Marlene arrived back at the factory the next morning at nine o'clock. She had an hour before she'd told Skipper she'd be coming, which meant one hour to interview the workers without the supervisor breathing down her neck. It was time that she intended to use.

However, as she approached the factory, she realized, rather belatedly, that it would be difficult to avoid alerting Skipper to her presence: she was a snappily-dressed woman in a factory full of sweaty, greasy men. Cursing her own lack of foresight, she caught sight of Private and Rico chatting by the fence, and an idea presented itself. She could only hope that their loyalty to Skipper wouldn't prevent them from helping her out.

She approached the pair as discreetly as possible, catching their attention with a little wave. "Rico! Private!"

They turned to look at her, Private with a slight start, Rico with a grunt of confusion, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Private blinked. "Oh... Miss Marlene!" He smiled. "Do you need more information for your story?"

Marlene nodded. "I do. But... well, I have a little problem." She glanced side to side, making sure the coast was clear before continuing. "I'd really like to interview Mason and Phil; labor issues are really hot right now, you know. I'd like to get their take on the national debates and such."

"Oh, I see." Private looked thoughtful. "It's not always easy to tell where they'll be, but I can think of a few places we could try."

"That's great, thank you," Marlene said, lowering her voice, "but the thing is, I really stick out here. I don't want to unnecessarily distract anyone from his work. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask for your help with that."

Private tilted his head. "...Um, okay. What d'you want me to do?"

Marlene smirked. "Are you wearing pants under those overalls?"

A few minutes later, Marlene stood behind the fence, dressed in Private's overalls, her own white button-down shirt, and a grey newsboy's cap borrowed from Rico. She pulled the brim of the cap over her eyes and smudged some dirt on her face. "Well? How do I look?"

Rico looked mildly disgusted. "Blech."

Marlene would have punched him if he wasn't so much bigger than her. "Look, this isn't fashion week in Milan. I just need to know if I'll blend in."

"You look fine," Private told her, tugging down self-consciously on his pants, which were a few inches too short. "Just as long as the overalls cover your shoes and you don't let anyone get too close, you should be able to go completely unnoticed."

Marlene smiled gratefully. "Thanks... I really owe you one."

Private blushed. "Oh, think nothing of it," he said, waving a hand. "Now, let's get you to see Mason and Phil before our breaks are over."

The three of them headed towards the factory; just as Private had said, Marlene went relatively unnoticed. Still, she was constantly on the lookout for Skipper - if he caught her in this getup, he'd definitely think she was up to no good. Luckily, the supervisor seemed to be in some other part of the factory, so she made it to the area behind the blast furnaces without incident. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Who's paranoid now?

Private led her to a relatively large empty space behind the furnaces, Rico trailing along behind them. There were very few other workers in sight, and Marlene could see why; the air back here felt a thousand times hotter than the rest of the factory. She wiped her brow, glancing around. "Mason and Phil usually stay back here?"

Private fanned himself with a hand. "Well, not usually, but things have been dicey between them and Skippah lately, so they prefer to stay out of each other's way. Skippah doesn't come back here often, so this is where they've camped out. They hold the union meetings here after the factory closes."

Marlene glanced towards one of the furnaces; the molten steel gave off an orange glow. It felt like being inside a volcano. "Are you and Rico union members?"

"Well, yes, almost everybody is," Private replied offhandedly. "But we don't get real involved." He smiled sheepishly. "I guess you could say we're not desperate enough... we're both single, we don't have wives or kids or anything like that. I can take a little wage cut, and I don't want to get blacklisted."

"Hey," Rico squawked, letting loose a string of slightly indignant gibberish. Private looked guilty. "Oh, I'm sorry, Rico. I forgot about your girlfriend."

Marlene tried to hide her shock, but she didn't quite succeed. "Rico has a girlfriend?!"

"Yeh!" Rico replied, looking proud. He reached into his pants pocket and produced a postcard-sized photo with weathered edges, holding it out to show to her. It featured a very shapely woman with blonde hair and a bright smile in a bathing suit, and was somewhat obviously a pin-up shot. Marlene tried to smile normally. "She's, ah, very pretty."

"That's Miss Perky," Private explained, pointing to the photo. "Rico takes her everywhere with him. His lieutenant gave her to him when they were in France."

Marlene gave him a long, hard look. "...Wait. So the postcard is the girlfriend?!"

