[Munch's Master]

Hmmm, no replies. That's encouraging. oh well, on with the next chapter regardless.

Chapter 17: Things to Come
Repetitive metal clangs rang out down a corridor. Hydraulics whirred as they carried the slig towards the door of an office. A plaque on the wall marked it as the residence of the owner of the factory himself, the Glukkon known to his workers as Sir, and to colleagues as Godrar. Arthur pressed his palm to the access panel. The automated voice lock bleated something in Sliggish, which Arthur responded to. The door slid open with a hiss of air, and Arthur stepped through, to be greeted by the unpleasant visage of Alberto, Godrar’s secretary. Alberto was a Chronicler, and like all of his species, ideally suited to tasks involving papers and forms due to an analytical mind, great patience and complete absence of an imagination. His beige skin was tight to his flesh, and though he was hardly a bony creature, the impression this gave was of a package wrapped in too small an amount of clingfilm. He didn’t have fat rolls, his skin was in too short supply to crease into such layers. Beady eyes flickered up at Arthur from behind thick-rimmed glasses, with no sign of interest nor indeed, life, from behind them. A stuffy voice was all that was needed to complete the picture of a perfectly uninteresting twit, and luckily it was supplied as Alberto squawked out “Yis?”
Arthur coughed. “Er, I wanna see the boss. Or at least, someone who can sort out the employment details.”
“Whit about?”
Arthur sighed. “I want a transfer. I’m……getting bored with my job here. I’m in a solitary rut, an I wanna go somewhere else.”
The Chronicler, not having the creativity to consider boredom, or indeed, a question about it, simply stated “Boredom.”
“Yeah. Boredom an’ just generally being unsatisfied. You know how it is.”
“Nyo. I do not. My jyob is to file papers, pass on messages, collect reports and h’assemble data. h’As far as I can see, satisfaction does not h’enter into h’it.”
Arthur was nonplussed. “Oh. Right. Well anyway, can I see the boss then, about a transfer?”
“Nyo. He is very busy, mhm.” Alberto answered.
“….Right. Well, who should I speak to then?”
“Vykker h’Rasputin. Ee is head of Employee-h’Management h’Relations. Ee deals with h’all the employment details. I sort out the paperwork.” The Chronicler said, and would have regarded Arthur with, if he had had the personality to do so, a scrutinous gaze.
Arthur turned to the door. “So, I can ask him about a transfer then?”
Alberto’s face showed no emotion. “Nyo. You are in a guaranteed contract. I know, as it is my dyuty to check all contracts and papers. You are not h’allowed to leave until you finish the remainder of your contract. Whit is your name?”
“….oh, Arthur.”
“Muhmmmmm.” The Chronicler turned to a shelf, withdrew a file, and leafed through it, stopping once he reached a certain sheet. “mhmm, yis. You have syixteen months to serve on your contract.”
Arthru stood there like a lemon, not knowing how to react. The Chronicler seemed to have said his piece for the day, for his face was buried in sheets again.
“Oh….right….well, thanks then.”
“Yis.”
Arthur turned and exited, glancing briefly at the opposite door, leading to Godrar’s personal office, as he left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, on the other side of that door

