“I’d trust a naked person with no home before I trust another suit like you.”
—Galvan Ite, advocate for the poor across the Nova Rim
Zaina crossed her arms. “Awfully noble of you.”
“Yeah, though it probably was more about ego than anything else. You do so much out there, for the galaxy-at-large, but it’s so big that none of it really feels like it matters. Sure, I arrested the higher-ups of the Oligarch Cartel—and the power vacuum left life worse for the people living in their former territory. There’s always another group of assholes looking to get one over on people, whether legally or not, and they’ll test whatever boundaries they can to get what they want. But here? Here, everything I did mattered. I got to watch every life I saved flourish. Here the people were eternally grateful. There was no next case keeping me up at night, no chase, no political bullshit. Just—well, life, I suppose, and all the problems that come with it.”
With a nod, Xyrthe replied, “Your own little world to look after. A little bubble of order amid the galaxy’s chaos.”
“Yeah,” Fell scratched his head. “Yeah, there’s probably more truth to that than I’d be comfortable admitting. So—I came here to hunt someone down, and stayed because I figured these people could use my help defending themselves, and I could use their help in sorting out my ideas on what life is supposed to be—what it can be. It was good, too, for about ten years. Then Almada got the contract. That’s when things took a fast turn for the worse.”
“So we’ve heard,” Zaina said. “Ondor said that’s when you started massacring the planet’s population because people wanted to leave.”
“Now, hold on,” Fell said, holding up a hand in protest. “I ain’t never killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me. I’m guessing Almada told you he gave the people of this world an offer, that he tried to be fair and impartial in all this; well, let me tell you, the ‘offer’ he sent was laughable. He offered to relocate us to a bubble on an asteroid—to be laborers for some corporate guild experiment. Anyone who didn’t want that would be shipped to a mining colony in the outworlds, where there’s no laws on how we can be treated. See, Almada saw the people of Archava as part of the resources he had purchased and was supposed to profit from; but very few of our citizens took his offer. You can go and find the ones that did—I’m sure Almada has the records somewhere—and find out what happened to them, if you like.
“As for the rest of us—well, the rest of us were a liability, an obstacle,” Fell’s gaze lowered to the ground. “After the ‘offer’ was denied, he brought his personal warship and a small army of mercenaries, led by Ardual from Derin Bas, and set about slaughtering whatever holdouts remained.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“How were you able to survive?” Zaina asked. “I thought Freewater didn’t have a lot of weapons.”
A half-smile flashed across Fell’s face. “Well, that’s the thing. They didn’t think we’d be a threat, so they sent almost all their firepower to deal with the heavily-fortified military installations across the planet. But to deal with the troublesome warden and his salt-of-the-worlds town of merry misfits, he sent a single fighter in an advanced mark three warsuit. The thinking was that he could just wipe us off the map with it since we could barely defend ourselves. Oh, he did some damage, but with the help of my deputy here”—he gestured toward Leda—“we managed to get our hands on the warsuit. That ended up being our salvation, inasmuch as there’s salvation in Freewater; that suit is the only thing that’s kept us alive for the past two years.
“See, the thing about the military armories here, is that all the equipment in them is from a bygone era; the people of Holdenhome and Duneford were fighting with outdated tech. We got our hands on something a little more modern, something that could take a bite out of a warship’s hide with the right modifications.”
Zaina leaned forward. “So—what happened?”
The expression on Fell’s face turned to sorrow. “Well,” he said, his voice low, “by the time we got the warsuit, it was too late to help anyone else. A few stragglers made their way out here, but Almada’s hired help was apparently well worth the money—most of the other civilians and soldiers alike were killed in the initial wave of attacks.”
“How is that possible, though?” Zaina asked. “The Synatorium—”
“Signed the permission slip,” Fell replied curtly. “You think they’d never allow this? What is it exactly that you think they do? This is how things have always been, and how they’ll always be. All they needed was the right document stating that we had attacked first, and any-and-all measures aside from total planetary bombardment were suddenly on the table. There was no way to prove anything in Almada’s Writ of Exhaustion was true, even if the Synatorium had an inclination to send out officials for confirmation—which they don’t. Too many stars in the sky, not enough agents to confirm every incident report on a backwater world—and even if they had everything they needed they still wouldn’t, because they’d be going into their own pocket. Hell, we’re lucky Almada didn’t convince the Synatorium to send a Militarium detachment.”
Zaina’s eyes fell to the ground. “So you’re saying—Almada killed all those people?”
“The people of Archava? Yeah,” Fell replied. “Not him personally, but the people who did the work did it on his payroll. There was never going to be a real resettlement offer, and you know why? Same reason Militarium veterans get kicked to the curb—because it’s expensive to help people, and you don’t make any money off of it. Society benefits, sure, but the people who have the money don’t get it back in a timely enough manner for their liking.”
“My family was relocated,” Zaina said. “I come from Demelia, and when my planet was destroyed—”
Xyrthe raised a hand to stop her. “That was the Order and the Synatorium working together. Right now, we’re dealing with a conglomerate of commercial guilds. It’s not going to be the same.”
“Precisely,” Fell said. “The Synatorium has a lot more resources at its disposal and is more willing to go red on a ledger or two since a lot more of what they do is public. Almada’s less compromising, and he’s run out of ledgers to go red on. Hence why he brought in the endgame. Plus, it’s doubtful anyone will ever find out about what’s happening here—Almada’s bosses are connected to a few big media conglomerates, so they can squash any story with ease.”
“What’s that mean—endgame?” Zaina asked, eyebrow raising. “Us?”