"They have a beautiful love!" Private cried, suddenly seeming very defensive and rather sparkly-eyed. Rico nodded emphatically, clutching the photo to his chest. "Uh huh. Love."

Marlene sighed, deciding to just add this to the pile of distressing things she'd learned about Rico and leave it at that. "Right... love." She glanced around at the small groups of workers filtering through the space behind the furnaces. "So, which ones are Mason and Phil?"

She heard the sound of a man clearing his throat, and she spun around with a start. Two men stood behind her, both about the same height and build. One had messy reddish-brown hair and wore a rumpled tan button-down shirt, while the other sported a dark brown comb-over, a light yellow shirt, and suspenders. The second, more presentable-looking man gave Marlene an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have startled you," he began, speaking in an English accent that somehow seemed smoother than Private's, "but I couldn't help but overhear." He gestured to himself. "I'm Mason, and this is Phil." The other man gave her a wave.

Marlene waved back. "I'm Marlene. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Mason smiled at her, raising an eyebrow. "Now, if I may ask, what brings a nice young lady like yourself to our corner of the factory?"

Marlene explained to him that she was writing a story for the paper, and he agreed to answer her questions; he seemed quite eager, in fact. "The truth is that the Penguin Company is relatively small, so not many others know of our union's efforts," Mason explained. "Of course, we've reached out to the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, but additional publicity couldn't hurt."

"You've been in touch with the AA?" Marlene echoed, pencil scratching against the surface of her notepad. She was finally getting what she'd come here for, and it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from showing her excitement. "Because of the wage cuts?"

Mason smiled knowingly. "My, you've certainly done your research."

Marlene gave him a sly grin. "Well, I am a reporter, after all."

Private pouted. "I told her about it, y'know..."

Mason ignored him. "Yes, it's about the wage cuts, but there's a little more to it than that." He sighed. "Conditions here aren't much worse than anywhere else, but frankly, conditions everywhere are deplorable. In this country, the working man is treated like a slave."

Marlene had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Try to sound a little less like a propaganda machine, would ya? "So, what specifically is so bad about this factory?"

Mason snorted. "Where to begin?" Beside him, Phil made swift motions with his hands - sign language, though Marlene had never learned it. No wonder the other man had been so silent. Mason watched the movements of Phil's fingers carefully, nodding. "Yes, the heat is certainly an issue, but that's to be expected at a steel mill. The problem is that a man working a full-day shift only receives two ten-minute breaks. It's constant, hard work, all day long, with no rest, and in an environment that is quite literally a furnace. Why, just last week, Bert collapsed and was out for nearly three hours. It happens more often than you'd think."

"That's certainly not good," Marlene agreed, writing as swiftly as she possibly could. She was a little disappointed, though; everything Mason had told her so far was fairly standard fare as far as factory working conditions were concerned. She might have to nudge him in a slightly more interesting direction. "You know, yesterday I met a man named Kowalski who's here as a scientific management consultant. It seems like he's not exactly very well-liked around here… why is that?"

Phil's hands moved rapidly, and though Marlene couldn't tell what he was signing, judging by his expression, it was probably something very insulting. Mason's eyes narrowed, and he huffed angrily. "Forgive me for sounding snide, but if you had an egomaniacal twit of a scientist who's obviously never actually worked a day in his life hovering over your shoulder constantly telling you how to do your job, you'd hate him, too." He sniffed. "Matter of fact, he's one of the biggest reasons things have gotten so bad here lately. Him and that tyrannical Skipper."

Private, who'd been watching the interview with idle curiosity, suddenly stepped towards Mason, anger in his expression. "Look, I understand you being mad at K'walski," he began, somewhat hesitant despite being clearly worked up. "But I won't stand for anybody badmouthing Skippah behind his back!" Rico seemed to share the sentiment, stepping forward menacingly and growling.

Mason sighed, raising his hands. "Alright, I'm sorry. I know how much you respect the man, but this is a factory, not the Marines. You can't work a man like a dog and then expect him to drop and give you twenty when he makes a mistake. Skipper's simply too wrapped up in his own world to realize that."

Private bristled, and Rico's growling increased in volume as he bared his teeth; he looked like he might actually eat Mason. Marlene's eyes widened, and she took a few steps back. As a reporter, she'd been in a few hairy situations before, but she really wasn't liking her chances if things got ugly here. Her hands made contact with the wall behind her, and she pressed up against it, watching with dread as Rico advanced towards the union leaders, who seemed to be gearing up for a fight. She closed her eyes. I can't watch...

