can be of help."

"What is your role in this, precisely?"

"I believe the official title is Senior Labour Negotiator. In practice I'm a grocery clerk. I relay the Union's demands to Wild Pines, and return with Wild Pines' counter-offer..."

No way. She's more. She can make decisions.

"And how are the talks going?"

"They're not. That's the problem. The Union stopped all negotiations a week ago. After that awful lynching took place."

"Now they won't even let me into the harbour. There's a 2.20 m racist behemoth blocking the gates."

"You mean Jean-Luc, my Race Mentor? He's a great teacher, a man of virtù."

"Oh, so you've met him." She takes a sip of tea. "Has he beguiled you with his inane theories?"

"My colleague has his peculiarities. Let's not go into this particular one just yet."

"Of course. To each their own."

"What do you mean beguiled?"

"Charmed, enchanted, put under his spell."

"Yes. They're wunderbar."

"They're nonsense, a load of tripe." She tosses back her hair. "But we were on the subject of the talks I believe."

"He didn't do anything. It was the indisputable truth of his theories!"

"Funny, I could think of a few ways to dispute them." She pauses. "But we digress."

"So the strike is connected to the lynching?"

"Yes, I believe there is a connection -- but that's a subject for later." Her eyes narrow.

She is resolute in this, yet you sense that she wants to tell you. You'll have to earn her trust first.

"Tell me more about this behemoth."

"What can I say? The Union employs a giant covered in tattoos." She pauses. "A racist giant. I guess that's part of their big tent organization now."

"Oh, you mean Measurehead?"

"Yes -- Jean-Luc Measurehead." She leans back and rolls her eyes.

"How were the talks going before the lynching?" (Proceed.)

"Let's say I was not making the kind of progress I'd hoped for when I first arrived..."

"And when did you first arrive?"

"I arrived three weeks ago..." She thinks. "Yes, in the middle of February -- the bay was still partially frozen then. I prefer to do these things on-site. Like the RCM."

"But the strike began in December." He looks at his notes.

"I wasn't the original negotiator here. I took over after Mr. Gaumont hit a wall with Mr. Claire, the Union boss. Mr. Claire refused to speak with Gaumont, despite concessions he'd granted the Union in prior negotiations."

"This isn't the first time the Union has gone on strike?"

"Heavens, no. There have been two prior strikes. Both times the Union won significant concessions -- including overtime pay and a medical plan. This time their demands are more... I guess you could say aggressive."

Ludicrous, even, it's meant.

"What happened then?"

"The Union won significant concessions -- including overtime pay and a medical plan. This time their demands are more... I guess you could say aggressive."

"How long have you been here?"

Wait! She just admitted that the lynching and the strike are connected.

"How are these talks going?"

"I've got some more questions about reality."

"More lessons in basic reality?" She's positively surprised. "My favourite part of the day! Go ahead, ask me anything."

"You're on a boat."

"Well, technically speaking I'm not on it right now..." She looks at the sloop sway in the waves.

"Let's talk about the economics of this boat you're on." (Go in for the kill.)

"Oh my, the E-word." She crosses her arms. "You mean to say that it's a symbol of conspicuous consumption? That I'm a member of the ruling class."

"No -- it's a symbol of our subjugation to foreign capital. The bad kind of capital."

"Detective, may I remind you that Mrs. Messier is a professional negotiator?" He doesn't look like he thinks you'll best her in single combat.

"Then what is this positively destitute jetty doing here?" She puts her foot down on the rotten planks beneath. "And what about that fleet of skiffs?"

A fleet? Three shabby fishing boats is hardly a fleet.

"This unmistakably proletarian fleet of skiffs." She waves at the nearby fishing boats. "As I said, plenty of people drive boats. Of all social strata."

"Fine. Anyway..." (Change the subject.)

"Yes -- anyway." She adjusts her hair. The permanent wave in her auburn locks radiates victory.

Fire back -- quick!

Your synapses flash!

"This house was built before the Revolution."