After twenty years, having grown up in the palace, Marley still never felt at home. He felt out of place, like he didn't belong. He was the Crown Prince, the first son of LaStirk the Conqueror. The title was his by birthright and defended in single combat, but it never felt right. Marley mused to himself for what seemed like the thousandth time as he dressed carefully in the mirror. At the top of his list of reasons was his appearance. He studied his brown skin; he was the darkest of the nobles. Most of those around him shared the milky white skin of his family, his mother, father and brother. The only ones that came near to his complexion were the palace servants, but even they were of a lighter tone. He recalled once going on a family trip to survey the work the slaves were doing in the factories and the fields. Then, he had noticed startling similarities between himself and them. His brother, Greyson, had made a nasty remark about Marley being found in a basket as a baby and earned himself a quick cuff to the back of the head from father for it. Sometimes he wondered.
Aside from his appearance, he was also strong, far stronger than he had any right to be. Greyson spent hours each day training, combat skills, speed, strength, and marksmanship. He was tireless, relentless, and had the body to show for it. Many had praised his brother as being the perfect specimen of a Rednasi soldier, just like his mother. Marley preferred to spend his time in the archives reading and studying. He had been given access to the Rednas records of the countless worlds visited and conquered by the Empire, including detailed scouting reports of the cultures prior to Rednas conquest. These accounts fascinated Marley to no end, especially the ones about Azaacar, the native name of the planet he called home, renamed LasTirk Prime after his mother. Despite all the time he spent shirking his training in favor of his studies, he was still strong, stronger than his brother. Greyson constantly challenged Marley for his birthright and was defeated every time. No matter how much Greyson trained, or how little Marley did, the outcome was still the same. Marley simply outclassed his brother, and Grayson hated him for it. He was not the only one. Many had challenged him for the right to succeed the Queen. Nearly all the children of the high-ranking families, as well as some of the commanders themselves, stepped up to vie for Marley's title over the years, even going as far as holding tournaments to compete to be next. The prince met every challenge with reluctance and walked away with victory. Even officers more than twice his age and size, steeped in combat experience, could not solve the "problem" of Marley. It was not that he enjoyed the challenges, or even that he wanted to protect his station. Marley was just naturally powerful. When he fought there was something that swelled in him, something old and primal that he could not explain. It was that "something" that had earned him the cognomen of "Marley the Indomitable", much to the pleasure of his mother, and the disgust of his brother.
Marley strode into the throne room, wringing his hands with anxiety, to find his brother already standing tall in front his mother. Greyson gave him a cold, haughty glance as if one of the servants had just walked in, then acknowledged him with even frostier indifference. "Marley", he never called him 'brother' but would always use his name as if it were a curse word. Greyson then turned his head forward and stood tall as if Marley wasn't there. His eyes on his mother, of whom he was the spitting image of, sharp eyes, fiery red hair, milky white skin, and a full head taller than Marley. The young prince hastily took his place next to his brother, putting his hands behind his back and raising his chin to regard the Queen of LasTirk Prime. She lounged on her throne, legs crossed over one of the arms, clad scantily in bedroom attire that barely kept her modest while a well-muscled male attendant, wearing even less than she, fed her some local fruit. After a moment she shooed her fruit man away and lazily held out her hand for another attendant to hand her a large wine glass. She took a long drink before speaking.
"Do you know why I called you two here this morning?" she said slowly, not even bothering to look at whom she was addressing. Not expecting a response, she continued. "Both of you have come of age. You are full grown men, and it is now time for you to take up some responsibilities in this kingdom. Especially if either of you expect to succeed me when the time comes. Even though you are sons of the Queen, if you do not show yourselves capable and formidable now, you will not live to claim your birthright. It is the Rednasi way. So, with that said, beginning today, Grayson, you will be training in military leadership. You will spend the next few months shadowing each of my commanders. You will learn the roles, responsibilities, and purpose of each one. Once you are done, and my commanders can tell me you are no longer a complete dumbass, you will be named Supreme Commander. They will report to you, you will report to me, and you will speak with my voice. Marley, my boy, you will shadow my overseers. The mines, the factories, the fields, and the spaceports will all be your responsibility when you are done. You will be my Minister of labor and commerce. All in all, that means you will oversee the slaves" she fixed her gaze on him, her tail rimming the edge of her glass. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Marley stammered, stunned at the assignment. "N-no mother" he managed weakly.