"Alright, boys, break it up." Suddenly, Skipper appeared from out of nowhere, placing himself firmly between Rico and Mason. "Save the roughhousing for the yard; don't want to burn yourself back here." When Rico continued to growl, Skipper grabbed him by the front of his shirt and glared at him. "I said stand down, soldier. I don't know what started this, but I sure as hell won't allow fighting in my factory."

Rico glowered, but he backed off. Private looked extremely relieved, and his eyes began to look misty. "Skippah!" He sniffed.

Skipper glanced at him, then turned to face each of the others, a stern expression on his face. "Alright, which one of you boorish apes made Private cry?!" He leaned in close to Marlene, his eyes narrowed. "Was it you?!"

Marlene froze, her heart pounding. "I, uh, no, I-"

"Speak up, soldier!" Skipper barked, frosty blue eyes boring relentlessly into her own. "Rico's the only one allowed to stammer around here!" He paused, then tilted his head slightly, eyebrow raised. "Wait a minute… you're not one of my boys…"

Marlene winced, bringing her hands up to shield her face and closing her eyes. "I'm not a spy!" she blurted, expecting the supervisor to lash out at her. Instead, she only heard silence, then a low chuckle. She slowly lowered her arms and opened her eyes to find Skipper laughing lightly, his hands on his hips. "Well, well," he began, smirking at her. "Miss Marlene Ottinger. I suspected you might try something, but I didn't think you'd go this far. Very sneaky of you."

Marlene was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how best to respond to this turn of events. She ultimately decided that trying to lie to Skipper now wouldn't be worth it. Instead, she gave him an unsteady smile. "Well, I did tell you I'd see you at ten. It's ten now, isn't it?"

"Try nine-fifty," Skipper responded with a smirk. "I won't fault you for being fashionably early. But I must say that Private's overalls don't suit you at all."

Before he could say anything further, Mason cleared his throat. "Skipper, we need to talk."

"Do we?" Skipper's eyes seemed to turn cold upon noticing the union leader. "Well then, out with it."

Mason cast a somewhat nervous glance at Rico. "In your office. This matter requires privacy."

Skipper was silent for a few moments, frowning. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. Let's go." He seemed tense as he turned and walked away, Mason and Phil following close behind him. Before turning the corner back onto the main floor of the factory, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Marlene. "If you need anything, ask Kowalski. He should be somewhere around the stoves." There was an edge to his voice, yet Marlene sensed that it wasn't directed at her. "And don't even think about following me."

Marlene blinked. That last sentence had sounded strangely like an invitation. Her brow furrowed in concentration. Matter of fact, Skipper didn't freak out nearly as much as I'd thought he would when he caught me dressed up like a worker. He seems... different today. Like he actually wants me here. But why?

Private tapped her on the shoulder. "Um, Marlene, Rico and I have to get back to work, so-"

Marlene nodded absentmindedly, already heading in the direction Skipper had gone. There was no way her reporter's curiosity was going to let her do anything else. "I'll give you your clothes back later," she said hurriedly, dashing through the factory towards the supervisor's office.

She had a feeling that whatever Mason wanted to talk to Skipper about was going to make a fantastic story.

Kowalski heaved a sigh, surveying the factory with a gaze brimming with the dreary melancholy particular to those unlucky in love. Doris, whom he considered to be the love of his life, had let him down gently but firmly the night before, telling him in no uncertain terms that she liked him, but would never like like him, and he'd had trouble dragging himself out of bed that morning. Kowalski had lived alone since he'd begun attending college, and now that he was approaching his thirtieth birthday, he was all too aware that the window of time during which it would be possible for a beautiful member of the opposite sex to find him attractive was beginning to close. This awareness, combined with the recent and explosive failure of an experimental side project he'd spent the better part of a year perfecting, left him wallowing in a mire of lethargy, depression, and self-pity. The fact that he'd never considered scientific management his true calling wasn't helping matters, either. He longed for a lab to call his own, where he could practice the sort of groundbreaking science that had always been his passion. If only he wasn't so bad at securing funding...

He was jolted from his thoughts as one of the dials on the stove next to him hissed. "Brahe's boxers!" he muttered, watching the indicator flutter back and forth. "Could simply be a faulty dial... or it could be overheating." He straightened, smoothing his lab coat. "I'd better tell Skipper."

