Chapter 4: Scotland the Brave

"For fuck sakes. Fix it then, Gibbo. You and Addair get down and see what the issue is." Rennick berated to Gibbo outside on the Processing Quad. It was the height of noon. The song of the rig it's loudest. As well as the call and chatter of men at work echoing through the metal walls. Rennick was on the Processing Quad checking on the stack when he was ambushed by a distraught Gibbo.

"Easier said than done, Rennick. The B Generator got some gas coming out when we start it up. Canny pinpoint the issue unless we have it running. Gas could be toxic. If we had masks, then maybe. But you're asking us to risk our safety over…"

Rennick snipped back, "If that generator goes, the power supply is gone. I've already made requests to Cadal to fund the parts needed for Generator A, and wouldnae you know, the cunts haven't gotten back to me. If it's something that can be fixed on the rig, then we're damn well gonnae fix it. Sort it! What am I paying you for?"

"Not nearly enough to be inhaling poisonous fumes!"

"You're working on an oil rig, ya fairy. What'd you think? You were gonnae be taking in the fresh air as if the oil and gas was harmless? Jesus, we're probably breathing in poisonous fumes standing here now, Gibbo. This job ain't for the faint-hearted. You canny handle it, then fuck off back to Peterhead!"

Before Gibbo could grievously respond, a taunting yet agitated tone chimed from the stairwell in singsong. "Oh, Capitaaaaine!"

Rennick irked, "Jesus Christ…"

"Right," said Gibbo contently, "I'll leave you to it. Efters."

Rennick made a small sneer at Josie before grunting a sigh and walking out the Quad. Josie picked up pace to catch up. "McLeary is coming up to his end of orientation. Must be sour your plan didn't work."

"The fuck are you on about now?"

"Don't try to tell me you didn't have me saddled with an electrician to fuck up my training competency with Cadal. I'm on to you, Davidson!"

"It's Davey, you twit. No! It's Rennick! Or sir or boss. Or… monsieur, in your case. Once again, I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about. Time to bring that pretty head of yours back to Earth."

"Don't flatter me, monsieur. Doesn't suit you. I'm on to you. You sink you can get rid of me with child games like zat, you'll be in for a long, painful ride. Play stupid games win stupid presents!"

Rennick scoffed to himself as they entered the deck. "It's prizes."

"Whatever! You're no prize! You know your life would be so much easier if you just admitted I'm good and treated me as such! Look around! This place was a fucking junkyard before I came along. Half of the machines running are courtesy of me."

Rennick turned back to Josie with a glare as he held the handle to the grated gate door. "And if you weren't such an arrogant gobshite, I wouldnae have to keep telling you to fuck off. Now… fuck off!"

He went to push open the gate angrily and throw it back into her face as he usually had, but it was stuck fast. He tried a few times, then grunted and cursed with it but it stubbornly stayed.

Josie observed smugly, "Might be time for some new doors there, Capitaine. Or did you spend the whole budget on your ties?"

Rennick made a swift kick at the bottom of the grate and the door swung open. He taunted a closed smile to Josie before saying, "Takes some know-how, Cartier."

"Oh, look at you quoting the Cadal punchline! Zee Beira's own mascot."

"Go fix something!"

"What else would I be doing? I'm zee only one around here who does!"

Trots came down from the Administration steps calling eagerly, "Rennick! Can I have a minute, please?"

Rennick exhaled grievously, "Can I have a minute of fucking peace?"

"Sacrebleu! Here comes Union Man. Have fun, Capitaine." Josie said cheekily as she started to make her confident jaunt back to Engineering.

Trots caught up in heavy breath, "Aye, sorry, Rennick. This couldnae wait. Can we speak in your office?"

"What's this about?"

"You're gonnae wanna talk to me."

Trots and Rennick reached his office in shared silence before they finally took their seats. Rennick spread out his hands and asked, "Well? What's this about, Ivan?"

"Look. You and I have history, so it didn't feel right going forward with this without at least giving you a heads up."

"I served in the war with many faces. I barely paid mind to yours'. Donny do me a favour, just spit it out." Rennick said crassly.

"Right, then. I've assembled an enquiry of demands that I'll be taking to Cadal management and yourself, considering the unsafe conditions on the Beira. I've received some concerning complaints and it's upon my discretion that industrial action will be imminent if action is not taken on managements end."

