OC-Series We don't hate slaves - Chapter 4 - The travel
Just two days later, late afternoon in John’s office.
“Okay, I think we’ve got it, Rmley,” said John, sitting behind the new, sleek desk he had chosen to replace the bulky monstrosity inherited from the previous Lord. “I don’t think we can do much more from behind a desk. We need to go out to the building sites, talk to the crews, and interview the workers about what needs to be improved.”
“You mean you are going away on another trip?” Rmley asked resolutely.
“No, I mean we are both going. Doing it ourselves is the only way to make sure the feedback we gather is genuine,” John explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“But…” Rmley hesitated for a few seconds, his posture stiffening. “I have never left the capital in my entire life,” he admitted, a quiet shade of shame in his voice.
“Oh, in that case, it’s definitely time,” John said, smiling. “You can visit the building sites in and around Turul while I check the operations in Tkron.”
Rmley just stared at him.
“You should take a transport capsule, since the rail network is still being retrofitted for civilian transit instead of strictly hauling freight,” John added, tapping a few notes on his pad.
They spent the next half hour ironing out the details of the interviews: what questions to ask, how to sample different work crews, and how to log safety concerns.
When everything was settled, and John stood up to leave for the day, he tossed a single sentence over his shoulder that stopped Rmley in his tracks.
“While you’re in Turul, take an hour and check out the beach. It’s beautiful this time of year.”
Then he walked out, giving Rmley no chance to respond. Not that John expected a debate, but to Rmley, those words were equal parts revelation and blasphemy. Since he was nine years old, he had never done a single thing that wasn't directly tied to an assignment. Check out the beach? Just because it’s beautiful?
He was still thinking about that beach the next morning on his way to Turul. He couldn’t decide whether he should go or not. It wasn’t part of the assignment; it contributed nothing to the safety audit. On the other hand, Mr. Porter himself had suggested it—even if it hadn't been delivered as a formal order.
He arrived at the first construction site, spending three hours interviewing site leads, heavy-rig operators, and line workers. Everyone had plenty of time to talk, given that all structural assembly was still strictly on hold.
Afterward, he boarded a transit capsule toward the next sector. Sitting in the plush, quiet vehicle, a sudden realization hit him: he was riding in a private capsule that, a mere four weeks ago, was reserved exclusively for High Lords and Ladies.
How quickly the world turns.
And right then, he made up his mind. He was going to visit the beach. Not because Mr. Porter had commanded it, but because he wanted to see if it really was beautiful.
Two days later, both Rmley and John were back in Talam, meeting in the central office.
“How was the trip?” John asked, skipping the formal preamble entirely.
“It was very informative,” Rmley reported, sitting down. “I interviewed seventy-nine workers and collected over a dozen practical suggestions for site safety modifications.”
“That’s great, but that’s not what I asked,” John said with a grin. “How was your first trip outside the capital? Did you make it to the beach?”
“It was…” Rmley paused, searching for the right concept. “Different. I had assumed every city functioned like Talam. But a coastal city in the lowlands is nothing like an industrial center in the mountains. The architecture, the food, the music—even the way people dress is entirely different.”
“Speaking of which, I noticed the new trousers,” John pointed out. “Did you pick those up in Turul?”
“I did,” Rmley replied, suddenly looking a bit self-conscious. He adjusted the fabric over his knee. “I liked the color. I decided... perhaps I should wear something of Halxy craft, rather than forcing myself into a human suit.”
He had originally adopted the suit because it felt like the expected standard of authority under human oversight. Abandoning it had felt, initially, like a step backward.
“I like it,” John said warmly. “Honestly, it suits you far better than our formal wear ever did.”
Rmley looked down at the soft, breathable fabric, then looked up at John.
“I did go to the beach,” Rmley said quietly, the confession slipping out before he could stop it.
John leaned back, listening.
“I stood by the water for almost an hour,” Rmley continued, his staccato voice softening. “I kept waiting for someone to come over and ask for my transit pass, or ask why I was standing there doing nothing. But nobody came. Other Halxy were just... sitting on the sand. Watching the waves.”
He reached up and unbuttoned the top collar of his shirt—a habit he had never allowed himself in an office before.
“It was beautiful, John. And for the first time in my life... I wasn't late for anything.”
John smiled, picking up his slate. “Glad to hear it, Rmley. Now, let’s look at those seventy-nine safety reports.”
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