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[center][h1][b][color=tan]Free Workers of La Parranda[/color][/b][/h1][/center]
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[center][i]The Low Road, excavation site - 8:49 a.m.[/i][/center]

The sound of massive drills boring through the earth rang all throughout the large, equipment-filled cavern. Under normal circumstances, a person could be deafened by being in the room, but the headgear Jonathan and his diggers wore was more than enough to all but nullify the noise to minimal levels [i]and[/i] serve as a HUD for his two dozen workers.

Messages flared across their visors as he typed on his arm device. [i]We're approximately twenty meters from the depth we need to reach. Proceed with caution: there are deposits of radioactive elements surrounding the metals we're after. Handle with care.[/i]

The operation was proceeding at a steady pace. Rather than move swiftly to strip mine the tunnel (as Hephaestus used to prefer to do), Jonathan's crew was working slowly so as to preserve as much of the desired materials as possible. At least, that's what Dr. Brown had told his team. While partially true, Jonathan also didn't want to damage the Martian relics he was certain would be found.

Seconds later, the massive drill was turned off. They'd reached the desired depth. Now they would be using more sophisticated tools to retrieve the metals they were after. Manual digging began in an orderly fashion. Rock dust flew up in the air and a few bits of it stung Jonathan's face, so he stepped back and brushed himself off. At least it wasn't the radioactive metals... which, thankfully, the men and women had proper suits for.

Finally, the motherload was reached; the first traces of bismuth and lead were found, two of the target metals they were after. A couple veins of radioactive elements were removed, too, carefully marked for future digging. Long minutes went by and...

Nothing. The artifacts Jonathan's research had led him to believe would be present were... not present. He wished he had one of the workers' helmets at that moment. It would have hid his disappointment better.

[i]Looks like we hit paydirt, sir! We can have these materials ready to go within 60 minutes. :)[/i] A cheerful message from one of the supervisors came in, complete with a thumbs up from the man as he turned back toward Jonathan. And he was right: it would be smooth, easy work from this point on, and the only real problem left before the goods reached home was a chance that the railway might malfunction again.

Still, the Chief Excavator wasn't happy. He wouldn't let the others know, though. [i]Excellent job, people,[/i] he typed on back. [i]Ramirez, you're in charge now. Keep digging for twenty minutes and then take a thirty minute break. You've worked hard this morning, friends.[/i]

Ramirez fired back a quick [i]Affirmative[/i] and the crew went right back to work. Chief Excavator Brown, however, got into his Tunneldog - an underground four-person treaded truck meant for traversing large tunnels such as the ones in the Low Road. With a putter and a roar, the truck came to life, ejected a few sparks from the rear, and gave off the rancid smell of fuel. Brown took a sip from the bottle of water resting on the seat beside him before starting the drive back to his excavation outpost. He needed to get back to the drawing board.

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[center][i]The Low Road, excavation outpost - 9:18 a.m.[/i][/center]

Jonathan sat at his desk, cross-referencing the book in his hand and the markings on the screen over and over again. It was a maddening process, to be frank. He'd been so [i]certain[/i] there would be ruins of some kind here, and yet...

"No matter," mumbled Jonathan, sighing and running a hand across his balding head. He glanced back around the room, eying the charts, the layered maps with sticky notes on them, and the books spread all over the room. "Perfect chaos," he mused with a chuckle. He was about to get up from his seat when he saw an alert start flashing on the right side of the holographic screen on his desk - a communications request from Marshal Asturias. [i]Odd,[/i] he mused, but he spoke his computer's password and waved his hand at the screen.

"You wish to speak?" he asked.

"No, I just wanted to stare at you for a few minutes," came the sarcastic reply. The Marshal was prone to comments like that. Jonathan couldn't blame her; he didn't think she allowed herself more than an hour's worth of free time in the day. "I need to know what sort of materials we're going to be getting from the mines and how soon they can be transported for trade or arms production."

[i]Of course,[/i] the geologist thought, reaching up and rubbing his forehead. [i]War: the neighbor at our doorstep.[/i] "We've just begun the removal of metals important to the construction of various alloys from the rock," Jonathan began, bringing up another holographic screen showing the periodic table and selecting the appropriate metals. "I can't be sure how many tons we'll be able to procure just yet, though it should be within [i]thiiis[/i] range..." His fingers danced around as he made punched in the appropriate numbers with agility and alacrity.