Rennick glowered, "You've got to be pulling my leg with this, Campbell."

"Come now, Davey. Even my sense of humour ain't that bad."

"What's these complaints? Everyone is always fucking complaining. What else they do?"

"Well, just two days ago Brodie nearly died on the dive because an umbilical came loose."

"Aye, an octopus pulled it out. Was a doozy."

"You and I both know that umbilical could have never been dislodged by the likes of a marine animal. A damn octopus. Those things are made to weather much worse. It was degraded and corroded to shite when I saw it. Was due for replacing months ago. The railings down in the Under Rig are a complete travesty. At anytime they'll give, and you'll have a death on your hands."

Rennick took off his glasses nonchalantly to wipe them clean as he said, "You expect me to just pull these supplies outta me arse? You think I haven't been on Cadal every chance I get about those fucking walkways?"

"The pipefitters, Alex and Sunil, they have knowledge in those kinds of repairs. Delegate them down there for a week or two to get it done. We already have what we need."

"They were hired for pipefitting, they're needed at that, too. If it's getting repaired, it's getting done right. Best we can do is a patch, that's not right enough."

Trots shook his head in exasperation and continued, "Fine. The lifeboats still haven't been installed properly. I've been on this rig for 2 years, and every time they're soon to be installed it's backdropped again!"

"Do you want me to fix the Under Rig trail or lifeboats? You canny have both, Trots."

"That's just it!" Trots reanimated in upset, "There's too many to count! By all accounts, this rig shouldn't even have personnel on it. Not until the repairs are done away and safety measures concrete. You and Cadal were so hellbent to get this operation off the ground and start drilling, you slapped this rig together with sticks and rocks just to have the face of an offshore oil rig so you could get to what really matters to you all. Oil! Profit. Not the crew. Not the safety requirements needed for an operation with this kind of risk. It's unacceptable, Davey! It's immoral and frankly it should be illegal. We're still scheduled to be out here for another eight months before we move the rig. In that time a death is a very real possibility in these kinds of conditions!"

"So, what're you proposing? You expecting a miracle?"

"The rig should be shut down for a month or two with no personnel…" Trots started to elucidate as Rennick wheezed in disbelief, "… other than the chippies and engies to fix this rig up right as the rest of us go home. We should continue to be paid for our absence as the state of the rig isn't our fault, it's yours and Cadal's. Then, and only then can this operation continue."

"You've got to tell me what's rattling around in that egg-shaped noggin of yours'. Seems like you've got a fucking fantasy world in there," belittled Rennick as he slapped his hand to his armchair, "Honestly. You really think it's that simple, do you?"

Trots bit down his anger at the comment and continued, "The lifeboats. God forbid there's an accident, such as a fire that canny be contained or a lethal gas leak. If we canny evacuate efficiently enough, it'll be a massacre. A nightmare!"

"The chopper pad…!"

Rennick was cut off by a stern Trots, "- Is not good enough execution when an evacuation order is on way! To anyone who is not on the Administration port of the rig would need to navigate and risk life to get there! When they could easily use the lifeboats to the centre of the rig and avoid being too late to evacuate. Honestly, Davey. You're not this daft! I ken you taking the piss, right? I may have not been a face you cared to remember from the war, but I remember you were a Boy Scout for making sure your lads were kept frosty. It's been decades, sure, but you canny tell me you forgot just… common sense! You ken this is a complete joke but you're thinking about the money. Who's gonnae get paid when this place becomes the death trap it really is and kills us all!"

"You're acting like the bearings are about to give any moment. This serious risk you're spoutin' about is make believe as of now. There's no risk other than the time you're taking from me doing the inspections. When I get a detailed report, I'll send it to Cadal and it'll be addressed accordingly. Until then you're havin' a flap for no good reason. I've got a docket of thorns in my arse, please donny add to it, too, right? Now we done? I think we're done."

Trots implored, "We're not done, Davey. I still have concerns and not to mention the ones you haven't addressed!"

"I said I would, Ivan. Go dunk your heid in some cold water, do some breathing exercises, just calm down. It'll be sorted. No need for industrial action now."

"It's been time for industrial action for months! I gave you fair warning, but I'm sorry. You're still not taking these demands seriously. I'm gonnae have to consult the crew!"

