The Diary of a Space Scoundrel: Remembrance
06 Oct 2018Seth Bradwell
September 25, 3304Today is a date that is forever burned into my memory. A day I can never forget. It was 20 years to this day that my life, as I knew it then, ended.
The galaxy can be a very dangerous place, and frontier systems are particularly hazardous. Civil strife is not uncommon, even in systems that are controlled by factions aligned with one of the superpowers. The Empire expanded into the Nyalayan system back in 3237, seeking a prime agricultural world which would contribute to feeding an expanding population, and a site to process mineral wealth from neighbouring systems. The population, at the time some 600 million strong, were split, some resisted, whilst others openly welcomed what the Empire had to offer. Whilst the Empire could have suppressed those resisting the expansion with guns, missiles, and plasma accelerators (which it often does to less cooperative worlds), the people of the Nyalayan system were won over relatively peacefully when the Empire promised to act as a bulwark to deter the Kumo Crew and other Pegasi scum, and to help develop the basic economy.
During the next four decades Nyalayan flourished, and Nyalayan A4 became known as the breadbasket of the sector as modern agricultural methods boosted output, enabling the inhabitants to move beyond subsistence and grow prosperous as the population swelled to 2.5 billion strong. Elsewhere in the system modern refineries were built to process the output from miners from everywhere within a 20 light year radius, and manufacturing industries started to take hold to produce the consumer goods which were now in increasing demand in the system. It was in this world that my parents grew up. My father was a farmer that had embraced Imperial ways, and rode the agricultural boom and became rich enough to invest in one of the largest shipping firms in the sector. My mother was the heiress of a refinery owner, where business was thriving, and had close links with the local Senator. Whilst my family was never going to make its way to the top echelons of Imperial society, it was still a force to be reckoned with as the Empire rewarded its loyal subjects. Such was their wealth that they could afford to send me to Fullerhouse College on Capitol, one of the Empire’s most elite institutions, modelled on Eton College on Old Earth. It was expected that I would continue to uphold the family’s newfound prestige, and further it on to greater glory in service to the Emperor.
September 25, 3284. A date that every inhabitant of Nyalayan will never forget, be they survivors or their descendants. I had been back at school just four days when I was suddenly summoned to the principal’s office. It was a clear afternoon, with the brilliant whiteness of Achenar itself blazing down. I remember being annoyed that I was being disturbed from my studies as I had to prepare for my all important exams that summer. I arrived to see that two officers from the IIS were present, which I thought odd, because I was not known as a troublemaker. I stared in disbelief as they told me the terrible news. Out of nowhere, the Kumo Crew had decided to invade Nyalayan and claim it as their own. No, it wasn’t really an “invasion” as such. More of a “sacking”, as in the Ancient Old Earth usage of the term, although their long term plan was to place in charge a traitorous patron who would be the nominal ruler, but owed his position entirely to the Kumos. Kumo pirates had been troubling shipping in the area for several years, and local authorities were becoming more and more stretched, in spite of increasing pleas from the local Senator for extra forces. On this fateful day they widened their ambitions, and raiding parties ransacked the entire system, stealing resources, snatching inhabitants to sell into slavery, and what they were unable to carry they levelled in a devastating volley of plasma. My home settlement, New Blackburn, was reduced to scorched cinders within minutes. Over the next few days, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the holo-monitor, as news kept pouring in about the destruction of Nyalayan. It was with relief that I learned that my mother was among the dead, rather than the missing, since that meant she was not doomed to spend the remainder of her life as a slave in Pegasi, breaking rocks, or worse. My father was at a business conference in Nespel when Nyalayan was attacked, and had a nervous breakdown when he heard the news about his wife, having watched in horror as everything he lived for was destroyed. It was later told to me that in her final seconds she set off a nerve agent grenade as the Kumos burst into the family residence, taking out her would-be enslavers with herself. The Empire eventually managed to push the Kumos back, but not before a terrible price had been paid. All in all, 350 million people were killed as a direct result of the Kumo incursion, with a further 400 million missing, presumed sold into slavery, and 1.2 billion people were rendered homeless. Before the year was out, famine would claim another 500 million lives.
