"Look Caleb, I'm sorry but I'm going to need at least 150 mil more this month. Possibly more." said the admiral into the comm unit.
"Damn it Derek, my crews are overworked as it is. And you keep putting in orders for more funds! This @#&* don't grow on trees. It's getting harder to get through the passage and the Corsairs are demanding more and more in taxes, we just can't keep up. What the hell do you need it for?" came the angry reply from the harried man on the screen. It was obvious he hadn't been getting much sleep.
"You know I can't..." Derek began but was immediatly cut off again.
"Don't the Navy pay for all this crap? I mean what the *#%$@! are they doing that you need to harrass me for more credits. A pause. "This is insane!"
"Alright Caleb, calm down!" the admirals tone left no question about it. "I need more credits. Period." then his toned sofened. "I know you have been working doubletime and I appriciate it, I really do. Would it help if I sent an escort down to help out?"
The man on the screen sighed "Maybe, I don't know. Can you even do that?"
"I think that I can arrange that. I am after all the Govenor." Derek smiled. "I'll dispatch, unofficially of course, a fighter to provide escort. And you'll be getting the standard deal. 15% yield on investment." he finished.
"I'd like to actually see some of those "yields." grumbled Caleb. "You'll have your money in two days. Oh and send down that Scotch you owe me this time. Make it a double."
"Will do, Caleb. And hey take care of yourself will ya." said Derek
"You too "Admiral". You too." and with that the screen went dark.
-Incoming Transmission-
Comm ID: Govenor Adamson / California
DOD: WILCO
I will have the requested funds in two days time. Standard delivery proticals.
Govenor Derek Adamson
Military District of California
<span style="color:#CCCCCC">"BOLT FROM THE HEAVENS"
</span>
"Nobody ever won a war by dying for his country, you win wars by making the sorry SOB's die for theirs!"