"Gaun yourself, then!" Rennick blurted, "Have a crack, I don't fucking care, right? Not like it's gonnae do any good. Best you can do is be patient. I'll warn you that if you take this path, I can't promise Cadal won't take their own action."

"You are Cadal, Rennick. You may be their puppet, but you have far more say for these men and women than we do. You choosing not to take this seriously is you choosing the money over them. The crew wontae take kindly."

Trots pressed himself off the flimsy metal chair before Rennick's desk with a huff in his step. On his way out Rennick called, "These pricks don't take kindly to threats, mate. Keep your wits about you."

Trots stayed at the open doorway and muttered back, "Aye, you and all."

"He's still not listening, Evin! Every time I show my face in that office, he makes it a big fucking gag!" Trots was ranting angrily to Finlay inside his Admin office. She was sitting by the desk with a cigarette smoking up her corner.

"Did I just hear you cuss? Fucking hell, he must have really got to you." She observed dryly.

Trots paced behind his desk with his arms crossed. "He reckons a strike wouldn't do any good. I think…"

"Maybe it would? They want the schedule so badly, kinda difficult to keep it when the crew are all gone, no?"

"Aye, aye. But if I'm wrong it could cost crew their jobs… their bonuses. Could cost me my job. Then who would be trying to make this place better as it should be?"

Finlay scoffed to herself, "Not Davey, that's for sure."

"You mentioned the crew already being scunnert, right? I'm not the only one?"

"Aye. Surely not. Everyone's up to high doh. Especially after Brodie's accident. No one wants anything bad happening to the big man. Gave us a fright."

Trots suddenly stopped in his tracks, a small smile creasing to his face. He looked back to Finlay and excitedly tittered in his throat.

Finlay curved one back, "You what? Lightbulb?"

"To hell with it. Let's do it. Ha! They want to see what we're made of then let's test their bluff. Aye, this be Scotland's oil. Most the crew proud Scots and if there's anything we're known for, it's being ruthless and tenacious! Aye, that's what Scotland's all about. These corporate bastards canny pull the wool over our eyes and think we're just gonnae take it, are they?"

"Sure."

"We're not gonnae roll over like dead dogs and wait for one of us to kick it because of filthy greed!"

"Right."

"Then I say our fight starts here! We're Scottish and damn proud! We're a force to be reckoned with. If things aren't done right, then we'll damn well see to it gets right!"

"Have a go, then."

Trots kept his finger raised as if he was still ranting. Then turned himself around to his typewriter in an urgency.

"What're you doin now, wee man?"

"Writing up the concerns. Then… I'm gonnae hit the deck, hit the legs, reach every damn part of this rig and talk to as many crew as I can. Tonight, in the lounge is the first step! When we band together, there's not much that Cadal or Davey Rennick can do."

"Aye, good on ya."

It was nearing the end of day shift. Most the crew beginning their clean up and last task before packing up to Accommodation. Most drained and exhausted of a day in North Sea winds and oil grime. However, Trots was as spritely as a fox in dusk. He had his paperwork tucked under the right arm. His head held high as he strode through the Administration halls. Scotland the Brave tooting in the back of his head. Even humming behind his teeth. Only to be interrupted when he'd pass a crate or barrel in way, and he'd have to organize them neatly against the walls. Or if he saw rubbish laying way on his path.

Treat your workplace good, and it'll do the same for you.

He came out to the open air of the Processing Quad and spotted Gibbo and O'Connor. Already mates, he made his proposal to them first. The meeting would be taking place at the crew lounge a little after 7pm. To his delight, Gibbo and O'Connor agreed. He marked their names on his clipboard. As well as Sunil, Alex and Scooby when he happened across their clean up by the crew lift. Five in attendance! Not bad, Trots. Who else you got?

He passed Caz and Josie on their way back from Engineering. Both enjoying a smoke after a day's work cleaning the mud pumps.

"Hello, you two! Lad and lass. We'll be having a meeting of the minds tonight in the crew lounge at seven o'clock. A Union meeting. Will you be attending?"

Caz glanced to Josie in confusion. "What for?"

"For your right to have a safe workspace! Are you tired of tiptoeing across the Under Rig pathways? Or performing tedious patches because we donnae have the funds for proper maintenance? Or worse yet, the lifeboats still being out of action and likely for the foreseeable future unless we do something."