“….So I told ‘im what for about it bein’ the last time he’s gonna break the rules like tha, an came right here ta tell you.” The Slig wrapped up.
The back of the high swivel chair didn’t budge, but a Glukkon’s voice emerged from it “And what did you say his name was?” The voice barked.
The Slig paused. “Uhhh…Larry. I think. Anyway, he’s caused loadsa trouble before, an then he was mouthin off ta me an I reckon he attacked that stoned mudokon I jus’ told yew about, so I do, an from what I here he’s been tryin ta escape loads in the past, an I think he was the one what got those new reg-yer-ler-ations put in on the muds about a year ago.” The Slig paused again, seemingly to feel something was lacking. “…..um….and I think he tried ta sabotage a production line once. An’ I also heard he killed a Slig in the Slog pens, but he covered it up.” The Slig rambled, his less-than-efficient brain whirring into overdrive as he conjured up further crimes to place on Larry.
The Glukkon however, just chuckled. “Heh heh heh. I know ya made that last bit up. I’m also well aware of all the past crimes that that mud has committed.”
The Slig’s face glazed over “You are? Oh, right. But, hasn’t he broken the policy more than 3 times?”
A sucking noise, then a small cloud of grey smog puffed from behind the chair. “Indeed he has. 24 times, including escapes and cheekery, I believe. And though that would normally be grounds for execution, in this case he’s amusing me.”
Now it was he throat of the guard that constricted “Amusing?...Oh yeah….He tries to escape an is bad at it…..hur hur….”
“Don’t humour me ya idiot. I keep that skinbag around because it’s bit of a game. Executin’ him won’t do no good. He’ll just be a martyr, an then we’ll have 10 times the number o’ the slaves tryin ta rise up.”
Again, the Slig filled the silence. “Yeah. A mary-ter. Yeah.”
Another chortle from behind the chair. “Martyr. It’s martyr. Don’ use words yer peabrain can’t cope with. But it sounds like the lil’ vermin’s whipping up them mudokons inter somethin’ rebellious anyway. Gets em fightin each other, they watch when he insults yer instead of runnin away an hidin. He’s startin’ ter make em rebellious. 1 mud isn’t a problem, it’s a bit of sport. A whole Zulag of ‘em, that’s a problem. The whole slave base, that’s a problem. We don’t need another Abe.”
The Glukkon fell silent, pondering something. A slightly lighter shadow moved in the shadows behind the chair, as the Glukkon stood up and walked to a picture of the factory on a wall, keeping his back to the Slig. Finally, he spoke “Leave him fer now. It’s still a case of Fleech an’ Slurg, yer know, the predator playin with the prey. He’s doin no harm, and is just a lil pest. But if he starts becoming a big pest, bring him in. He’ll get a short drop an’ sudden stop.”
The Slig giggled “Heh heh heh. Into a mneat grinder, right sir?”
The Glukkon replied with a mix of sarcasm and frustration “Yes. Into the grinder. Now get out.”
The Slig nodded and hurriedly backed out of the office.
After he was gone, Godrar turned and walked to a floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking a vast expanse of the factory. He took a deep drag of his Lungbuster, and a smirk spread like a crack across his menacing face. “Heh heh heh.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

Larry glanced up from his prone position at Trevor, catching his friend’s eye. The 2 were on scrubbing duty for the day, the idea behind alternating work designed not to improve mudokon job satisfaction, but to tire as many muscles in their bodies out as possible. After all, an exhausted workforce is less likely to be a rebellious workforce.

Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

Trevor, careful to avoid drawing the attention of the Guardslig, met Larry’s gaze. “W-h-a-t?” he mouthed.

Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

Larry glanced back at the floor as the artificial rattle told him the guard was walking past. He looked back up “I h-a-v-e a p-l-a-n.” He mouthed.

Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

Trevor gave him an incredulous look, yet inside, his brain gave a satisfied “I told you so” grin. ‘What a surprise’. “F-o-r w-h-a-t?” Trevor mouthed.

Shuffle along the floor to a new patch of dirt. Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

“F-o-r e-s-c-a-p-e.” Larry mouthed back. Trevor in return mouthed “W-a-i-t u-n-t-i-l-l l-a-t-e-r.” Larry glanced around, then signalled back “I-l-l t-e-l-l y-o-u i-n t-h-e m-e-s-s h-a-l-l.”

Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.

The Guardslig, stood behind Larry with his arms folded, uncoiled an arm and dealt a harsh blow across the nape of Larry’s neck. “Quit yer talking mud! Stop slackin’ an start workin’!!”

Sigh. Lift up sponge. Dip in bucket. Gather suds. Scrub.
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