DISCLAIMER: SKIP BEAT! and its associated characters are the creations of Yoshiki Nakamura. This author claims no ownership of Skip Beat or any of its characters. All other rights reserved.
Author's Note: These will be a series of interconnected one-shots that are prequels to The Seven Moons of Aris (of which only Chapter 1 has been published).
Thank you to Noveisdoge and Miss Mika Namariya/Yamwhatiyam for the beta reads!
The Adventures of Space Pirate Ren Tsuruga
Chapter 1: The Downfall of the Baron Charmwynder, Part 1
There are many rumors as to what caused the downfall of the Charmwynder Barony, but none so persistent as the rumors giving credit to Captain Ren Tsuruga of the privateer Galahad. Many even consider it the first notable adventure of that pirate's legend. Not terribly many things are truly known about him, though. These days, some will tell you that the pirate was born and raised a pauper on some dark asteroid in old Sol's Kuiper Belt. Others will scoff at this and tell you, instead, that Tsuruga is the palace-born scion of a very ancient and important spacefaring family. Some say the pirate is a ladies' man. Others say the pirate is as chaste as a monk. Some say he is extremely handsome—and others say his face is horrifically scarred. The rich call him a criminal and the poor call him a hero, but everyone agrees that he's probably as sharp as the edge of a nanoblade—and as deadly.
Some of those things are true. As to which bits are true, one cannot say.
Either way, no one thought to challenge the universally accepted theory that the Pirate Ren Tsuruga had been single handedly responsible for doing away with the troublesome and greedy Baron Charmwynder and his dastardly scheme to deny the humble citizens of the planet Armandy access to the water their planet so desperately needed.
Perhaps the story would have been different if the Galahad had chosen a different berth that day—but the crew was cranky and tired after having spent too long escorting civilian transports for a pittance across the Great Magellanic Clouds.
=.=.=.=.=.=
"Beans. On the menu. Again," Second Officer Kijima groaned.
Captain Ren Tsuruga, elsewhere known as the Imperial Crown Prince Kuon Hizuri, ignored him and stared out of the Galahad's bridge and into the sea of stars beyond. If beans were always on the menu, then so be it. The hold was full of them—bags and bags of dehydrated beans, convenient and nutritious. No one on the Galahad was starving. The beans were, after all, chased with a handful of nutritional supplements dispensed by the grace of His Majesty Kuu Hizuri. Ren simply didn't care much about food. As far as he was concerned, the outer hold could be full of sawdust. It would be just as tasty to him.
It was only their third month on the Galahad, but it could've been their thousandth.
Those three months since the engagement announcement and resulting launch of the Galahad had been a blur of unmitigated pain. His betrothed—his princess—had stopped talking to him two years ago. "Do not contact me again," she'd messaged one day. "I do not wish to speak to you any longer." The communication had caused him great distress. He'd tried, over and over, to contact her. There were physical couriers and official communications from the Hizurian Imperial Office, but he never received a response. He was sure it had been a tumultuous two years for her—her father had died, her stepmother had ascended the throne as Regent. He had petitioned his father endlessly for the chance to visit Yxia and see her—at least to ask why. But their entangled comm stones remained silent. And three months ago, he'd had no choice but to conclude that her half of the stone had gone silent because her heart now belonged to another man.
His father hadn't had a choice. On the day her betrothal was announced, Kuon had demanded a ship—any ship, just a ship he could use to get himself out of the Empire and into 'the galaxy,' ostensibly to see it. He wanted to forget her. He didn't know how, but he was desperate, and the daily rounds of palace life were unbearable now that he knew there would no longer be a Kyoko to join him. He wanted to disclaim his princehood and farm…or join some kind of circus…or spend his time making pornosims, he'd told his chagrined father. He'd find something, somewhere that didn't remind him of her.
In response to his demands, the Emperor Kuu had given his son the Galahad. Kuon was just three months shy of his twenty-first birthday—his majority—and the Galahad was to have been his anyway. Kuon hadn't known it, but Kuu had intended to gift his son the very pinnacle of Hizuran technology and let him take it on a state visit to Yxia, where he would hopefully reconcile with his silent princess. In truth, Kuu had had the feeling that not all was well in that hegemony—and felt that Ren would do well on a mission to see what was wrong. But they'd all been taken aback when the news of the engagement arrived.
And now, three months after their departure, it was Kuon's twenty-first birthday. Not that it mattered to him. Or to Ren Tsuruga—Ren Tsuruga didn't have a birthday, after all.
