Humans with Free Will (1)
The impact of the speech exceeded all expectations.
Reactions poured in almost immediately after broadcast, starting from the core star systems of the Primus Arm. In the so-called "one-hour zone" planets—directly linked to the capital world of Terra via the gate network—policies were felt in real time.
The first explosion was the exposure of a governor's corruption. In the mid-sized star system of Altair on the outskirts of the Primus Arm, the deputy governor had been embezzling 15% of tax revenue for 30 years. This was uncovered by the newly formed Senate Audit Committee.
The moment real power was granted to the legislature, the liberal faction MPs wasted no time exercising their auditing authority.
The deputy governor was arrested on the spot, the scene broadcast live via hologram.
The citizens were ecstatic. For millennia, no one had touched these corrupt bureaucrats who ruled like petty emperors. Seeing them dragged away was intoxicating.
Following our superhuman, übermensch emperor—noble, great, and proud—who had proclaimed Make Empire Great Again, the people shouted slogans vowing to give their all.
"MEGA!MEGA!MEGA!"
The crowds' chants filled the central plaza of Altair's capital planet. At the appointed time, they gathered spontaneously for support protests—not the usual staged affairs, but genuine, heartfelt ones. A massive shift.
HoloNews comment sections overflowed: "Long live His Majesty," "It's finally changing," "This is the real empire."
"Gaaah!! B-but if I'm kicked out of my deputy gov post, who'll replace me?!"
"His Majesty said he'd handle it."
"Wha.... He's truly one with the cosmos!!!"
Fear and terror. Radical, unprecedented reforms from a 21-year-old that defied his age. Discipline restoration: +1 point. Ruthlessly tearing into governors like no one believed it: another +1. Filling the vacuum himself: yet another +1.
The emperor himself might mutter, "Yeah, fucking right." But to the masses, lacking elite political education, it just reinforced: "See? His Majesty really is superhuman."
In just one day, this euphoric high hit. A week later, word came from the Secundus Arm: three high customs officials colluding with merchant guilds arrested in a row.
They'd overlooked smuggling and taken bribes for decades. First victims of the unprecedented joint bill from the Civitas Union and Corona Imperial: the Anti-Corruption Special Investigation Act.
"Gaaah!!"
This wasn't some WWE spectacle ending quick. Lawmakers were dead serious about purging everyone; bribes or "gifts" wouldn't fly.
"Uwaaak!!"
Thus, corrupt officials' "spontaneous" declarations of loyalty to His Majesty—blood oaths of patriotism—piled up, fattening the imperial treasury in a week.
Sure, sorting it was the emperor's job. But facts: the empire was getting healthier. People felt change.
The problem? That sensation wouldn't let citizens sit idle. Tasting change breeds hunger for more.
Watching deputy govs and cronies hauled off, they thought: It's really happening. Our planet's issues—those too—can be fixed!
And acted. Pure, heartfelt petitions from those who truly loved and trusted the emperor.
"Our system's medical facilities unchanged for 30 years."
"Education budget one-seventh of central levels."
"Governor changes, but underlings stay. Reform from the bottom up!"
"Wage discrimination against hetero-species workers is severe. When does His Majesty's promised autonomy take effect?"
Petitions routed through local assemblies, Senate, and—lacking a prime minister—to the emperor's desk.
Even the bizarre "MEGA Special Committee"—self-formed by Imperialists—responded to citizen fervor with a "100-Day Battle Total Roadmap" submitted to the emperor.
"Kya. Your Majesty, what do you think? Cool, right?!"
"???"
A hulking white-muscled macho man bellowed like he was spitting, face twisted in hyper-realist socialist art style, pushing a fiery 100-day reform poster. They even whipped up a 47-page document detailing reforms per spiral arm—priorities, budgets, timelines—and tossed it to the emperor.
Image control: first mover wins. With MEGA Committee branded as the official Make Empire Great Again plan enforcer, it was half-officialized.
Planets formed spontaneous "MEGA Citizen Advisory Groups," compiling local reports for the Senate—and the emperor's desk. To repay him. To align with his vision. To ride the wave he unleashed.
890 quadrillion humans sending paperwork brimming with goodwill, zeal, and hope to their 21-year-old emperor.
Light travels straight. But not infinitely fast.