"You saying I'm shit at my job, Union man? I do zee tedious repairs on rig. You say my maintenance not proper?" Josie chastised with a smoke dangling from her lip.

"Pardon?" Trots stammered, "No. No, of course, not. You do a lovely job, Ms. Cartier. Magnifique, eh? I mean, wouldn't it be nice if you didnae have to do so much. Now, our Site Manager seems to think you can and you should. As well as putting us in harms way for greed, and nothing else. This meeting we will address all of it and come up with a plan of action to put our needs first."

Caz said amusingly, "I just got here but aye. Fight the power."

"Whoa. You saying this is bad for Rennick?" Josie confirmed.

Trots squished his lips together to try and find a more delicate wording. But anything he thought of didn't cut enough. "Yes."

"You should have led with zat, Campbell! I'm in!"

With both Caz and Josie on the attendance, Trots was starting to feel a pride he hadn't felt for months on the rig. A call of responsibility and brotherhood. To be a voice for those on the Beira that felt their own was pointless. He managed across Innes and Muir on their way to Accommodation and gave the same spiel.

Innes certainly didn't hold back. "Fuck him and fuck his fucking money and his fucking tie, I'll be there. Like to see how well he does without workers on deck. Likes to think of us as footsloggers. Aye, I'll slog my foot up his arse."

Muir merrily joined in, "If Innes is goin' I'll be there. I'm always ready to shite on Rennick's name. Cadal, sure, but Rennick? Too temptin'."

"Aye, good on ya, lads. Just… remember, this is about making the rig a safer place to work. Not a Rennick hate club."

Innes chortled, "It's a Union Meeting! Of course it's a hate club."

Trots gave them timid smiles as they both broke out into laughter. He caught up to Addair and Roper on their way to the Accommodation, as well.

"Here we go! A couple of rig veterans with years of experience up their sleeves! The Union needs blokes the sight of you two. Come on down to the crew lounge tonight and fight for your voice to be heard, aye?"

"What you on about now, Trots?" Addair groaned with stains of oil lathering his face.

"It's time to unionize! The rig has been unsafe from the go. Pay cuts will undoubtedly make things worse unless we take action. Wouldnae you wanna make sure your weens know their dads are safe and sound on their rig? That their Site Manager is taking good care of 'em?"

Roper asked cautiously, "Does Rennick know you're doin' this?"

"No. Bloody well hope not. Even if he did, wouldn't concern him. This is union. No matter what tantrum he pulls he canny do shite."

"Did he call you a name, Campbell? Seems to me the only one having a tantrum 'ere is you," sneered Addair as slapped his hard hat to his side.

"Ah, piss off." Roper spoke up, "Trots means well. I'm working the double, but I'd be there if I could. Godspeed, man."

Trots dejectedly watched Roper walk off and drolly looked to Addair, "Don suppose you'll agree to attend, will you?"

Addair smirked, "Hmph. Why not? Let's see what you got, Trotsy. Who knows? You might be the first on here rig to change my mind."

With Addair's departure Trots gave a glad smile, "Good man, Addair! Glad to see you coming to the light!"

Trots scurried up to the Accommodation, but Addair made his way to the phone.

"Oi, boss. You know Campbell is running around with a clipboard drafting crew for a strike, right?"

"So what?"

"So…" Addair scoffed, "Maybe you'll wanna put a stop to it? If even ten of these guys go on strike it's gonna be a skeleton crew. Not to mention we're short staffed already."

"By any luck, Cadal will listen and shut the rig down. I donnae know about you, but I wouldn't hate a two week break from this shithole, wouldn't you?"

"You want the demands to be met?"

"You wanna know the last time I had a day off, John? Six fucking months. Unlike you wee gobshites I donnae get time off. Not until we move this pile a shite to the next operation. Let em' at it. Worst that can 'appen is Cadal take their bonuses, by the looks of it that's gonnae happen, anyway. More pay cuts by December."

"Fucking bastards… you talk to them?"

"Sure, they got my letter, ignored everything I had written and blathered on about the drill. They're breathing down my arse crack about it. They donnae care about pay cuts, they just want their schedule met. Seems to me their bleeding, too."

"If only some of these cunts knew you're just as much a punching bag for Cadal as we are. They're likely gonna shit talk in that meeting, you know that?"

