(First posted on a Google+ SF Nanofic community for a competition.)

The green army stretched into the distance, three feet tall.

“You see the problem?”

“You wanta greenjack-fab, you gotta. By them, works, innit?”

“And you don’t see any flaws here?”

“Works. More ‘an, not part of the deal. You come to Bozzet for cheap, you get…” The azayf shrugged. “Works.”

The linobir gripped his gun. “Deal’s off, ratcha. I paid for prime meat, not for selffucking midgets.”

“You skip? This estrev’s turf, and you be breathing deep.” A grin. “Free word?”

“What?”

“So short. They only using half the feed t’make, innit? You make twice as many, stack ‘em up.”