"Captain?" A voice was calling him out of his reverie. "Captain?" the voice said again.
Ren gave a little jolt, remembering that he was on the bridge of the Galahad, and not in his private quarters. The crew all knew his secret identity, of course, but everyone on board the Galahad knew better than to wish him a happy birthday. "Kijima. Yes?"
"Captain, sir, I know we're a single privateer in a galaxy full of privateer fleets, but there's gotta be something out there more interesting than escorting vacationing middle-worlders out to resort planets," Kijima said.
Well, at least he's moved on from complaining about the beans, Ren thought.
"Kijima, watch your mouth," Yashiro responded. The first officer was frowning at the younger man. "That's treading dangerously close to insubordination." Kijima glared at him in response, but Yashiro didn't care. The Hizuri Emperor had appointed him to the Galahad, after all—and whatever Prince Kuon saw fit to call himself, Yashiro would do his duty and protect him. He wondered why the Prince was set on wandering the universe like this—incognito and aimless—but he didn't pry. At least now the young man was looking less dour than when they'd started. Back when he'd first been assigned, Yashiro could've sworn he was mourning a death…and yet the entire Imperial family was happy and healthy.
"No, Yashiro, he has a point," the Captain replied, and sighed. He was new to the privateering gig. No one even knew why he was privateering, perhaps he didn't even know himself. But having set off on his ship, the Captain kept his own counsel, made his own decisions, set his own course. It had been three months of…not much action, honestly. "This adventure has gotten off to a bit of a slow start, hasn't it?"
"'Adventure'—is that what we're calling this?" Kijima remarked, under his breath.
"What's that, Kijima?"
"Nothing, Captain."
"Uh huh." Ren scoffed. "Your objections are duly noted. Though of course, I could always terminate your contract on the Galahad and drop you off back on Angeles during our next run?"
The man had the grace to look abashed. "No…no, sir. That won't be necessary."
"Say the word, Kijima, say the word, and you'll be right back in the bosom of Angeles where you'll never have to dine on reconstituted beans ever again…"
Yashiro, watching, rolled his eyes. The Galahad had advanced hydroponics and molecular reconstruction systems on board—or so he was told. It's just that no one had bothered to learn how to use them. Ren had a famously non-existent appetite, and to him, bean paste was as good as any other delicacy that could be had in the galaxy. The rest of the crew simply suffered alongside, sometimes not-so-silently. But there were worse—and far more dangerous things to do—than escorting civilian pleasure ships across the galaxy in peacetime. He was grateful that the gig called for nothing more dangerous than the occasional run-in with overly curious tourists on their first spacewalks.
Captain Tsuruga knew as well as anyone that Kijima would never leave his post. Such an action was certainly besmirch the would-be gallant's honor. "You'd miss me, sir—"
"Speaking of—" Yashiro interjected. "I'll need you to produce an audited inventory list for me, Kijima, so we can re-supply expeditiously—"
But the younger man interrupted him. "Are we on leave tonight? Armandy's supposed to be pretty safe, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ren responded. They hadn't been on shore leave for a while. "Go find your 'bath,' Kijima," he responded. "If that's what you're calling it these days."
"Hey, just cuz YOU'RE living like a monk doesn't mean the rest of us have to, Captain."
"Kijima—!"
"Yashiro, dude, relax."
"Leave him be, Yashiro," Ren said. Turning to Kijima he said, "Go. But we're refueling and leaving for the next packet run in one Sol, so get back before then."
=.=.=.=
The spaceport wasn't the smallest one they'd ever berthed in, but it might've been the most desolate. Armandy was a mining planet, primarily known for the novelty gem once known on Terra as the opal. It was a dry sort of place, no real seas to speak of. What water persisted on its dusty surface was preserved in its polar ice caps. The rest of the planet relied on old-school moisture recapture technology and a steady influx of ice freighters exporting water from moisture-rich worlds elsewhere. Fusion, of course, was an option, but the energy debt needed to produce planetary quantities using that method was vast. Armandy was one of a class of poorer planets, then, that kept the old water trade alive.