"Fuck if I care. Aye, just do me a favour, would you? Keep an eye. If I know what Trots is planning maybe I can work it with Cadal. Try to get them to open their eyes to what's gonnae stir if they do nothin'."

"Right, sure thing, boss. Catch you for a glass a' whiskey after, eh?"

The phone clicked. Addair stayed at the phone for a moment certain it was interference. "Oi, boss? … Boss?"

"Thank you all for coming! Take a seat, wherever you'd like. Let's get down to business."

Trots stood before the fair gathering of workers coming into the crew lounge. Faces such as Roy, Brodie, Innes, Muir, Addair and so on. All excitedly eager for Trots to make his point.

Roy gladly held up a soft drink and called, "A hand for Trotsy! For standing up to the man!" Caz joined in beside him with a Bucky.

The crew rose their beers shortly after, "Trots!" Many of the younger lads like Muir and Scooby already rowdy after two or three. Whistling and hooting with excited claps.

"Aye, cheers! Let's not get a round in yet, though, lads! Firstly, let's visit the task at hand. That's dealing with management neglect before things get worse. Trust me, they will get much worse if we continue to do nothing."

"So, what's your plan, Trots?" Brodie asked as he leaned over the edge of the pool table, "What's the problem?"

"We'll get to that. First, let's address the issues we've seen as of late. Anyone wannae chime in on what neglect or endangerment they've come across on the Beira? Anything at all."

Muir raised his hand and Trots pointed him out. Muir jested, "Aye, Bryce's socks, mate. They could kneel a skunk over dead, true!"

Scooby hissed, "Shut it, cunt!"

Many of the crew were in fits of laughter, with Trots nervously tittering along as he tried to settle them back to attention.

"Right. We've all had the misfortune of a whiff of Scooby's socks in the shower. None of us are the same after. But… let's try to stay serious on the task at hand, eh?"

Finlay rose her hand. "Half the infrastructure is falling apart at the seams, already. The stacks at Processing Quad are fixing to fall over. Only a matter a time they do and could squish one of us flat."

Many clapped and agreed, with Trots contently writing it down on his clipboard. "Thank you for pointing that out, Evin! Much of this rig was built in a short timeframe and limited budget, meaning if we were to be hit by a storm, let's say - there's a good chance it could blow half of it over."

Gibbo spoke up, "Engineering is constantly flooded, keeps fucking up the machines. Only matter of time it creates a current in the water we donnae know about till we're fried crisp. Boss man still expects us to trudge through there when it's knee high and all."

"The Legs are completely fucked, eh," mentioned O'Connor next to Gibbo, "Nearly fell twenty feet down cause the staircase gave out on me. Could have broken a leg if not for Gibbo. The infrastructure down there needs a full work up."

Many of the roustabouts down in the pontoons and engineers were nodding their heads and clapping along.

Innes raised his hand, "I gottae good one. The machines run like my fucking nips. If it's not one it's the other. If it wasn't for our wee Miss Cartier, there wouldnae be one working at all. They're cheap, recycled pieces of shite. Most of them outdated from the forties and fifties. If we canny get new equipment we need more mechanics and more tools. Poor Josie just worked to the bone."

Claps got louder with Josie sitting next to Finlay on the couch nodding her head. Not clapping or saying a word, just giving two thumbs up in agreement. Pure exhaustion written to her face in a lazy slouch.

"Very good, Innes! Yes, we are in dire need of mechanics. Not that we donnae appreciate all Ms. Cartier has done, but one person can only do so much. Especially on a rig of this scale. The machines are an essential part of the work we do. Without them, schedules get impeded, and overtime hours are drafted without adequate pay while waiting to be fixed. As Gibbo mentioned, they can also be quite dangerous if faulty, too."

Josie raised her hand and sat up straight. "Zat brings another absolute shit pie to zee table. Overtime hours. We do not get paid for overtime! Especially on-call staff like myself and Roper. Even you, Trots. Most days I work 18 hours! I only have enough time to eat, shit and get two hour sleep zen I'm back in fuckery and I'm fucking hallucinating! If zey want to give us big hours, fine! At least pay us what we deserve!"

Claps reigned again, this time with hoots and cheers from many of the exhausted crew. Sunil called shortly after, "You try to bring issues to Rennick you get verbally abused and threatened! Ignored every time! He's an absolute fucking gobshite who has no idea what he's doin'. Got his fucking mechanical engineering degree from the back of a cereal box."

