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SCL Chapter 71: Bread, Crystals, and Control
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 04:07:28 +0000 UTCRight now, Augustus had full control over a vein of Ardeon crystals. Within the Kel-Morian Combine’s classification system—based on mineral richness—the New Apollon Warm Zone mine was considered rather low-grade. It was categorized as having mining value, but with limited reserves. If extraction costs rose too high, Kel-Morian mining companies would immediately abandon it.
However, the relatively high crystal purity and the recent discovery of associated rare metal deposits made the mining plan viable. Soon after, a small settlement named New Apollon sprang up near the site. Today, as colonists, prospectors, and mining families poured in, the community’s population had already reached nearly 20,000.
Even so, the daily yield of crystal and rare companion minerals from the New Apollon Warm Zone far exceeded the output of a standard mid-sized pit owned by the Terran Federation. The Kel-Morians calculated the value of high-purity Ardeon crystals by the cubic metre—not by the gram, like the Federation—and their obsession with locating crystal veins bordered on fanaticism.
Over the past few decades, there had been instances where wealthy Kel-Morian mining magnates outright purchased the mineral rights to an entire planet from the Terran Federation.
Back then, even the most powerful and intimidating of the Federation’s old families—the Tygore family—had been stunned by the wealth of the Moria Mining Consortium. From that point on, they no longer viewed the Morians as uncultured hillbillies or barbaric savages. The aristocrats twirling through lavish ballrooms promptly redefined the Morians’ identity—as nouveau riche brutes lacking in refinement or manners.
But that too had been one of the sparks that ignited the Guild Wars.
The greedy Terrans lacked the Kel-Morians’ instinct and dogged perseverance in locating mineral veins, but all they really needed was to have more and better guns than their opponents.
The Kel-Morians had spent decades—centuries even—building their mining empire. The Terran Federation toppled it in less than four years of war, seizing the wealth for themselves.
Still, Augustus understood that this war had only made a small portion of the Federation’s population rich. Most ordinary citizens had ended up even poorer than before.
And that was precisely what made the independence of Korhal IV—and his father Angus’s revolutionary cause—so justifiable. When the masses realize that no matter how hard they work, they still can’t feed themselves or their families, the spark of rebellion will inevitably spread like wildfire. The chorus of voices supporting Korhal will only grow louder.
At that moment, the door to the oversight office suddenly swung open, and in walked Tychus Findlay in his usual loose-fitting uniform, holding a stack of documents.
"Here’s the latest batch of applications for mining work. Now tell me—what the hell did you give those Kel-Morians to get them so cooperative?" Tychus placed the files on Augustus’ desk and added, "Come on—how’d you pull it off?"
“Shorter hours, more bread.”
Augustus tossed his steel pen onto the desk and leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, fingers interlocked beneath his chin.
“I did some digging. Turns out, life for miners and workers in the Kel-Morian Combine isn’t nearly as good as their union-controlled government claims. A lot of them actually go hungry. This world isn’t much better than the Terran Federation—exploitation and oppression still run rampant.”
“All those slogans about ‘workers having the inviolable right to fair wages,’ or ‘access to basic social welfare,’ and ‘the right to freely elect their government’—it’s all just propaganda on paper.”
“The owners of the mining guilds and the union representatives like to boast that the Combine is a workers’ coalition, that the working class should lead the world.” He paused. “And sure, their workers are a little better off than the Terrans’. Before the war, wages in the Combine were generally two to three times higher than in the Federation.”
“I actually think it’s a good idea,” Augustus said calmly. “But the Combine’s government is all talk. Just look at who founded the Kel-Morian Combine and you’ll understand—the Combine was created by the Moria Mining Guild and the Kelanis Transport Guild. The real power lies with the corporate representatives they appointed. The unions weren’t founded by workers. They were created by entrepreneurs.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“You know I don’t have time to care about current events or national affairs. Screw worrying about whether some system is fair or not,” Tychus grumbled, brow furrowing. “Why are you even bothering with all this?”
