Another drabble for another John Snyder character! This fellow is quite a jerk, though, so look out! It was sooo much fun writing this!

Some beach, somewhere

There's a big umbrella casting shade over an empty chair

Palm trees are growing and a warm breeze is blowing

I picture myself right there

On some beach


Orin Zento was a man of no-nonsense. He always went by the book. If anyone crossed him, he had no qualms about throwing the book at him. He didn't get to be the best labor negotiator for nothing, after all. He had made a career of putting labor strikes out of everyone's misery. And he had never failed.

This instance would be no exception. He would use any means necessary to see to that.

Personally, he was sick of the ceaseless whining and complaining of the "have-nots." If they would only put forth the effort and apply themselves (as he obviously had!), there wouldn't be problems like this. They were lazy. They wanted everything handed to them on a silver platter without having to work for it. It was as simple as that.

Orin loathed admitting it, but he had to face the fact that if it weren't for the protests of the proletariats, he would be out of a job. He would concede that point to himself, at least, but to no one else. Fortunately for him, as well as for the cause of justice, there would always be fear mongering trouble makers to keep him gainfully employed.

He pulled up the file on this particular mob's leader, Neeoma Connally. There was nothing noteworthy about her, he instantly deduced. She was the typical, self-righteous rabble rouser. He had seen others like her countless times.

Yes, this would be a piece of cake, albeit a quick piece of cake. He was on a tight schedule, after all. There were places to go, other zealots to crush. And in exactly two weeks from today, he was due for a relaxing vacation on an island in the South Pacific. The spot was naturally in the wealthy, respectable part of the South Pacific. He had well-earned it, in his opinion.

In the meantime, however, he would concentrate on the task at hand, which was to resolve the situation on Babylon 5. There was a strike brewing. He knew it. When he arrived, he would invoke the Rush Act and throw those low lives into the slammer where they belonged in the first place. Everything would return to normal, and then he would leave Commander Sinclair to pick up the unimportant pieces.

He gazed at the clock. The transport would arrive at the station in approximately five hours. There was just enough time for a nap. Orin reclined his seat back and stared at the stars going by outside his window until he fell asleep. And he dreamed he was lying in the sun on some beach…

No, I don't own Blake Shelton's "Some Beach." If I did, I'd be living the life I'm accustomed to, lying in the sun on some beach, somewhere...