Conversation · Evrart Claire

"Re-set," he repeats. "I have big plans for Martinaise. And they do not include humans living in those pig sheds on the coast. That land will be used for municipal buildings and commerce."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, imagine a Youth Centre-Supermarket-Church complex! Employing hundreds, no, thousands of people. The coast will be lit up with enterprise -- and life! All those ruins out there turned into low-income housing..."

He leans forward. "Harry, enough is enough! We're taking this district back. The war was fifty years ago, for god's sake. It's time to move on."

"And life..." (Nod.) "I knew you were a man of the people, Evrart."

"And I knew you're one too, Harry! Right when you rolled into town. I've got the centre, I've got room for a retail complex, and In four years I'll get the church too. The wheels are turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo -- I won't stand for it. There are kids practically playing with their own faeces out there... It cannot go on."

There is true indignation in his voice when he speaks about the state of things. And even a touch of pain.

The pain is true. He's seen the kids do worse than that.

But will there be giant statues of the Claire brothers towering above it all? Joyce knew he was up to something.

"Wait, but -- will you erect a statue to yourself?"

"I'm not a symbolist, Harry. I'm a realist. My statue will be Martinaise rebuilt: five story building complexes, workers on welfare and landowners in Ozonne hating me. That will be my statue -- and yours. We're doing this together."

You would look nice as a statue...

"Sounds like you got this. You can rely on my vote."

"Oh I do, Harry, I really do." He crosses his arms on his chest. "I'm gonna make the working man as rich as Joyce Messier with that vote of yours. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."

A true flash of anger in him -- as he thinks of her.

"Joyce was right when she said you were up to something..."

"Damn right I am, Harry!" The fist lands on the table again. "I'm gonna make the working man as rich as she is one day. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."

And then there will be a giant statue of him, towering above it all?

"I knew you were up to something."

"Damn right I'm up to something, Harry!" The fist lands on the table again. "I'm gonna make the working man as rich as Joyce Messier. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."

A true flash of anger in him -- as he thinks of her.

"Sounds like you got this. You can rely on my vote."

"Oh I do, Harry, I really do." He crosses his arms on his chest. "I'm gonna make the working man richer than Joyce Messier with that vote of yours. That's my job. Just like yours is to keep the peace."

"Wait, but -- will you erect a statue to yourself?"

"I'm not a symbolist, Harry. I'm a realist. My statue will be Martinaise rebuilt: five story building complexes, kids off speed and landowners in Ozonne hating me. That will be my statue -- and yours. We're doing this together."

You would look nice as a statue...

"Youth-Supermarket-Church complex? Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Yes, I do. I got the centre, I got room for a retail complex, and in four years I'll get the church too. The wheels are already turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo -- I won't stand for it. There are kids practically playing with their own faeces out there... It cannot go on."

"Low-income housing? If even part of this is true, then why not."

"I accept your salute, Harry," he nods. "All of it is true. I've got the centre, I've got room for a retail complex, and in four years I'll get the church too. The wheels are turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo -- I won't stand for it. There are kids practically playing with their own faeces out there... It cannot go on."

"So the village is doomed -- because I helped you."

"Do you remember you said you'd fund your new independent harbour with bold, new exotic revenue streams?"

"I sure do, Harry." He smiles at you idly twirling his thumbs. "One of our many great conversations. Heck, one of my favourites! What about it?"

"Cool. I'm glad you remember. Let's talk about something else."

He nods. "Sure thing, champ. Lead the way!"

"By revenue -- did you mean drug trade?"

"Drug trade? Now you're being stupid, Harry. There are perfectly legal, 100% ethical chemical factories on the Samaran isola."

"All they do is produce components to keep the pharmaceutical industry running. That's people's health we're talking about. Old grannies, little babes, people with disabilities..."

Wow, a neurochemical, psychoactive labour uprising / hostile takeover.

"God, that sounds shady..."

"The company thinks transporting these chemicals in bulk 'looks bad,'" he makes air quotes, "'has bad optics,' 'may be illegal in some countries.' The Débardeurs' Union, however... we're all about the large volume column."

In bulk shipping, large volume column is a major buyer. A shark.

"We're gonna transport the living daylights out of those materials, Harry." His slams his fist on the desk once more. "So your sick kid can get his benafed and your wacky uncle doesn't have to come off risperizole!"

Benafed is children's cold medicine, usually apricot flavoured, and risperizole is used to treat severe psychosis.

"And the kids on the street can get speed and pyrholidon?"

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, Mr. Kitsuragi. I sometimes grab a beer with the boys, but I have no idea about the things you just mentioned." He smiles.

He smiles. "But if I were to supply ingredients for some sort of rainbow party, I would make sure the Union took a fantastic share -- and I'd keep that stuff far away from Martinaise."

He's basically admitting to it.

"Makes sense to regulate the drug trade like this. Keeps it out of more dangerous hands."

"Oh, Harry, you've misunderstood. I have no drugs in my hands." He raises both hands, palms open. "It's all far-removed from me like some half-remembered dream."

"Anyway, let's not focus on the sensationalism of the drug trade. This hypothetical drug trade is all anyone ever seems to be interested in. It would only be a small part of the Harbour's turnover -- just like the harbour is but a small part of Martinaise."

Say nothing.

"Let's look at the big picture. Martinaise as a whole. There are little girls out there with dreams of making music. Young mothers who want to start businesses. Models who want to walk catwalks and steel welders who want to weld steel."

"I'm gonna unite them all into one economic body. We're gonna incorporate this place to kingdom come. Everyone's gonna be in on the wealth. And everyone's gonna pull their weight."

Let's keep focusing on the drug trade. He was almost admitting to it.

"Honestly, it's not my place to judge or express an opinion."

"Harry, the length you're willing to go to keep your nose clean is remarkable." He stares at you lovingly. "You will always have a warm bed in Mr. Claire's household, my friend, and a special place in the future of Martinaise."

"Hold on, I don't want to look at the big picture. I want to look at the drug trade you almost admitted to."

"No, no, Harry. That's boring." He sighs. "Alright, it's gone! The hypothetical raw materials trade is off the table. It's such a small and insignificant slice of revenue, I'm cutting it."

"Boys..." He looks around the container. "Harry felt queasy about it. We're not doing it. Can we talk about my beautiful incorporated Martinaise and its many-sided business ventures now? This bold new vision of incorporated socialism I'm offering?"