Unnamed Journal Volume 3, Issue 3 - Page 22

Cantilever Jones Lands Hard the guy calls me scum and barks a bunch of threatening noise at me I do not needle him further. I know it to be bluster, anyway. The Legions neither produce nor haul their material supports for themselves, but rely on third-party transports - bonded private captains like yours truly - to supply them with even their ammunition. It's a chaotic system that invites abuse, and they know it, but for some reason the Emperor likes it that way. So I just smile and say "The Emperor is just." He glares at me like he'd like to rip my guts out with his little finger but he just hands my credential chip back to me and says "we'll begin unloading your cargo shortly. Do not leave the facility." And then he looks off in a perpendicular direction, and I am to consider myself dismissed. So I find a convenient barrel to sit on as I wait for the real work to begin, smoking a stick of kalnash while locals with beaten eyes unload crate after crate of weapons and ammunition for the Legions under the watchful glare of the Underofficer. I observe him, looking at the naavies with predatory intent, and I decide that Norl is right: he's not just putting on a show of authority; he actually is a sadist. The crew avoids eye contact with him and scurries about quickly performing their tasks. I would be repulsed by it if it wasn't so obligatory. This is how people get used to tyranny. Then I notice one still looking around, albeit furtively, at his environment, rather than submissively eyeing the floor in front of him. I decide that this is the one I need to pay attention to, and crushing the butt of my kalnash stick on my heel, I walk back up to the Jones' exit ramp H[\ٙX\^\YHZ[ ۘHX\ HZ]H]܈^B۝Xˋ[ XZH۝X \\[[H]Z[]\ˈH]\H[Y\\HY[ۙH[^H[[ۈHۂ\[\Z\X[X\ۈ\[\[\[ۙ\\[]X[YK[ۙ]BX\Z\[و\Y\H[HX]\\و\XK]H\HH][ [H]\H\IH[[Z[X\][[\H]܈HX[ˈ]\H^\[]\ۉX[HZ[K] X[H[\Ȃ^K[^ [Hۛ^HK]H[ۛ[\][Z\HZ\[^\H[\\܈\\ HZ\X˂\H\]ȈH^\˂\H\]Ȃ]HZY[H܋\H\H[[Y] [H[[HZKH]H] [[H]H[و]