Ren Tsuruga disembarked from the Galahad and went on-foot to Armandy SpacePort hoping to negotiate for new supplies—perhaps some food that was not, in fact, reconstituted bean paste. Most spaceports had ready access to currency from the far corners of the galaxy and tended to be, well, if not flush with cash, then at least…lively. Perhaps even…prosperous. He'd expected more people on the streets, a lot more traffic. Armandy was no crossroad of the universe, but he'd expected to see at least one bar with rowdy travelers mixing in with locals. Not so with Armandy Port. The streets were dusty—that was only to be expected. It was a desert planet, after all, and they likely didn't have spare water for dust control.
Ren didn't really expect a great deal of selection here—he suspected Armandy imported its supplies from the galaxy centers. But it was the lack of people that bothered him. He approached the nearest likely merchant building with an easy smile and his non-threatening, loping walk, only to see whoever was inside close their window. When he reached the door, he found it barred.
He tried the next one, and then the next. No one came out to greet him, no one would give him directions. It was the same all across the settlement. There were no open stores, though the buildings, while quiet, were obviously occupied. Ren supposed it wasn't a big deal. The ship only needed a few provisions, after all, nothing mission critical. They could fly off without picking anything up without any trouble. He hadn't expected much, but even the most far-flung outpost would surely have some water and basic vegetables. He made to knock on his fifth door when he heard a door behind him unlatch.
"I'd stop bothering, young man," a wizened voice said. Ren whirled around. It was unusual for him to have missed a bystander, and even more unusual to be caught unawares by a voice spoken by someone who clearly had line of sight to him. He saw an old man, leathery and wrinkled, but with a sardonic smile. "We're all a little beat-down here. Don't wanna show ourselves on account of the Baron."
"The Baron?" Ren asked. He'd known that Armandy was a tiny, independent Federation planet, too small and insignificant to be fought over. Standing as it was between the Hizuri quadrant and the Morizumi estates, it could have self-determined its membership to either hegemony…though Ren liked to think the Hizuris would have won out in the end.
"The Baron Erend Charmwynder," the old man replied. "Our…ahem…fearless leader."
"And…why should you not want to show yourself on his account, sir?" Ren was growing interested despite himself. "I find many simply enjoy being present in the company of the aristocracy." On feudal worlds, access to the aristocracy meant access to commerce, to sales opportunities, to money. Most minor aristocracy welcomed the adulation of their governed, because most nobles did want to make an amount of money above and beyond their tax holdings. Bribes were a good way to obtain excess funds. Ren had a hard time believing the Baron was any different.
The old man huffed. "Then those people are fools," he responded. "Ain't nothin' great about the aristocracy. They say some people are born to power," he replied. "And that some people are born to privilege. The Baron was born to both, but he ain't worth the dog doodoo on my shoe."
Ren merely looked at him. His truthsense was telling him that the man was being honest. Simply out of curiosity, he leaned in to learn more. One of the things he'd learned in his short life was that the mere promise of a sympathetic ear and an attentive audience was enough to get most people to talk. The old man was no different. "I could get in trouble for tellin' ya all this," he grumbled.
"Who would I tell?" Ren asked. He flashed a disarming smile, one that usually put people at ease.
But the old man squinted at him. "Not sure what you're tryin' to sell there, young—sorry, what was your name again?"
"Tsuruga," the pirate replied. "Ren Tsuruga."
"Kojiro," the man replied, proffering a hand. "And don't mind me, son, but we folks 'round here have been through a lot."
"We were hoping to restock on some things," Ren told him. "Didn't mean any harm, nothing crazy."
"Well, if we had stock to restock you with, I'm sure we'd oblige. But the last official shipment was years back. Rumor has it we're gettin' a new shipment of water in, along with some other things. But I ain't holdin' my breath. " The man sat back, wiggling his toes. "Fact is, I've been relying on the Bureau to tell me what tricks I need to cut before he catches me complying with them."
"You—" Ren was shocked. "You…don't have water right now?"
"No new water in months," Kojiro said, "and likely not for a while. There's a shipment come through a day or so ago, but it ain't for us. Been using the condenser and recyclin' but it's barely enough for drinkin' and some light washing as it is. We don't got no dome to close off the ecosystem, y'see."
"Surely you've got…some kind of water usage committee, Kojiro-san," he said.
"Ha! Here? Naw, son. Where do you think you are? Angeles?" Kojiro slapped his knee. "Naw, here the Baron's men decide if you get water. If you want anything, the Baron decides whether you need it or not. He's takin' the latest shipment wholesale. Lots of people say they want to do something about it, but I don't think even Fox is gonna be able to get anything done."
"Fox?" Ren asked.