And with that, the spirits of those sitting in the lounge got hot. Louder clapping, fiery whistling and hoots. Even some curses of Rennick in the corners of the room. Trots began to dwindle in nerves. Innes ranted, "Aye! He's on a power trip! Says he owns the rig, but let's not be fooled, he's a Cadal pet."

"He's impossible to deal with. Either he needs to change, or he needs to go!" Brodie called over the cheers, rising even more from the angry Cadal personnel.

Trots tried to settle down the hot spirits until Addair piped up. "Let's leave the boss man alone, alright? What you all don't understand is he's just as much a slogger to Cadal as we are. Man works twice as much as you whiners do and doesn't get paid the extra wage, either. Getting rid of him won't do fuck all, they'll just bring another corporate prick in from Aberdeen and it'll be the same shit different dunny."

Innes scorned, "Aye, of course you'd defend him, Addair. Wipe the shite off your nose first."

"Oh, shut up, you English twat!" yelled Josie lazily from the couch across the room.

"Watch your mouth, you donkeys!" Addair's voice blurred when Roy and Finlay came to Rennick's defence against the lot of the crew. Soon it was a mob of arguing. Fingers pointing angrily, curses tossing. Trots could feel his heart climb to his throat. Then in a whip of courage he brought his two fingers to his mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle.

With that, the room went quiet. All eyes on Trots and he began to explain, "Aye, I get it! Some of you want to blame Rennick, some of you don't. Let's just stay focused on the matters at hand. No matter if it was Rennick or not, it would still be Cadal in management. Like Innes said, this is their rig. Talking ill of the boss wonnae change anything. But taking action will! That's why I've called you all here today. If we have any hope of changing things for the better, we must act now!"

"So, what's the plan, Trots?" Brodie asked again a bit less patiently.

"The plan is industrial action. A full scale strike of all departments on the rig. If we band together on this, they'll have no choice but to address our concerns if they want to get this operation out of the way. Most imperative is drilling personnel; we'll need the lot of yous to stand your ground. Specialty crew like myself and Cartier. Finlay and Brodie. If we want this action to work, we need to hit them where it hurts. That starts with the most crucial crew on the Beira. If not then, the rest of us will strike until they have no one left."

The room went dauntingly quiet. So quiet Trots started to stammer his words. Josie said aloud, "Hang on. You want to strike? Like leave the Beira? Me?"

"That's right," confirmed Trots.

Slowly the mood in the room had shifted. Josie exclaimed, "Connard! I can't just leave! I'm doing my job competency here. If I went on strike, zey would pull my scholarship, I'd be absolutely fucked! C'est fou, Union man!"

Gibbo asked, "Would it be paid?"

Trots scoffed, "No, Jim. It wouldnae be paid. We'd be going on strike. They wouldnae pay us."

"Then the fuck is the point? My son's livelihood is this job."

Caz rubbed the back of his neck. "Aye, I canny leave, either. Got some issues on shore."

Roy grumbled to his side, "You'd be standing up to the man to go meet the man, eh."

"Some of us have bills to pay. Mouths to feed," chimed Innes.

"It's a tough market out there, Trots. Hell, we're in the middle of a recession." Dobbie said dourly.

Muir added, "And inflation and all. Naw, I canny."

"How is this supposed to help us if it puts us into bankruptcy, eh? It would just become a show down between us and Cadal. They'd know we'd need to get back to work." Addair explained coolly, with a few dejected agreements from the faces.

Trots could feel the assemblage of unity fleet in a matter of moments. As it did, so did his spirit to continue the meeting.

"Look, just… sign your name on the pamphlet if you agree. If you don't… go back to your business, I guess." Trots slapped the clipboard on the pool table, not wanting to see the many bodies walk past it aloofly. Caz followed Trots out the room with a concerned glare.

"Poor wee man. Wasn't the turn out he was hoping for, I reckon," observed Caz as Scooby played music on the jukebox. As if the meeting was simply a distraction from the lounging of pool and darts the room was made for.

"Mah. Trots has been trying to change things around here for months. No luck. Not the first time he's given the strike spiel. Every time he does, usually ends in the same way." Roy explained.

"He's got a fair point, though," said Caz in a shrug, "We donnae do anything it's just gonnae get worse."

