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Retail Wars: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

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David goddamn Bundie.
David goddamn Bundie.


I can still hear him saying it, in that put-on baritone of his, all faux swagger and stuffy authority, concealing a timid ego:  
I can still hear him saying it, in that put-on baritone of his, all faux swagger and stuffy authority, concealing a timid ego:</div>
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“Now, mark my words, soldiers” — he was always calling us that — “treasure your weapon. Respect it. Treat it like a child, and it will treat you like it’s a fire-eyed mastiff and you are master of the hounds of hell.”
<div class="quotalic">“Now, mark my words, soldiers” — he was always calling us that — “treasure your weapon. Respect it. Treat it like a child, and it will treat you like it’s a fire-eyed mastiff and you are master of the hounds of hell.”


That sat up the boys at the back of the room.  
That sat up the boys at the back of the room.  
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“Did you ever kill anyone, sir? You know, at Bretton Woods.”
“Did you ever kill anyone, sir? You know, at Bretton Woods.”


At that moment, Bundie’s face darkened. A light went out. Something closed down in there. A door that had briefly shown a delicate perimeter of golden rays slammed shut. The youthful, vigorous warrior was gone and the kind old defence against indemnities master returned. “I — I don’t know what you mean, Punchface.”
At that moment, Bundie’s face darkened. A light went out. Something closed down in there. A door that had briefly shown a delicate perimeter of golden rays slammed shut. The youthful, vigorous warrior was gone and the kind old defence against indemnities master returned. “I — I don’t know what you mean, Punchface.”</div>


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Well, the old bastard had been right. Totally right. ISDA rolled out a plastic twin network SL/Repo mod designed to work with their 02, but it was never popular, and there were documented examples of them falling apart during live margining exercises. The failure rate was off the charts. Reports of entire battalions throwing them down in the field and just running for their lives. As the enemy SIVs rumbled up the salient they didn’t even stop to collect them. They didn’t even take the unspent margin ammo for their rehypothecation tanks.  They just rolled over them, atomising these weapons and grinding them into the mud.
<div class="indent">Well, the old bastard had been right. Totally right. ISDA rolled out a plastic twin network SL/Repo mod designed to work with their 02, but it was never popular, and there were documented examples of them falling apart during live margining exercises. The failure rate was off the charts. Reports of entire battalions throwing them down in the field and just running for their lives. As the enemy SIVs rumbled up the salient they didn’t even stop to collect them. They didn’t even take the unspent margin ammo for their rehypothecation tanks.  They just rolled over them, atomising these weapons and grinding them into the mud.


To this day treasure seekers and carpetbaggers and find shards and fragments of these weapons of war in the salted soil, leeched by conflict and hubris if all the alpha nutrients, where now only the gaudy, surface-deep colours of wilding index trackers grow.
To this day treasure seekers and carpetbaggers and find shards and fragments of these weapons of war in the salted soil, leeched by conflict and hubris if all the alpha nutrients, where now only the gaudy, surface-deep colours of wilding index trackers grow.


The old guy’s intonation rang in my ears.  
The old guy’s intonation rang in my ears. </div>
 
 
<div class="quotalic">“Maintaining a ’95 OSLA takes skill, soldiers. Dedication. Deep insight. Handling them takes real skill. But, oh — the rewards. That perma-balancing portfolio margining. The native netting stability. That dependable 5 point bias. But ongoing service and maintenance takes time, effort and craft. Mark my words: they’ll ditch these babies. They'll outlaw them. We won’t see their like again.”
<div class="quotalic">“Maintaining a ’95 OSLA takes skill, soldiers. Dedication. Deep insight. Handling them takes real skill. But, oh — the rewards. That perma-balancing portfolio margining. The native netting stability. That dependable 5 point bias. But ongoing service and maintenance takes time, effort and craft. Mark my words: they’ll ditch these babies. They'll outlaw them. We won’t see their like again.”


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A low thunder rumbled across the landscape.
A low thunder rumbled across the landscape.


“I.S.D.A.”
“I.S.D.A.”</div>
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They were bad derelicts. They were mainly deserted. It was target practice: guilt-free workout on the downside levers.
<div class="indent">They were bad derelicts. They were mainly deserted. It was target practice: guilt-free workout on the downside levers.


We rolled up on this decaying greyfield strip-mall. There should have been no one there. We went in just to clear out the vega-heads — no one else would risk that condemned structure — as a prelude to flattening it. We did this just to make it safe — to stop random kids wandering in and getting crushed by falling masonry, and take away sniper opportunities for our HNW lorries and AM cruisers as they rolled through after us.
We rolled up on this decaying greyfield strip-mall. There should have been no one there. We went in just to clear out the vega-heads — no one else would risk that condemned structure — as a prelude to flattening it. We did this just to make it safe — to stop random kids wandering in and getting crushed by falling masonry, and take away sniper opportunities for our HNW lorries and AM cruisers as they rolled through after us.
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“Like fuck you are. Shorting’s too good for you.”
“Like fuck you are. Shorting’s too good for you.”


The punk was blowing crimson bubbles from his wind pipe. Now he seemed resigned to his fate. He whimpered, “j … just  fucking do it. G … g… get it over with, would you?”
The punk was blowing crimson bubbles from his wind pipe. Now he seemed resigned to his fate. He whimpered, “J … just  fucking do it. G … g… get it over with, would you?”


He was shivering bad. I radioed to base. “Get me a locate on some Blockbuster Ords. Liquid.”
He was shivering bad. I radioed to base. “Get me a locate on some Blockbuster Ords. Liquid.”
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“Sir, I am Agent Bathory, Eagle Squad, Second Declension —”
“Sir, I am Agent Bathory, Eagle Squad, Second Declension —”


“Oh, I know who you are, Eleanor,” said Palmer-Jenkins.
“Oh, I know who you are, Eleanor,” said Palmer.


Eleanor. ''No'' prick called her Eleanor.
Eleanor. ''No'' prick called her Eleanor.


Palmer-Jenkins shuffled his papers. He clicked his pen. He looked up. “So —?”
Palmer shuffled his papers. He clicked his pen. He looked up. “So —?”


“We off the record, Sir?”
“We off the record, Sir?”


PJ put down his pen. He tilted that planet-sized noggin in bemused acquiescence. He regarded her from that black void. “By all means.”
Palmer put down his pen. He tilted that planet-sized noggin in bemused acquiescence. He regarded her from that black void. “By all means.”


“I was on Mall Cop detail last night last night, sir.”
“I was on Mall Cop detail last night last night, sir.”
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“Irregularities?”
“Irregularities?”


In what followed, Palmer-Jenkins took no notes, but he listened very carefully.  When it was done he thanked Agent Bathory, directed her return to barracks, and bid her breathe no word of this to another soul.
In what followed, Palmer took no notes, but he listened very carefully.  When it was done he thanked Agent Bathory, directed her return to barracks, and bid her breathe no word of this to another soul.


In the corridor outside, E pressed herself on the wall, closed her eyes and exhaled. It was done.
In the corridor outside, E pressed herself on the wall, closed her eyes and exhaled. It was done.
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