Unsurprisingly, I went off the rails. Whereas I was a model student up to that point, I started getting into trouble, frequently getting involved in fights. Most of that first term after the catastrophe was either spent in the tutor’s office in detention, or in the infirmary after getting into yet another altercation and coming off worse. My prospective grades plummeted since I was unable to focus on my studies. On the penultimate day before the end of term, I was summoned to the principal’s office for the 14th time that term. Expecting the usual admonishment (not to mention the inevitable sting of the electro-cane), I was taken aback when he talked to me in a soft, compassionate tone:
“I know it must be tough for you, Bradwell, but going down this trajectory is not going to get your mother back, and it’s not going to rebuild your home. All you are doing is creating more misery for yourself, and I seriously suggest you reflect on this. You were sent here because your family saw potential in you, someone who would go on to carry out a great service to Emperor and Empire. You are their legacy. Do not dishonour them by letting them down. Now, I have further news about your father. He has sold himself into servitude so he can help rebuild Nyalayan, and more importantly still, so you can continue your schooling with us at Fullerhouse.”
I sat silently, on the verge of tears.
“Furthermore, Patron Wallis has promised to become your guardian, and you will stay at his residence over the course of the school breaks. He learned about your family’s plight, and wants to ensure that your future is set firmly on track in spite of all that has happened. Now, spend your holidays straightening yourself up, and come back to us ready to prove that one can triumph over great adversity.”
“Thank you, sir” I wavered. I managed to wait until I was dismissed before collapsing in the corridor, sobbing uncontrollably.
I will forever owe Patron Leroy Wallis a huge debt of gratitude. Whilst I never really fitted in the opulent surrounding of his residence on Cemplanga, he tried to bring me up as one of his own. On hearing about what happened to my family he promised that he “would not see such a promising young boy go to waste”. Whilst he was incredibly busy, his family supported me through that crucial year, ensuring I didn’t just graduate into indentured labour. So in summer 3287, I left Fullerhouse with the top grades that I was initially on course to get. The support did not just stop there. Whilst I had to work odd jobs in order to get through university (since it was still expected that I stood on my own two feet), it was through Patron Wallis’ connections that I graduated from Waterford College, University of Conversion, and landed a job at the Gutamaya yards on Facece. I had survived personal tragedy but the emotional scars never faded. Even today, the population and economy of Nyalayan has still yet to return to pre-sack levels, investors naturally spooked about an ever-present Kumo threat, and the population is two-thirds of its pre-sack level. My father became a space pilot on release from indenture, promising to “get those Kumo bastards if it’s the last thing I do”. Two years later he disappeared, rumours had it that he bit off more than he could chew and met his fate at the hands of one of Archon Delaine’s top lieutenants. I too yearned to take action against the kind of scum that had destroyed my family and my home, and after 12 years of labouring at Gutamaya, I applied for a pilot’s licence of my own. My idealistic zeal faded over the course of my years in the black, but that’s another story.
Back in the present day…
I lie in my bivouac beneath the stars in the cool autumnal air of Earth’s northern hemisphere. I am somewhere that is historically called Scotland, in a region once called the “Highlands”. I needed to get away from space from a bit, away from the grind, get back to nature. I had been travelling for the sake of travelling, and making use of that Sol permit that the Feds kindly awarded me for doing their dirty work. This part of Earth was very sparsely populated even in old times, and now Earth is now one big conservation site the wilderness has been fully allowed to return. It feels good to get away from all the worries of the galaxy, no concern about Thargoids here. Sooner or later I will return to the black, with a renewed sense of purpose. But for now, me and the wilderness are one with each other. I say a silent prayer to the deities of old for my lost family, and for those that are still working to rebuild Nyalayan, and turn off the lantern, and let the sound of the breeze rustling the trees lull me to sleep.