"The performative experience has ended. Good -- what can I help you with?"

"Excuse me," the lieutenant looks up from his notes, "From whom did you hear about this lynching?"

"I first heard it from the boia at the gates,” her reply comes quick, “the one who's very name advertises his aversion to work. I think he said it was Call Me Mañana."

This checks out.

No, wait. The chief negotiator heard it from a man at the gates? Surely the Wild Pines Group has more effective channels of information. After all, 2,200 people are on strike -- this is a big deal for them.

"Sounds like an opening gambit." (Proceed.)

"So I hoped." She nods. "But this type of opening is usually followed by a more reasonable offer. I have yet to hear one, just the same nonsensical slogan repeated over and over again..."

"The king is dead. Long live the workers!"

"That's pretty funny, I have to admit."

"They are having a blast -- but how can they afford it? After four months my assumption was they would prefer a more practical solution."

"What exactly do they mean by it, though? What's the demand?"

"It's quite simple, you see. Every time the Wild Pines Group makes a decision -- about, what? About anything really -- it needs the signature of each of the 2,200 workers in its Martinaise terminal."

"What does that even mean?"

"Forget it. I wanted to ask something else about the strike."

She nods.

"I like it."

"Then you might also like their other slogan: 'DEMAND DEMOCRACY!'"

"Nope. That's weak."

"Personally, I agree -- It lacks the pizzazzo of EVERY WORKER -- A MEMBER OF THE BOARD."

"Not hard communist enough for me."

"Oh, yeah. That's a good one."

"Personally, I don't think it has the same pizzazzo as EVERY WORKER -- a MEMBER OF THE BOARD."

"Over-aggressive commie posturing."

"I don't know what to think about that."

"What happened to this... Gaumont?"

"Mr. Claire told him to, how did he put it?" She pauses to compose herself...

"'Fuck off, midget.' Gaumont is short of stature, you see."

"Cool."

"Yes, extremely. Keep in mind, this is a negotiator Mr. Claire has worked with before, and who was more than fair with him and the Union."

Sounds like usual aggressive posturing.

"Hmh. Okay then."

"Yes. Keep in mind, this is a negotiator Mr. Claire has worked with before, and who was more than fair with him and the Union."

"Not cool."

"Keep in mind, this is a negotiator Mr. Claire has worked with before, and who was more than fair with him and the Union."

"The scabs at the gate -- did you put them there?"

"The... scabs?" She raises her brow. "You mean the huddled masses of Jamrock, come to plead for work where the Union refuses to?"

Don't let her answer it herself.

Let her continue.

"Yes. They were organized by Wild Pines. The contractors picked them up from Jamrock and drove them over. This is standard practice. The company reserves a right to man its stations."

"If they were organized by Wild Pines or its affiliates then it would be a company secret. I could not share it with you -- not right now at least..."

It's implied she's open to discussing this matter with you at a later occasion.

"No, I mean scabs."

"To answer your question -- yes. They were organized by Wild Pines. The contractors picked them up from Jamrock and drove them over. This is standard practice. The company reserves a right to man its stations."

"If these workers were organized by Wild Pines or its affiliates, then it would be a company secret. I could not share it with you -- not yet, at least."

"Let's call them strikebreakers -- you put them there, right?"

"If these strikebreakers were organized by Wild Pines or its affiliates, then it would be a company secret. I could not share it with you -- not yet, at least."

"You're right, I don't know what got into me. Some of that degenerate dock worker lingo has rubbed off, it seems."

"Ha!" She gives you a crooked smile. "If the workers were organized by Wild Pines then it would be a company secret. I could not share it with you -- not yet, at least..."

"Everything." She smiles. "Right up to -- but not including -- trade secrets."

"Wait -- what if I want to hear about trade secrets?"

"First you'd have to repeal the Emergencies Act of Trade and Aliments that gives me the right to silence. It's quite the octopus."

The octopus that straddles Revachol. The Emergencies Act is the cornerstone of post-war Revachol, inseparable from the world it created.

"An octopus? I will slay it!"

"Good luck -- It's only kept in place by the vested interests of half the civilized world, including your own."

"What the ma'am means is that the Emergencies Act and the RCM both get their authority from the Coalition Government."

You'd be shooting yourself in the foot, in other words.

Did someone say shooting yourself in the foot?

"You would be surprised at the amount of damage I can inflict upon myself."

"I imagine a man like you can take quite the lashing." She sizes you up. "But I believe we were talking about the strike."

Leave it alone.

"But -- I am derailing us. You wanted to know about the strike."