In restaurants, hot spring resorts, hotels, and other service industries, uniformed men and women all served the wealthy who had come from various planets of the Confederacy, bowing and scraping like servants, doing their utmost to provide for their guests. Every service ensured that those who came to spend money would not need to lift even a single finger, making them feel every coin they spent was worth it—and encouraging them to throw out their money even more happily.
In this era, cleaning robots were already fully capable of replacing human labor, and did so with far greater efficiency. Many tasks could be performed entirely by machines. Yet despite the fact that New Canaan's cleaning companies and shop owners were fully able and equipped to switch to robotic cleaning, the cruel reality was this: on Tyrador, human beings were cheaper than machines.
Those employed in Tyrador's service and private industries were all "contract workers" from other planets, forced—by various circumstances such as usury, bankruptcy, and debt—to sign extremely unequal contracts with lending institutions within the Terran Confederacy, contracts virtually equivalent to selling themselves into servitude. During the economic turmoil brought about by the 4-year Guild Wars, waves upon waves of extremely cheap laborers were driven to Tyrador, compelled to create profits for their employers to repay the debts they owed.
Many Confederate worlds suffered immense devastation and economic collapse as a result of the Guild Wars, yet Tyrador IX had instead grown increasingly prosperous. During the war's most intense years, the wealthy classes of Tarsonis and several other core worlds transferred both their fortunes and their children to Tyrador, in preparation for the worst outcome—that the Confederacy might lose the war.
To this day, such contract workers had become the very foundation sustaining the operation of every industry. Their numbers now exceeded 40% of Tyrador's total population. Behind the prosperity and development of Tyrador IX's resort paradise lay the sweat and blood of those contract workers and cheap laborers who toiled day and night.
UNN never reported on the plight of Tyrador IX's lower classes, nor did it ever mention that they were, in truth, slaves to Tyrador's nobility and the Confederacy's parasitic corporations. These people received no protection under Confederate law, and even the Terran Confederacy's labor unions ignored them completely—after all, they only ever spoke up on behalf of the wealthy.
Compared with these people, Matt was undoubtedly fortunate. Through generations of honest, small-scale business, his family had finally established a foothold on Tyrador. The Horner family could not be considered middle class, but at least they possessed housing and jobs that allowed them to live as citizens rather than vagrants. They could not afford to hire servants or use robots like the middle and upper classes, but at least they were not forced into heavy labor.
"Do you see those people?" Augustus said to Matt. "Many among them bear debts they can never repay in their entire lives. Their children, from the moment they are born, must accept this same fate, growing up in an environment of extreme material deprivation, and whatever achievements they attain will hardly surpass those of their parents."
"I'm much luckier than they are." As a native of Tyrador, Matt naturally understood the plight of these people, but he was powerless to change it.
"If it were me," Augustus said, hands clasped behind his back, "I would say that I must rescue those unfortunate souls."
"Tyrador's prosperity is built upon an unjust system. The Confederate government here is as corrupt as that of any other planet within Confederate territory. Tyrador's officials do everything in their power to seek profit and use it to curry favor with the nobles of the Tarsonis Old Families. When faced with the entrenched maladies that have already sunk deep into Tyrador, they turn a blind eye and do nothing." As he spoke, the words that came out sounded to Matt almost shocking.
"The Planetary Defense Force is nothing more than a nominal military institution—its total manpower doesn't even reach two companies. The Tyrador Knights, said to be the finest armed force in the entire sector, in truth serve only the wealthy and powerful. They are no more honorable than the corrupt police officers of the Tarsonis Police Department."
"This is Tyrador IX, Mr. Augustus. Every Tyradorian knows this world is the private garden of the Tarsonis Old Families, and the vast majority of Tyrador's nobles are, in fact, nobles who came from Tarsonis itself." Matt was not surprised by Augustus's anti-Confederate tone. If his own homeland had been turned into a dead world of nuclear wasteland and radioactive dust, he too would have become a demon.
"Do you wish to bring change to all of this?" Augustus fixed his gaze on Matt's eyes. "You can—and you have the power—to bring an earth-shaking transformation to the stagnant pool that is the Terran Confederacy."
In that instant, the topic suddenly grew heavy. Just like before, Matt had not expected Augustus to say something like that. The truth about Augustus's identity was already clear as day— even if he was not a rebel despised by the Confederate government, he was certainly someone who deeply hated and resented the Confederacy.
