Concessions

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Throwing the door open Olyver stalked towards Quinn's desk. "Where is Caitlin?" Olyver growled as he slammed his hands down upon the desk, emphasizing his displeasure.

Ignoring the outburst, Quinn flipped through more of the papers in front of him. Without looking away from his work, he asked, "Does it matter, Olyver?"

Pulling a document from his coat, Olyver snarled, "We have to make progress on the draft or the ships." Slapping the papers out of Quinn's hands, he threw the document into the man's chest, growling, "We've had this document for a month, and we haven't ratified it."

Lifting the draft, Quinn countered, "What makes you think the draft will be ratified?"

"We have to ratify the draft!" Olyver screamed.

"No, we don't," Quinn said, gathering the scattered papers around his desk. When he grabbed the last of the documents, he placed it on top of his skewed stack. Folding his hands together, Quinn glared up at Olyver and finished, "What we need to do is take that charter and perfect it."

"And we cannot do that without Caitlin," Olyver groused through a sneer.

Rising Quinn folded his arms behind his back and circled his desk to stand in front of the irate triumvir. Ignoring Olyver's reddening face, Quinn asked, "Why are you in such a rush, Olyver?"

"Impatient," Olyver stammered. "Why are you two sandbagging this?"

Olyver shook his head and returned to his chair. Lifting the draft, he spoke to Olyver as if he were a child. "This draft is still three to five years away from being necessary."

Pounding Quinn's desk again, Olyver leaned over the desk, screaming, "Stop using that as an excuse for sandbagging this draft, Quinn!" Pushing the papers off Quinn's desk again, Olyver insisted, "I'm tired of you and Caitlin trying to circumvent this crucial work with that trite argument!"

Propping his elbows on his desk, Quinn replied, "There's nothing trite with that fact, Olyver."

"Bah," Olyver snarled as he stalked over to his desk. Lowering himself into his chair, Olyver snapped, "I need to bring something substantial to my constituents, Quinn."

Quinn leaned on his desk, brandishing the draft like a baton. Olyver sneered at his fellow triumvir, but Quinn dropped it saying, "The new colonization ships haven't even been built yet, Olyver. We cannot return to the stars until the first new ship is complete and we cannot cut corners on that. Otherwise, we would have even more trouble reclaiming the stars, and you know that."

Olyver threw his hands up growling, "If you two hadn't dragged your heels on this, then we would already have a colonization ship."

Dropping the draft back to his desk, Quinn tipped his chair back lifting the front legs ever so slightly. With his arms folded across his chest, Quinn mused, "And if we'd spent the time designing and building the ship, we would not have flourished like we have."

Throwing Quinn, a glare, Olyver snarled, "But at what cost?"

"I'm not going to argue this with you again, Olyver," Quinn barked as his chair slammed back to the floor. "You know that this world was not prepared to support more than a dozen worlds worth of colonists overnight."

"We could have used the supplies, from the ship," Olyver protested.

"No," Quinn responded emphatically. "Had we deviated from our focus in any way, we would not have flourished."

Olyver's eyes narrowed while his foot started tapping on the floor. Leaning forward, Olyver raised his hand and was about to say something when a knock cut through the tense silence. Whipping his head around Quinn muttered, "Thank goodness." Raising his voice, Quinn bellowed, "Come in."

The wooden doors swung inward, and a tall and rail-thin man walked into the shared office. He gave a bow to Quin saying, "Mister Lambert Rein is here with the finalized plans for the new colonization ship."

"Please send him in, Tilton," Quinn said as he inclined his head.

"Right away, sir," the blond-haired man said, offering another deep bow to Quinn.

When the door closed, Olyver's glare intensified as he spat, "I thought the ship would have been built by now."

Gripping his forehead, Quinn muttered, "And what gave you that idea?" Releasing his head, Quinn shot Olyver an icy glare as he added, "You've been attached to this project every step of the way."

Olyver looked away, pouting at the rebuke.

"How can you not know what's going on with them?" Quinn asked when the other triumvir refused to reply.

"I knew about the progress," Olyver quipped. His scowl deepened as forced another complaint, "My constituents and I wanted faster results."

"I know what you all wanted," Quinn said as Tilton re-entered the office escorting the starkly contrasting Lambert Rein. Quinn offered the man a wide smile saying, "How is the design coming along Mister Rein?"

"We're finished with the most recent updates," Lambert replied as he handed a pad to Quinn. "We just need to get the final approval from you all," Rein added as crossing the room to give Olyver a pad.

Taking the pad from Lambert Olyver placed it on his desk asking, "When can the first of the new ships be ready?"

Lambert glanced over to Quinn, who waved him to answer. Clearing his throat, Lambert explained, "The first ship should be ready in three to five years."

"Unacceptable," Olyver protested slamming his hands upon his desk.

"Nonsense," Quinn chirped in. "The space docks are included in the plans?"

"Yes, sir," Lambert replied. "Those will be ready to go in about a year and a half."

Lifting his copy of the pad, Quinn responded, "Excellent news, Lambert, thank you."

"No," Olyver complained. "Excellent news would have been that we have a ship ready for launch."

"Ignore him, Lambert," Quinn said. "Place Caitlin's pad on her desk. Also, do what you can to shorten the estimate for the docks."

"We'll do our best, sir," Lambert answered before he left.

"Satisfied," Quinn asked.

"Barely," Olyver muttered.

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