“Don’t tell me you’re planning to rebel against the noble overlords. And if I recall correctly, isn’t your family one of the highborn clans from Korhal IV? This is like trying to rebel while still lifting your own little skirt.”
“At least you asked.” Augustus looked at him evenly.
“Alright, alright. So what does it mean, Mr. Big-Time Politician?” Tychus muttered gruffly.
“It means the unions are just a tool for the truly wealthy of Kel-Moria to control the workers. When the conflict between the working class and the upper class becomes too intense, union reps step forward to ‘speak for the workers’ and ‘fight for their rights.’ And after all that passionate negotiation, the corporate president always—grudgingly—agrees to compromise.”
“But in truth, the terms of that ‘compromise’ were already secretly arranged.” Augustus continued, “The unions have no real power to influence the independent government’s decisions. They have the right to propose… and that’s about it.”
“And what the hell does that have to do with us—or no, with me—wanting to strike it rich and live the high life?” Tychus dragged a chair over, sank into the soft cushion, and let out a satisfied hum.
“It’s got everything to do with it.” Augustus took the cup of coffee from Lisa, whose swaying hips earned a muttered comment of jealousy from Tychus.
“The Kel-Morian government doesn’t have the people’s hearts. So if we offer slightly better conditions—just enough for them to eat three meals a day, save a little money, and hold onto some hope for life—then they’ll be willing to work for us.”
“Besides, to prevent the Combine from sending more personnel and weapons to Meinhoff, our fleet has already cut off the interstellar trade routes for imported goods. Their long-standing food shortages are getting much worse. Jim visited the local markets—he saw food prices skyrocketing. Hunger is spreading.”
“If the people of New Apollon can’t find work, their families will starve.”
“Mengsk, I never thought you weren’t a capitalist,” Tychus grinned wickedly. “You’ve got the blood of a ‘vampire’ in your veins. But you know what? You’re not a real capitalist.”
“We’re only going to be here for maybe a month. Why do you care if they live or die? The Kel-Morians are our enemies. If you ask me, we should do just what their union government did before—just keep them alive. That way we’ll have way more crystal to smuggle out.”
“As long as the people of New Apollon don’t want to starve, they’ll work for us. We don’t need to do much better than their old government. We don’t owe the Kel-Morians a damn thing.”
“This gods-forsaken rock of a planet is unlucky enough—but it also got lucky. The war stopped just before it reached here.”
“The Kel-Morians are still people. We may be enemies now, but who’s to say we won’t be allies someday?” Augustus shook his head. “And me?”
“I don’t want to see anyone starve to death in front of me.”
“You’re a good man, Mengsk,” Tychus said, handing Augustus an honorary 'good guy card'.
“Oh right, one more thing—I almost forgot. Didn’t you say you wanted to refit that transport ship? The people you asked for have arrived.”
...
When Augustus met Rory Swann and his cousins, Tychus had just walked out the door. Two resocialized soldiers in powered armor were performing routine security checks. Outside, the noise had grown even louder, with machines rumbling to life.
Augustus straightened his collar, composed his expression, placed his hands on the table, and sat up straight. But before he could even say 'Come in', four impatient men from Meinhoff had already barged into the room.
Compared to Terrans of the same age, these men were generally shorter—only around 1.65 to 1.83 meters tall—but each of them had a broader and more robust bone structure. Their thick, bare arms were knotted with bulging veins and hardened muscles.
The Meinhoff miner at the front spoke with a trembling, cracked upper lip. Beneath his large nose was a thick, bushy mustache. His skin was unusually pale, yet his face bore clear signs of a life of hardship. Scars from blades and burns were plainly visible.
His voice boomed unnaturally loud, like a steam locomotive thundering through the office.
The Kel-Morian people of Meinhoff didn’t harbor deep hatred toward Terrans. They simply had a vague sense that the inflation and economic collapse brought on by war were the fault of the Terran Federation—even though most of them had never actually seen a Terran in person.
What else could they do? People still had to eat.
