Just a little excerpt... working title “the re-branded AU.”
Morgan squinted, adjusting his sunglasses in the bright light. Something was moving. Then he saw it: a flash of neon yellow. Some idiot on foot, in the pit, crossing in front of him. Idiot, or suicidal. Morgan slammed on the brakes, and the massive truck slowly ground to a halt. Morgan set the brake and swung himself out of the cab, angrily.
He put his fingers into his mouth and gave a piercing whistle.
The man on the ground turned.
“Hey, asshole!” he bellowed as he slid down the ladder from the cabin, yelling to be heard over the behemoth of his truck. “Who do you think you are and what the hell are you doing?”
Morgan folded his arms across his chest and sized the newcomer up. A face he’d never seen before: young and clean-shaven, soft brown eyes made large behind round-rimmed glasses. A few wisps of ash brown hair peeked out from under his hardhat. He wore a safety vest over a suitcoat. Already the hems of his pants and his shoes were covered in the white rock dust.
The man gestured something, indicating the operator platform across from the main hub. He’d thought it would be quicker to walk through the truck lanes, instead of taking the safe route around.
Morgan gave a snort of disgust and gestured to the massive dump truck. “You see that there?” He barked. “Sixty seven tons of steel, twenty five feet tall, size of a damn house and capable of over forty miles per hour fully loaded! Do you know what I would’ve felt if I’d run over you?”
The man shook his head, eyes wide.
“Nothing,” Morgan replied. “Well, no, wait.” He held up a hand. “I would’ve felt remorse as they were hosing your suited remains out from between my tires. But beyond that, you’re small and squishy. You got no business down in the pit.” He reached over, grabbing the walkie-talkie pinned to his vest. “Yo, Laney, or Stewart, whichever… get a pickup down here. I’m by Entrance3.”
A voice cracked back, understanding.
Morgan made a “follow me” gesture and lead the man back to his truck.
The truck in question was exactly as he’d indicated, massive. A hulking yellow beast constructed by Caterpillar, emblazoned with the designation 797F on the side. He reached a hand down and hauled the thin man easily onto the steps. “Stay with the truck,” he grunted.
Behind them came a deep throated rumbling, the ground vibrating. A huge truck, nearly as big as Morgan’s thundered past them, heading down into the mining pit. “See that?” Morgan asked as the dust cleared. “If you’d been walking you’d be a grease-stain.”
The man paled visibly.
“Hey, what’s your name anyhow? You one of the new suits come to oversee things?”
The man took his glasses off, frowning at the rock dust. He appeared to be debating whether or not to wipe them off, then thought better of it. He put them back on, brow creasing slightly. “Palmer. Palmer Ruback.” He seemed on the verge of saying more, but the sound of a pickup truck on the gravel distracted him.
A Ford F150 came cruising over towards Morgan’s 797. Like everything else, the pickup was covered in white dust. A bar of yellow hazard lights flashed across the top, muted slightly by the fine powder. A flexible pole had been mounted to the rear of the cab, extending upward, topped by a triangular orange flag. It looked like an oversized radio-control car, the flag serving to increase visibility.
Laney, for that was the driver’s name, pulled over in front of Morgan and Palmer, and rolled down his window. “S’up?”
“Hey, take this chucklehead back up to the top for me, will ya please?” Morgan called out.
Palmer was already stepping lightly to the ground, pulling his yellow vest around him like a coat.
Laney’s eyes widened. “Hey Morgan?”
“Yo.”
“That’s our new VP! Didn’t you get the memo?”
Morgan threw his hands up in the air and spun around, unable to put words to his exasperation. “Yeah, I read it. Bossman Grante sent it out last week.”
“Well,” Laney replied, as Palmer climbed into the truck, “read it again.” He gave a nervous tilt of his head.
“Good, fine,” muttered Morgan. “Hey, Laney, thanks!” He waved as the Laney set off towards the top of the entrance, keeping to the side of the ramp, hazard lights flashing. Morgan climbed back up to the cabin of his truck and threw himself into the familiar seat. He pulled out his smartphone, and flicked through the contents of his inbox. Finally, he found the memo Laney had referenced.
Blah blah blah, personnel changes, new staff coming on board… ah, there it was! New Vice-President Palmer Ruback. Palmer wasn’t even part of the mining chain of command. He was vice president directly to the big cheese himself: Mason Leeland. Palmer technically out-ranked everyone, including their lead supervisor Thomas Grante.
What the hell was the new guy even doing here? Nobody in the company that he knew had ever even seen Mister Leeland, much less had direct contact with him. Except, apparently, Palmer. He’d transferred in from the ivory tower of Corporate itself. Why? It didn’t make any sense. And I called him asshole… Morgan groaned, dropping his face into his palms. Man, I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me.