"Call him a busybody," Kojiro replied. "Kid has this crazy idea that water should run free."
Ren thought back to his own homeworld. Angeles was as close to old Terra as you could get. It was wonderfully green and blue from space, a rare gem of a planet. He thought of rivers and lakes and streams and how his ancestors had settled by them and 'made the world fruitful.' Where he came from, water was a right and not a privilege—and it flowed freely for whoever wanted it. "Shouldn't it?" Ren asked.
"God, you off-worlders are all the same," Kojiro said. "Always with the 'it's just water! Why does it cost so much?' bin."
"So what happened, then?" He paused and waited for Kojiro.
The man looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. "I didn't tell you this."
"You didn't tell me this," Ren replied. "I'm curious as hell now, though."
"It started a couple of years back," Kojiro started. "We noticed the share price for water getting higher in this…place."
"Mmm," Ren responded.
"And then it couldn't be had at any price, almost like they were rationin' it. But the nobles—"
"The nobles?"
"Son, stop interruptin.' Honestly, young people these days," Kojiro said, shaking his head back and forth. "The nobles started getting all up in each other's craw. Their land started turnin' green. Charmwynder even installed a fountain."
Ren whistled. On dry Hizuri worlds, garden water features needed approval from the municipal government. Hizuri people took stewardship of their planets extremely seriously, and on an arid planet like Armandy, a gratuitous water feature could only be approved in instances where there were truly no other environmental impacts to consider. This was a place that imported its water off-world! Installing a water feature on a green lawn was just an insult—particularly when folks in the Spaceport were hurting for water.
"That's not right."
A new voice chimed in. "No, it's not." Ren turned and saw a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen and lanky with the kind of awkward clumsiness that came out of having just grown a few inches and not having had time to adjust to it.
"Fox," Kojiro said. He made room at the table. "Welcome, son. I was just tellin' these offworlders here all about our charmin' Baron."
"And what are they gonna do, Kojiro?" he asked. "Commiserate, buy crap we can't afford to sell them, and then leave?"
"Hey," Ren said, holding up his hands. "Just asking after some local news, is all."
"And you haven't even heard the half of it—" Kojiro said, but he was interrupted by Fox, who was looking at the old man reproachfully.
"Yeah, and then you're gonna go up and tell Charmwynder, next thing we know, Kojiro here's in the dungeons for yapping." Kojiro looked abashed. Ren was willing to wager there were more stories—more egregious stories—about the Baron he hadn't heard yet.
"I am no snitch," Ren said. "I'm a privateer. We don't take those commissions."
"That's even more reason not to trust you, then," Fox said. "Privateer? So you're up for sale to the highest bidder, huh? Hired guns?"
"We take commissions for services," Ren replied. "Sometimes we fight. Sometimes we salvage. More often than not, we're bodyguards. And no. We don't always work for the highest bidder." He didn't want to tell them that the Galahad was so new there were parts of it he hadn't unwrapped yet, and so far, the only gig they'd done was cruise ship escort. That said, the Galahad's tiny crew was made up of Hizuran elite forces—and fighting was well and truly within their capabilities.
"You seize ships?"
"Not if that ship is operating lawfully."
"But you could."
"We could."
"Hmmph," Fox said. "What were you lookin' to buy?"
"We were looking to top off our water, but it sounds like you guys need it more than we do," he said. "And then we were looking for some food. My crew's been ragging on me to get something fresh. They want real food—real green things. Real fruit."
"Yeah. Even if we had any of that, we couldn't spare you any of it," Fox said. "But we got lots of spare recon beans if you want them.
"Got plenty of that, too," Ren said.
"Then you'd best be on your way, stranger."
"Gotcha," he responded. "But I'm thinking we'll leave next Sol. Some of my crew are tired."
"Your funeral," Fox shrugged. He turned away, lugging up a heavy-looking bag made out of sackcloth up the stairs.
"My funeral," Ren echoed. No fruit, then, he sighed. No fruit, no veggies, no fresh meat. Reconstituted beans again. Kijima would be insufferable. Perhaps they should go out to Lory's for a full resupply? But…he didn't want to leave this situation without at least having tried to do something. He turned away. Don't get involved, privateer, he thought. Walking away was galling. He was a Hizuri, for goodness' sake! Getting involved was what they did. But a privateer did not get involved in the petty machinations of small planets. Any privateer worth his salt would take their ship and go for richer hunting grounds. And he couldn't afford to bring the Hizuri hegemony into the situation—this was an independent planet, he was undercover, and he had no authority whatsoever.
