In the lion's den, Murder Upon Mercury chapter 1

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Here's from my rough draft for my newest book that I'm working on while unemployed right now, let me know what you think.

“Is that you in the security footage repairing one of the mining drills?” asked Chief Administrator Linderfeller, sitting comfortably in his lavish brown leather chair behind his solid oak desk, luxuries few could afford to be shipped from Earth.
“Does it look like me? Maybe so. Hey, what if I have a twin I don’t know about though chief?” replied Greg, as he sat across from Linderfeller in a deliberately far less lavish folding chair of rusted steel. “So what if it was though? Did you have a problem with me fixing anything for the last few years? No. So, why is this a problem now?”
“So you admit it? Good.” Linderfeller tapped out notations in his datapad, presumably reporting admission of guilt or whatever. “Are you rated to repair mining drills? Do you even know what the qualifications are?”
“It had a worn out motor, I swapped the motor out from another broken drill that the motor was still good in, and now it works; what’s the real problem? Is it my report to Earth Republic’s Labor Standards about how you’re requiring us to mine without reinforcing the tunnels?”
Linderfeller took a sip from his coffee cup, glared at Greg, and tossed the remaining coffee in Greg’s face. Then he slammed his cup on his desk, shattering the cup.
Greg recoiled from the pain, but regained his composure, contemplating acting in kind but trying to remain calm.
“That, Mr. Donovan, was the other item I wished to speak with you about” said Linderfeller. “You see, we have here what’s called a chain of command. Do you know what that is?”
“Oh I saw this episode of a show from last century, it’s a chain you go get and beat me with to show that you’re in command, right?” Greg took out a handkerchief and cleaned his face. “Although it’s not illegal for citizens of the Earth Republic to make independent complaints, now is it?”
“Maybe not in letter, but it’s a serious breach of etiquette to say the least” Linderfeller said as he stood up and started looking over his collection of antique baseball memorabilia, in particular a baseball bat signed by some famous athlete from decades ago. “Do you know what it means to be a team player Mr. Donovan?”
“Is that where you have one guy barking and everyone else jumping through hoops saying ‘how high?!’ while there’s like alligators running amok for some reason?”
Linderfeller chuckled, picking up his favorite baseball bat. “Almost right Mr. Donovan, and I’m the one that barks, and you’re one of the many born to jump through hoops for me.”
“What a time to be alive” said Greg, watching carefully and preparing to either dodge or parry if he should be hit with the bat.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Donovan, yes indeed” said Linderfeller, replacing the bat on its stand within the shrine of trinkets displayed. “You and the other morons here are here to obey me. You live to serve me, you die to serve me. One word from me, and it’s out the airlock with you, with everyone if I feel like it.”
Greg couldn’t think of anything to respond to that, except perhaps taking the metal chair and using it as Linderfeller was hinting he might use the bat.
“So, now tell me, do you know what the requirements for repairing a mining drill are?” asked Linderfeller.
“A PhD in everything in the universe for a 1.5 credit pay grade increase?” replied Greg.
Linderfeller grinned his sharky yellow-toothed smile, “always have to be the master of snark now don’t you, Greg?”
“Well, yeah, if you fire me from mining I guess I have to be the court jester or something right?”
“Oh what’s this now about firing, Greg?” asked Linderfeller as he sat back in his seat, leaning forward his lanky anorexic frame and staring point blank at Greg. “I’m not going to fire you, you are a valuable worker; I have decided to only suspend you, but I want you to know why.”
“And why’s that, the chain of command?”
“You got it in one guess!” Linderfeller leaned back into his seat and slapped his legs. “Somebody get this moron a gold star, you actually got something right for once!”
“Yippie.”
“As for the lack of reinforcement: reinforcing tunnels is what’s known as dead-work, it’s not bringing in money, and that’s the only thing that matters.”
“Right…”
“And as for your report against me, well I suppose you’re lucky it didn’t go through. Every iota of communication goes through me, so I get to select what’s reported and not. Of course, it’s not like it would have mattered anyways, you don’t have the relevant qualifications in structural engineering to say what’s safe or unsafe now do you?”
“No.”
Linderfeller smirked, retrieving a new coffee cup and filling it from a spout on his desk. “So, we understand each other, correct Mr. Donovan?”
“Yes.”
Linderfeller stood up and opened the door, the sharp iron smell of the foundry outside bursting in like a blast furnace. “Good. Then you’re free to go, enjoy your week of suspension.”
Greg walked out as the chief held the door for him, careful to avoid contact lest the boss accuse him of assaulting a superior. As soon as he was outside in the heat, the door slammed behind him as loudly as Linderfeller’s pencil thin arms could manage.
Greg sighed. “Well, could be worse.”