One. I’m a woman. That ain’t implyin’ women can’t be mysogenistic, I just want you to get your prejudice right. I’m being xenophobic and mounting an institutional attack. I’m cynical of your T and Cs.

Two. The Unioners aren’t a revolution - we’re a counter-revolution undoing the terms of a so-called “peace treaty” that milks the State’s dying breath like the last maternal drips of an emaciated dairy cow.

The point of all of that was to show you the truth - you can’t, and shouldn’t, haggle with Unioners. We’re not here to milk the fruits of your labour, we’re here to create a mutually co-efficient relationship. Your trade guts Rheinland’s economic sovereignty - hookin’ the house on imported Niobium instead of domestic substitutes. That’d be fine if any of your wealth gets taxed by Rheinland house, but flatly, it doesn’t. You’re takin’ taxpayer wallets and burying them in the barrier someplace in a house where it’s more common to be poor and starving than rich and made.

We tax you not because we’re usin’ your money to just fund guns and ammo like some misanthropic psycho - that too, but it’s a sub-percentage. We’re not here to see the world burn, we’re here to feed our families. So when we ask for a cut that’s reasonable enough and you start haggling over lost shekels like an IND exec’s cheap call girl, that’s not a sprit I wanna’ engender.

You had one shot. Six million a transport. We cut that down to somethin’ real reasonable - wouldn’t have even taxed the whole convoy. Instead, you chose to spin the fortune wheel - ‘cus if you start a trend wherein impo’s think they can dictate the terms of their surrenders to the Directory - I’m willin’ to die to stop you from renderin’ that the status quo.

You asked for a cut value - we gave you that. Then you pushed your luck. You got greedy. You haggled. Pushin’ your luck gets you a slap, every time. No candy for calque greed. You wanna' make a statement against the klepto-ocracy? Start actin' more benevolent than them.

We only need to kill one transport to make you an equivalent loss to what you would have made by just payin’ out, sans the human suffering. You have to get right every time, we only gotta’ get lucky once to get our point over.

Think about it. We’re never goin’ to ask more than we can chew, and we’re well down the food chain to you, Miss Bank-‘O-The-Barrier. Don’t try to force feed us out of a thimble if yer’ don’t want to get your finger pricked.

In past meetings, you payed us respect. I’m giving you two options here: you’re either gonna’ want to pay enough escorts to punch your way through us, or you’ll just pay up front what’s asked for, when asked, kpiche? Either way you’re out of pocket for the same number of credits - difference with the latter? Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherised upon a table, and not scat into each other's life choices.

I’ll respect you as another fact of life in this universe. So will my kin. However, each is to their own, an’ I don’t set the tone for them. It’s why we’re a Union - got this thing called unity goin’ on. Important element of that is respectin’ each other’s distinctions.

Remember, that ‘ah do respect you. Be it as two individuals with a wildly different worldview, who can partake in credit exchange without chewin’ each other out over it, or as a carvery sow, it's all game to me. Laying my guns into you with the weight of a wing behind me - that’s it’s own kinda’ respect, too.

Choice is always yours, Morrow, how you wanna’ listen to the words I speak. Onus on the interpreter, not the speaker, here. ‘Cause it’s you who gets to elect if gloved fingers pull those triggers.

Till next time.