Still, walking away felt wrong.
At the very least, the Baron was diverting shipments of water from public use into private gain. In an arid world like Armandy, excess water could be sold for a premium to those who wanted more luxurious uses. Things like lawn fountains, for example. And he had no doubt that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Water was an extremely visible resource—a ruler like the Baron had likely plundered the rest of his planet before taking the water for himself.
He was going to have to walk away, though. There was no justification for his involvement. Much as he wanted to help.
"Well, thanks," he said out loud. He turned around to make his way back to the Galahad, perhaps to take some advantage of the downtime to clear up engine and safety reports from the diagnostics the ship's AI provided periodically.
He hadn't gone five steps before he heard a sudden thud!, only to turn and see Kojiro slumped on the table.
"Kojiro!" Fox yelled. He'd flung down the sack he was carrying upstairs and was running to the old man's aid.
But Ren was already checking his pulse and his breathing, pinging Yashiro for the remote medmodule. "Do you have a local medstation?" he asked Fox. "It could be anything. His heartbeat is strong but it could be a stroke."
But Fox shook his head. "The Baron," he spat, "closed down the facility. We have to go to Highspire for care, and then most people can't afford it. Old people with family young enough to leave and move off-world get funds to help. But people like Kojiro…"
Ren shook his head. "My XO should be here any moment with a medmodule," he said. "We can get him stabilized, at the very least."
Fox nodded his head, tense. "Thank you for your help," he said. "Kojiro's like a grandfather to us all here."
Ren took a long look at the boy, nodding his head slowly. He was hesitant to allow strangers onto the Galahad, but this was a matter of life-and-death when it did not have to be. The ship had been outfitted with the latest Angelan technology—it had been the last thing Rick, the imperial Gnosis, had designed before his strange disappearance. Ren secretly believed it had been designed for him all along. The ship only looked like a run-of-the-mill rustbucket on the outside—and that outside was mutable and changeable thanks to what Rick had called 'quicksilver.' Inside was a different matter. On top of Rick's new technologies, his father had outfitted the ship with nearly every bit of gear he thought could be of use to his son and the crew he'd brought together—and that included medical equipment many planets could only envy. He knew that he likely had the means to help the old man in his hand—and what could a kid know about privateers, anyway?
=.=.=.=.=
An hour later, Kojiro was resting comfortably in the sickbay, and Fox was looking around the room with an appraising air. "Nice ship," he said. Ren and Yashiro were in attendance, having ensured all went smoothly with the med AI's first real patient.
"Yeah," Ren said. Kojiro had been sicker than they'd realized—any further without intervention from the main shipboard medmodule and he would have died. His kidneys had needed reconstruction—likely an effect of the constant dehydration. "He'll be ready in a few days," Ren said. "Our med AI is pretty good."
The boy looked over at him, clearly wanting to ask questions. But Ren forestalled them. "We don't have enough water to help out your entire settlement," he said, "But I can give you and Kojiro enough water for you to stay hydrated for a while, at least."
But the boy was looking at him with a gleam in his eye. "You…really want to help, huh."
"Wish I could do more," Ren said.
"You…really…want to help?"
Ren knew he shouldn't say yes, but the prospect of leaving people like Fox and Kojiro high and-so-very dry was…distinctly unappetizing. Especially when the alternative was to go back and play bodyguard for tourists on cruises. He was about to speak, when—
"Sir, we really have to get back to center-galaxy," Yashiro interrupted. "I'm sorry, young man. We can't get involved—"
"All you off-worlders are the same," Fox said. There was no small undercurrent of bitterness in his tone. He stood up, eyes darting towards Kojiro sleeping peacefully in the corner. "You come here with your umbar drives, shake your heads at the locals, say you want to help, but you don't. And then it's 'Man that sucks,' and you leave. Meanwhile we're all down here drying out like carcasses in the sun."
"Fox," Ren said, "listen…"
"Captain," Yashiro said, "this is serious, if we intervene…" But Ren glared at him.
"I want to hear what he has to say," Ren said. "This is an order, Yashiro. Don't interrupt."
The XO muttered, "You don't even know who this kid is."
But all Ren could hear was his father as he left Angeles. The Emperor had said, "I trust you'll do the right thing, son."
So Ren would do the right thing.