Generally speaking, sociologists would call such people a traumatized group. Their homes had been burned to the ground, leaving them with nothing—harboring endless hatred and anger that demanded release.
"Me? I can't do anything. I just watch those ships rise and fall, timing how long it takes from launch to disappearance," Matt said. "But I also believe the Confederate government is enforcing its own brutal rule over the Confederacy's allied worlds. Whether it's the Old Families or government officials, they've already begun to rot."
Matt had his own view on the revolution that had broken out on the other side of the distant Koprulu Sector. Admittedly, he did not believe the innocent casualties caused by the revolution were a necessary price to pay, yet his heart still carried a strong sense of justice. What mattered was that Matt longed for change in his monotonous life, and the idea of revolution—with all its sense of purpose—was no less alluring to him.
"No, you're fully capable of doing much more. Your abilities, and the contribution you could make to humanity in the Koprulu Sector, far exceed your own imagination," Augustus said to Matt earnestly. "Once, I thought just like you do now—that the Confederate government had grown far too corrupt. But what can the strength of one person accomplish?"
"Once?" Matt looked at Augustus. He was no longer so shy and had forgotten that he was surrounded by what might be very dangerous strangers. "What happened? Something must have brought about the change in you."
"Korhal IV was destroyed," Augustus said. "The Confederacy destroyed a beautiful world—and changed many people. The Tarsonis Old Families changed many people. They turned good men into bad ones, and bad men into devils."
"I have many flaws as a person, but one of the reasons people like me is because I am a man of action."
"So you fulfilled your original ideal—you're a revolutionary!" Matt's voice lowered. He had thought he would feel fear, but in truth, he did not.
"Are you with the Korhal Revolutionary Army or the Sons of Korhal?" he asked excitedly.
"Or are the Sons of Korhal the same as the Revolutionary Army? Last time it was Mar Sara, and now it's Tyrador. You'll bring salvation to Tyrador," Matt said.
"Will Tyrador become the operational base of the Revolutionary Army? Excellent—this place will become the birthplace of revolution. Many people already harbor resentment toward the Confederate government. As long as you appear here, all of Tyrador's aspiring youths will flock to your side."
"Do you know that Augustus Mengsk? He actually has the same name as you. Augustus Mengsk led so many successful uprisings—he's a true hero!"
Good family education and the example set by his parents had taught Matt Horner from an early age what it meant to be an upright man. If a revolution needed a leader, then that leader should be someone like Augustus—firm, unwavering, utterly confident in his cause, someone whose followers would march forward without hesitation.
In the eyes of the young and inexperienced Matt Horner, Augustus's image had already become one with that of a freedom fighter, and he was undoubtedly a giant of thought.
"…" Augustus had not expected Matt to actually be one of his fans.
That made things much simpler.
As they spoke, the headquarters of the Tyrador Knights was already in sight. It was a castle built of granite cubes, with curved outer walls and square corner towers. Brilliant colored lights hung from its pure white walls, and the interior of the castle was brightly lit.
"We've arrived," Augustus said with a smile as he looked at the castle. "I like you, Matt."
"I hope we can talk again." Pointing toward a fine restaurant across from the knight's castle, he said, "Come on, my treat."
"This…" Matt was about to refuse, but the pink-haired girl behind Augustus took his arm and led him toward the restaurant.
"What's wrong? Are you planning to turn down Augustus's invitation?" asked another tall, red-haired girl.
"No, of course not," Matt said quickly.
In his entire life, Matt had rarely set foot inside such a lavishly decorated high-end restaurant. When he finally sat down on a gilded chair, he was a bit dazed. Seated between two burly men, he felt the pressure mounting, while the pink-haired girl from before sat across from him.
After Augustus went to place the order, more than ten minutes passed without him returning. Matt found he had nothing to say to those who followed Augustus; the atmosphere at the table had become somewhat awkward. To Matt, every minute and every second of this moment felt like pure torment.
"Cards?" Suddenly, the bored pink-haired girl asked Matt.
"…?" Matt was taken aback. "What?"
"Poker." The playful pink-haired girl was clearly on a completely different wavelength.
"I can't believe there's a boy who doesn't know how to play cards. How could that be?" she said.
"I can." Matt answered every question seriously. His good upbringing told him that ignoring someone would only make things awkward for both sides—though he couldn't understand why she suddenly wanted him to play cards.
"What do we bet on?"
"But I haven't agreed yet…" Matt said.
"At Deadman's Port, people never play cards without a wager," Mira said.
"What do you have that's worth betting?"
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---