"This is a start," mumbled the Marshal, seeming mollified by the numbers. "We'll have enough to trade at least. Has Santiago come your way yet?"

"No, she hasn't. Why?"

Adelina cursed, peering off-screen to check on something before sitting back straight in her seat. "Shit. Then she's probably going to be bothering me. Alright: while you're in your office, I need you to find some tunnels that are large, not going to be used any time soon, and preferably with uneven floors and debris, and I'll need those tunnels made safe from cave-ins. Also, any scrapped equipment you have, I need it delivered there. Can you do that?"

The scientist's brow furrowed. [i]What a strange request.[/i] "I... [i]can[/i] do that, yes. I'll send a team as soon as I finish choosing the next excavation site. Is that all?"

"Check the new broadcast station," the soldier replied, punching in a few numbers herself. "The President gives his speech in five minutes. You should let your people have a chance to watch it."

"Thank you," Jonathan said. "I'll get back to my duties. Oh, and Ms. Asturias?"

"What?" The reply came out a bit snappier than Jonathan expected.

"...Nothing. [i]Hasta lego,[/i]" he said with a smile.

"[i]Luego,[/i]" corrected Asturias with an amused snort. "You really are horrible at learning new languages. [i]Hasta luego.[/i]" And then her image popped off the screen.

[hider=Televised Broadcast]
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[center][i]La Parranda, 9:30 a.m.[/i][/center]
A handsome, slightly dirty man of clear Hispanic descent sat behind a desk in a minimalistic room. He wore a black beret, short hair and had an old-school cybernetic communications implant visibly curling around his ear. He had a horseshoe mustache, thin sideburns and weathered skin. The man, probably in his thirties, had one hand wrapped around the other as he spoke to the camera. His expression was serious and sincere - or, perhaps, the practiced expression of a man that appealed to passion rather than reason... or both.

"Approximately three-and-a-half weeks ago, at this very minute, a revolution began." President de La Parranda's voice was slow, solemn, and deep as he spoke, touched with a mournful tone. "Hephaestus Metallurgy was overthrown. It was a bloody affair lasting for five long, terrible days, but in the end, the people of La Parranda broke the shackles of oppression - unimaginable oppression - and tasted freedom for the first time in our collective lives.

"Yes, I say oppression," he went on, a bitter note rising in his voice. "We were slaves, [i]mis amigos.[/i]" He lit a cigar with a match, inhaled deep, and stared intently at the screen. "Those of you not from La Parranda would not know the horrors Hephaestus wrought upon us. We were worked without pay, worked until we would die, slept on dirt-covered floors and broken cots... We were herded like cattle from one station to another." He tapped his cigar off-screen, brought it back to his face, and knitted his long eyebrows together. "They had a saying, the managers: 'Those who cannot work are discarded. Those who will not work are punished until they will work or must be discarded.'

"By now all of Hephaestus' assets belong to the people of La Parranda, and that is where they will remain. I, President Martin de La Parranda, decree that we are a free colony like any other, deserving all the rights any other human ought to have." The President rose to his feet, and the camera followed him up, showing the underground city of La Parranda through the window behind him. "We have earned our freedom," he said firmly, "through years of toil, through being punished for sins our fathers' fathers cannot even remember. We desire nothing but that: peace and liberty; the chance to rule ourselves; no more oppression and no more torture.

"But," he continued, raising his hand and his voice, "a desire for peace does not mean we are unwilling to defend ourselves. Should another corporation try to force us into servitude, or should would-be conquerors come to La Parranda, we [i]will[/i] fight back. We [i]will[/i] make a second stand, no less bloody than the first if we must, and we [i]will[/i], by the grace of Heaven, stand resolute. This I vow as the leader of my people.

"But we do not wish to be remembered for bloodshed. We wish to introduce ourselves, Mars, not as rebels, not as foes, but as brothers." The President smiled as he spoke, his hand outstretched, proffered symbolically. "There is a storm coming, [i]mis compañeros[/i]. We must weather it together, or we shall be washed away in a bloody flood."

The President stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring intently at the camera. "I am President Martin de La Parranda," he finally says, "and I represent the Free Workers of La Parranda."

The broadcast ended on that note.
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