=.=.=.=.=
The plan was simple: infiltrate the Baron's masque and cause enough distraction to divert the Baron and his household's attention long enough for Fox to hack into household accounts, steal the Baron's funds, and gain blackmail information that the Baron kept on the local aristocrats. Fox had shown him the Baron's data systems; they were simpler than expected. And he had an uncanny knowledge of the system and the palace grounds. The funds would allow them to buy the water from the offworld transport. The blackmail was for the local aristocrats who would facilitate the transaction…and potentially to destabilize the Baron's hold enough to allow for someone to dethrone him.
"But what will you do afterwards?" Ren asked Fox. "He has no heirs. And you're not set up to stage a democratic election. Surely one of the Houses will seize power and you may be no better off than you began."
"He has an heir," Fox said grimly. "Rather, the Charmwynders have an heir. This current Baron…knows his Barony was never to be more than a regency of sorts to begin with."
"Oh?" Ren asked, intrigued.
"He isn't even a Charmwynder at all."
"What?!"
"Oh yes. My older brother was to be regent until I came of age. Or so they said when our parents died."
Ren could see Yashiro do a double-take along the far wall of the sickbay. The man was a strict disciplinarian, but he did not take well to usurpers of power. Or circumvention of protocols, in general. But Ren's truthsense was telling him that Fox was, indeed, being honest. "Explain," he said.
And Fox did. The current Baron Charmwynder had not been born a Charmwynder at all—rather, he was the son from the former Lady Charmwynder's first marriage. "Mother always said her prior marriage was an unhappy one," Fox said, "and that she would never wish ill on anyone, but that she was glad her prior husband had left her widowed. She used to say that Erend was the only good thing that came out of it." Fox's father had adopted the boy, treating him in all respects like a true son.
Erend was fifteen when Fox was born—and at first, he'd been a good older brother. "He must have been disappointed when I was born," Fox said ruefully. "Before that, people had been treating him as Father's apparent heir." But Fox's birth meant that there was a real heir now, and Erend must have felt the sting of being pushed down in precedent for a younger babe not out of swaddling clothes.
When the former Baron and Lady Charmwynder died in a suspicious transporter accident, Fox had been a mere six years old. Erend had been a comely-looking youth at twenty-one, took the oath of Regent to rule in his brother's place, and won the planet's sympathies with his show of grief and fraternal love. "I will take care of my brother," he'd told everyone, "and I will rule wisely until he comes of age."
But all that had been for show. For the first few months, Erend hired nurses to care for him. Pretty nurses—and young. And one-by-one, they left the service of the Charmwynders in tears. Erend had feigned concern for Fox's distress—he'd been fond of many of them, and they'd been kind to him. And then Erend handed Fox off to a mining family to foster, citing his need to 'have a family with parent figures' and a desire to 'have his younger brother learn to understand the 'salt of Armandy's earth.'
"He planned an 'accident' when I was ten," Fox said. "My foster father was killed instantly. My foster mother was injured and died a few hours later…and I was unconscious for days. Erend told everyone that I had been killed, but Kojiro here—" He looked over at the old man, "He and a few other old miners took me in. Told me what Erend had done. My foster mother was his daughter, you see."
Ren bowed his head. "And he's claimed Armandy since."
"Yes."
The former Baron had been a good administrator, and had installed systems of good governance. Armandy in those days hadn't been a rich world—given its lack of resources and relatively remoteness, it would never be rich—but it had been a content one. The mining proceeded along well-established lines of sustainability, everyone got regular shipments of water at a reasonable, subsidized rate, and people were, for the most part, well taken-care-of.
"That didn't last very long," Fox said. Erend at twenty-one wanted things done faster and for less money. "I've read my father's writings," Fox said, "and he was an advocate for sustainable practices in mining." But Erend hadn't been. Armandy's mines had once been fairly safe, with few accidents. The yield of opals had been middling. But that hadn't been enough for Erend. "The opal mines are huge chasms in the ground now," Fox said, "Because Erend's brought in machines. And people are dying."
The ten years of Erend's regency had destroyed the good stewardship of the former Baron. When they could, people left the planet, seeking jobs on transporters or in other worlds. They paid the exorbitant fees for intergalactic monetary transfer just to make sure their loved ones back home were taken care of. Meanwhile, the towns and settlements that made up Armandy's mostly-desert world were dying. It had taken generations to build the quiet little planet up, and a single decade to undo it. The systems had been cannibalized in the name of gain.
And now Fox was going to have the opportunity to stop it.