He turned away from the stoves and headed towards the supervisor's office, passing Rico and Private on his way. Odd... he thought to himself as they passed. Private usually wears overalls... perhaps it's laundry day.

As he neared the office, he spotted someone kneeling underneath Skipper's window. The man wore a grey cap, a white shirt, and a pair of denim overalls, and appeared to be holding a glass to the wall, ear pressed against its base. Kowalski raised an eyebrow. Who would want to eavesdrop on Skipper...?

He tapped the eavesdropper's shoulder, and was surprised to find himself staring into a woman's face. She backed away from him, startled, and he blinked. "...Marlene?"

The reporter, apparently less than pleased to see him, tried to hide the glass behind her back. "D- Dr. Kowalski," she sputtered, forcing a smile. "Good morning... I didn't see you there."

Kowalski frowned, hands on his hips. He hoped he looked intimidating. "Ms. Ottinger, why are you eavesdropping on Skipper? That's very rude, not to mention questionable and suspicious."

Marlene held a finger to her lips to shush him. "Can you try to keep the stern admonitions down a bit?" she hissed, placing the glass back on the wall and pressing her ear against it. "Don't want them to hear us in case I'm wrong."

Kowalski raised an eyebrow, kneeling down until his face was nearly level with Marlene's. She'd always spoken to him in complete sentences before, but now she seemed very excited, and her manners appeared to be slipping. "Wrong about what? What exactly is going on in there?"

"Wrong about Skipper wanting me to hear this," Marlene replied offhandedly, straining to hear through the glass. "And as for the second question, if you don't shut up, we'll never know, now will we?"

Kowalski thought for a moment. He had to admit, he was curious about what could be so interesting as to drive a professional woman like Marlene to dress in drag and eavesdrop in the most obvious way possible... and if Skipper really was not opposed to her listening in, then...

Marlene grumbled under her breath, adjusting the glass. "This isn't working... the wall must be too thick. I'm hearing voices, but I can't make out what they're saying."

Kowalski decided that he would do something unorthodox. He stood up, stepping towards the other side of the office, and motioned for Marlene to follow him. "There is an air vent located approximately four inches off the ground on the south side of the supervisor's office - I believe it is possible to hear even the softest whisper inside the office from there. I passed the vent once and accidentally overheard Skipper mumbling something about Denmark."

He realized immediately that the last part may have been a bit too much, but it had caught Marlene's attention. She sprang to her feet. "Where's this air vent?!"

"This way," Kowalski replied, jogging around to the right side of the office; the air vent was in the corner where the office wall met the wall of the factory itself. Marlene rushed forward, pulling out her notepad and pencil and crouching down, ear next to the metal grating. Kowalski sunk to his knees, his head next to hers. The two of them were completely silent, waiting with bated breath. Kowalski found himself smiling, adrenaline pumping through his veins. This was exciting.

A voice sounded from within the office, echoing through the vent. It was Mason. "We've already contacted the AA, Skipper. We simply wanted to give you one last chance to revise your position and negotiate with us."

"You know I can't do that," Skipper replied firmly, the vent giving his voice a harsh, metallic tone. "I've said this a million times, but I'll say it again: the bosses haven't authorized me to meet any of your demands. If you have a problem, take it up with the central office."

Mason sighed. "Always the military man, following orders from above. I had hoped you would show some initiative, considering how obviously attached you are to the men here. But it looks like you're going to disappoint us again after all."

Skipper's next comment sounded curt, full of restrained anger. "Is that all you came here to say?"

"Of course not." Mason's voice was firm. "The AA is coordinating a national strike among steel mill workers, and we will be joining starting tomorrow." There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor - most likely Mason standing. "We just wanted you to know that you've brought this upon yourself."

Kowalski didn't hear Skipper's reply; he was too busy processing what he had just heard. The workers are going on strike? He'd heard all about the many strikes that occurred almost weekly across the nation - they were violent, chaotic affairs, and always ended with men beaten beyond recognition and the firing of shots. And tomorrow, he would be in the thick of it.

Beside him, Marlene scribbled on her notepad, an ecstatic grin on her face. "Finally!" she murmured to herself, Kowalski's very existence having disappeared from her thoughts. "This is the scoop I've been waiting for!"

Kowalski paled. He only hoped her scoop wouldn't be the death of him.

Author's Note: Dun dun DUUUNNN! XD

Will our gangly scientist survive the strike? What's up with Skipper's conspicuous lack of raving paranoia? Will Private ever get his overalls back? Find out next time!