[Jmenschenfresser]

Chapter 3--part 1
2403.0

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LEON
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God, I ****ing hate peasants. Not a thought in their spongey heads. Not a clean pair of underwear among them. Depressing, really. It feels good to be back on a space ship and out of character. Not that I really have one. The Last two months were spent trekking through the wastelands of the new Vellon homeworld keeping an eye on their discoveries. A trek led by some big shot space captain. Crap what a prick he was. Funny thing is, I think he hated it more than I did, if that's possible. The edge on his face as he exited his tent every morning and saw the boundless mud surrounding his tent and the camp never failed to put a smile on my face.

Next assignment's got me sliding along toward Rellan space, with a small stop-over in Spica. My retainers want me to pry into this business with the Invexus Corporation. Must admit, though I am far cooler than any aquatic seafruit, I have a small place, a niche really, in my ego for anthropology. Looking forward to the chance to kick around this new race a little. I've read all the briefings that have come out of the Overlord's press office...the little they allow out and into the public's eye. I suspect those bastards are keeping half the negotiations under wraps in order to maintain some power. Same logic as if you're drinking in a bar before the two or three warring parties enter through the front door, you, by default, get the pleasure to shoot holes in folk without the consequences and blood feuds that tend to make warring no fun. Clan retribution ain't nothing but a euphemism for sore loser, if you ask me.

Supposedly, and this doesn't come from the O'lords press office, the Overlord is negotiating a trade treaty between the tribe heads and the Invexus Corporation. Trade ain't nothing bad in itself, but my employers feel that such a treaty will erode certain anarchical trends which allow them to survive. Economy almost always carries a **** load of laws and consolidation. I know that. Everyone does. It's the reason why local lords refuse to sign anything with their kings or commanders. Reason why they count every peasant-****ing soldier they send to the front...to make sure their responsibilities and property don't get requisitioned on account of some phoney cause. Since the dawn of this whole space thing, half of the tribes have developed a kinda disease where they feel the need for some strong leadership. And you might say, I work for a consortium which doesn't particularly appreciate such a power grab. I mean, ****, fifty years ago, the very thought of someone like an O'lord would have set off another generation of new wars. Times is strange, but I don't give a damn. Only two things happen when times are strange: peasants die and sons of *****es like me have the sudden opportunity to make a **** load of money.

[ October 25, 2002, 18:32: Message edited by: Jmenschenfresser ]