From Terra to the empire's fringes? Time lag inevitable. And comms reaching doesn't mean policy does.
Tertius Arm outskirts, Krogan territory border—third-farthest system. Called by number: TR-7742 system.
Seven planets; one habitable: TR-7742-III. Locals just called it Forge.
Simple reason: the planet existed for munitions factories.
Forge: super-Terra rocky world, 3.2x Earth's size. 60% surface industrial complexes. Produced parts for elite assault drop troops' Giants, ship armor plates, energy shield assemblers, ammo plants. Bottom rung of imperial war industry's supply chain—essential yet ignored.
~8 billion pop: mostly factory workers and families. Seedy vibe, but money flowed—to the elite.
Planet Gov Victor Grayburn, 130 this year. Bureaucrat tied to Tertius military-industrial cartel. In post 40 years, untouched.
No reason to replace. Quotas over-achieved yearly. No reported rebellions or issues. Central view: "runs fine."
To sustain that, someone always got crushed. To workers: no "fine" about it.
Workers saw young emperor declare: "I'll fix this empire." "I trust you all."
Brief hope flickered. Holo during breaks reddened eyes. Post-shift whispers in bars: "This time, real change?" Parents to kids: "New emperor cares about folks like us."
Three days later: Gov Victor's planet-wide notice.
To prevent chaos from central administrative reorganization, this planet's existing systems and labor regulations will remain in effect for the interim. No changes to production quotas. Factories operate as normal.
TL;DR: "Wake up and grind, lol."
He half-ignored reforms. Not outright defiance—bureaucratese like "interim," "as is," "prevent chaos" wrapped it.
But Forge workers knew exactly what it meant. 40 years under the same gov.
Periphery plight: admin barely reaches, influence nil—like inevitable disaster.
Their hope shattered.
0500 in Forge's 14th Industrial Zone—mid-sized Giant joint-parts factory cluster. Sky still dark.
Atmosphere perpetually hazy from factory smog, heavy metals. Sun rose dim through red fog. Terraforming complete, but env management budget slashed 30 years ago, never restored.
Dorms: concrete-block 6-story; 40 rooms/floor, 2-4 per room. Stuffy.
Erisa Karan lived third floor, second-last room. 22, short black hair, lean build. Chronic fatigue shadows under eyes, welding burns dotting hands.
Face forgotten last full sleep.
Up pre-alarm, silences it. Late = pay dock; dock = short on meds.
"Meds...."
Erisa cracks adjacent door. Rules: 2/room. She paid extra—dad's sickroom.
"Father...."
Stared at Kalan Evan, 54, failed as dad. Local life expectancy ~110 (half imperial avg). Bedridden at 54? Healthcare hell proof.
But can't work = can't eat = die. No choice.
30 years metal dust: pulmonary fibrosis. Lung swap or proper treatment possible—with money they lacked. Nanites fixable, but they scraped by on palliative care.
Dad slept. Wheezing chest, oxygen cannula. Rental ate 38% pay.
Erisa shuts door, suits up, exits.
Dawn air cold—bitter. Metallic tang familiar to natives, but gnawed lungs slow.
Work anyway.
Walking, she thought: "Speech rang true... but periphery reality blocks it."
Believed briefly. Felt real. Would change.
But gov unchanged. Labor rules, insurance, env budget—nothing.
No blame. Target unclear.
Blame emperor? 21-year-old ruling 48 million systems—every numbered rock like TR-7742-III?
Impossible. Head knew; heart hoped till three days ago. Crushed by notice—not rage, resignation. Unfair. Sad.
At line, grabs torch, ignites flame, mutters: "Right. Can't check every planet."
Orange blaze reflects in goggles along seam.
"48 million. No-name speck. Even I'd fail.... That's effort enough."
Part done, shoves to line, pulls next.
"Anyway... won't come here. Heard gov schmoozing some admiral, showing off...."
Fancy foods, fruits they'd never taste.
"Haa...."
Torch again: "Won't come this far." Echoed.
Knew. But couldn't erase "what if."
Erase for peace. For no disappointment.
Yet lingered: hologram smile. 'I trust you all.'
Erisa saw it in flame, shakes head.
"...Any hope?"
Thus, Erisa had never seen the stars.