"Right. But… we can't afford to do anything. A lot of the lads here are like you. Got a family, kids to feed. With the recession on Scotland now, makes it nearly impossible to even think of doing it. Trots is right, strike is the only option. It's not a doable option, however. Cadal and Rennick know that."

Caz scoffed and looked up to the pamphlet being ignored and even moved out of the way of the pool table. "Clacky bastards…"

Trots was on his way back to his room. A slack in his jaunt as he pressed his hands into his pockets. Some of the men were getting ready for bed, or ready for their night shift as showers were steaming and cabins were blaring with voices. He turned the corner to see Addair and Rennick. They were outside Rennick's cabin. Both in casual wear soon to be in bed, as well. Trots slowed his stride when the two noticed him. Rennick didn't scowl but kept his attention on him sternly. Addair left him then before saying, "Just thought you should know." Trots caught the end of the sentence.

Rennick walked up to him coolly. "So, how did it go?"

"Reckon you know, already. Is that not why Addair was there? You think I'm daft?"

"Untwist your knickers, Campbell, I'm just asking. Aye, it didn't go well this time, but maybe when you try again, and you will, you'll get some spirits as heated as you."

"You what? You wanted us to strike?"

"Naw, I wouldnae say I wanted it. It'd never happen the way you wanted, Trots. Either way, Cadal would find a way to end the escapade in its tracks before you even got off the ground. Maybe I was… hopeful. But… I sure as shit knew it wouldnae happen."

Trots blinked a few times in surprise. "What are you on about? Hopeful?"

"Remember when we were stationed out on that boat? Nearly three months, wasnae it? Waiting for combat… praying that we wouldn't see those German masts over the horizon."

Trots thought for a tender moment and nodded, "Aye. I do. Hard to forget. Proper miserable, it was. Thick of winter and surviving on rations."

Rennick went inward himself as he leaned against the hallway wall. "Yet the Blitz on shore was arching up, I still found myself dreaming of land. Wanting something normal and safe. Wife and weens. Not out on the open water waiting for that pit in my stomach to finally crawl out of the white. Confirming the worst fear."

Trots said it quietly, "The nazis never came, though."

"Aye," said Rennick huskily, "They didnae have to. I was still… fucking terrified. The waiting. The waiting was the worst. Not knowing what was going to happen until it did."

"And what's going to happen here?"

"I don't know." Rennick replied after a time of silence, "I'd reckon… that's why I was hopeful." He stayed contemplating for a moment. Then opened the door to his cabin. "Check over the med kits in the morning, will you? Dive port needs to be restocked."

Rennick closed the door before him. Leaving a strange feeling in Trots' gut after. Curiously for him, it reawakened his spirit once more.

Three in the morning on the Beira was still lively with nightshift crew, but only to certain parts of the rig. In Administration quarter, it was as quiet as a Glasgow neighbourhood at the late hour. Quiet enough Trots was certain no one would see. A shadow was moving outside the Installation Module. Tall and slender, a hood pulled over their head. Trots slipped into Rennick's office. It was dark and cold as winter inside. He had a flashlight in his pocket but wouldn't turn it on unless he had to. When he reached Rennick's filing cabinets, the flashlight was an inevitability. He tried to keep the light out of the window view as he scoured files. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, but he stayed praying it would find him before he knew what it was. Most of Cadal's budgets and revenues finally breathing up to the surface. He took every number cautiously. Seeing the direction of funds to corners a rig company shouldn't invest in. He followed the trail. He followed it to pay cuts upon pay cuts. Memos sent out in the width of a book. Pay cuts to Rennick. Letters oblique and vague in demands to his person. Trots was slowly beginning to understand Rennick was truly just a pawn. Then he happened across a certain document. A confidential document that raised further questions than answers.

David Rennick,

Attached is the key to the laboratory upon Chief Executive Officer Carlisle Fisher's request. Personnel are not authorized to access contents. Personnel includes that of the Site Manager. You are to safe keep but not utilize key. Upon discovery that these demands are not met will subject in immediate termination of all parties involved in this act on the Beira D oil platform. Including yourself as the Site Manager. Identity of the lab and key must remain confidential or will result in immediate termination of yourself and all parties of knowledge.

Sincerely,

Professor Stewart Colson, Aberdeen Cadal Branch