The low rattle of rain sounded like an ambient drum beat through the five inch thick glass as James Getter watched it sweep the outside of the barricade. Swirling pillars of soot lazily waved in the downpour like dancers at one of those joints and he smiled, draining his glass. This world with all of its unpleasantries was a long way away from the crystal ornaments and fake tinsel of New Paris, but he was still managing to cop a feel on the spirit of the season.
Feeling the spirit in true Getter fashion, alright.
That was what his Father had always called it when he and his second wife (the one Jim hated and who hated him back in spades) had sampled the eggnog until they couldn't see straight and ended up falling down drunk or fricking like rabbits in the center of the floor instead of hanging decorations like they started. Getter regarded the memories of the crushed trees and broken ornaments with the distance that one looks at a friend's family album. The scores of years that fell between now and then had dulled any pain they might have caused to the point of nonexistence. He forced a somber smile as he took another mouthful of his vodka. Yeah, this was feeling the spirit of the season alright. New Paris with its throngs of happy seasonal revelers in the cute costumes was a gazilliion miles away right now and he could feel the distance even through the alcohol's warmth.
"Merry fricking SLA-mas, merry fricking SLA-mas to me," he mumbled as he downed the rest of his drink and tossed the glass at the waste bin. "Ho ho fricking ho."
The PR-40 Mining facility was about the most remote post he could have gotten but he was lucky for even that. It's one thing to screw around with another man's wife, but when someone higher on the food chain swipes yours, it's a different story -especially when they're eager to buy into her vindictiveness. He could imagine that bleach-blonde harpy nagging at her new husband the way she used to do at him and smiled.
"Yeah buddy, you might have shipped me off to the fricking armpit of hell, but at least you didn't send her with me."
And it wasn't as bad as it had seemed either, just like the old saying about ruling in the hell goes. He arrived as an assistant site manager but worked his way up in short order by pushing everyone else out of his path. It might not have been considered "ethical," but then very few things that happened out here were. He thought of himself as the Big Bad Dog (just like the tag on his desk said he was) and everyone knew it sooner or later. Deep inside, he knew that it was probably luck that no one had decided to arrange an accident, but the fact was that no one still here had the spine for that. He was the boss and could piss on any proverbial tree he wanted to, whenever he wanted. SLA had given him the power and messing with him was a good way to get sent back into the private sector and back on the dole.
Getter walked around his desk and sat down heavily before shuffling the papers. There were status and production reports, a couple dozen memos of no interest to him, and two SLA-mas cards from brown-nosers. One of them was from the admin assistant they gave him to help run things and he had to say that she needed all the help she could get. He had been meaning to give her the chance to save her job, but with the shuttles shipping everyone out for the holidays, he might just have to save that offer as a belated SLA-mas present to himself. God, it was good being the boss without anyone watching. As long as production was kept in the green, he could do whatever he wanted and that included the hot redheads with long legs that go all the way up to heaven.
Without realizing it, a SLA-mas tune had crept into Getter's mind and he was soon humming along with it. In two hours, he would be shipping out to one of the nice warm beaches on New Paris and kissing this place goodbye for an entire twelve days of suds, sand, and women. Could things get any better than this?
The answer to that was yes and that's when he decided it was time to give himself his presents - this rotation's layoffs. Getter had carefully watched the performance of his crews, taking special note of those that were trying a little too hard or had that special talent for success. Instead of bonuses, twelve people were getting a pristine pink slip to take home to their families and he laughed aloud. Shuffling through them like they were a deck of cards, he pulled out two that he might be able to use a little further (wonder how badly these ladies want to save their jobs?) and stood up. The last envelope in the list was an entirely different sort of pleasure and he swung the chair back into the desk with a flourish.
This was truly his favorite time of the year.
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