"Good. Do not disappoint me" she said with an edge of warning in her voice.
Lunch time found Marley sharing a meal with the overseers of the various operations he would be shadowing for the foreseeable future. He eyed the homogenous group carefully, silently sizing each one up and they sloppily ate. Various greases and juices dripped down their white beards or pale chins as they slurped and snorted like so many swine. He also stole glances at the native women that attended the meal, scantily clad and under fed. Marley let his gaze linger a little too long as pondered the disparity between the way his company gorged themselves on a mid-day meal like it was a holiday feast, and obvious poverty of the slaves they leaned, even depended on, so heavily. The man sitting to his right, the field overseer and only portly Rednasi Marley had ever seen, took notice of Marley's gaze and bumped him with his shoulder. "If you fancy one or two for your bed, I can arrange that for you." his voice gruff and low, muffled by a mouth full of food. Marley smiled, struggling to hide his disgust at the man. "No, thank you Overseer. I don't think that would be quite appropriate." The overseer replied with a loud, hearty, open-mouthed laugh that sent food spilling off his tongue. "Appropriate?! Not appropriate, you say?" much louder the Marley would have liked. "Boy, one thing you will come to understand during your 'training' out here, is that WE say what is and ain't 'appropriate'. We do what we want out here. As long as we meet our output goals, the crown doesn't give a field mouse turd what else we do." he gave a wide gesture around the table. "We are the law; we are kings out here!"
"Mind your tongue, fool." the deep booming voice came from across the table. The dark eyes of the white bearded factory overseer bored into his rotund counterpart. "It's bad enough that you spout this foolishness when it is just us. Did you forget you are talking to the Queen's own son? Are you really that stupid or is losing your head your new weight loss plan?" There was no humor in his tone, but the table erupted in laughter all the same. Everyone except Marley who sat back in distaste, and the field overseer who grew red with anger and embarrassment.
In an obvious effort to defuse the tension and change the subject, the commerce overseer, who was senior among them, clapped his hands together loudly. This served to alert the attendants to clear the veritable feast that was lunch, as well as garner the attention of the gathered overseers.
"Gentlemen" he began with a light upbeat sound to his voice. "We're here to welcome the young prince Marley to our ranks and discuss the training of our new soon-to-be boss. So, let's put our traditional Rednasi infighting and backstabbing on hold for a little bit, shall we?" This brought a low wry chuckle from the table. The field overseer crossed his arms to indicate his lack of amusement. The commerce overseer reached into his jacket and retrieved his data pad, prompting the rest to do the same. Marley was quietly handed one of his own from over his shoulder. He turned to nod his thanks, but the spindly servant simply lowered her head and scurried away. Looking at the data pad, marly noted he would be spending two weeks with each overseer. It would begin the next morning with commerce, spending time in off-planet shipping and receiving, the domestic warehouses and supply distribution centers, and business district. After that was the factory where they manufacture the planet's main export of starship parts. It was explained that they had become the main source of parts for the Rednas Empire due to the abundance of metal ores that had been found in the mines. The mines were next, they would be visiting several mines for different valuable gems and metal ore, as well as the refining plants for each. He would round out his training with the field overseer. When the current regime took over the planet the locals already had vast thriving farms, so the queen decided to "allow" them to continue doing what they were doing, albeit under new management. When he looked up from his data pad Marley found Notalap, the field overseer, glaring at him with a greasy smirk on his face. It made his stomach turn.
Later that evening the overseers held another meeting without Marley. They gathered in a poorly lit conference room at the spaceport and spoke in hushed tones as they discussed the next few weeks. They sat two to a side at the dark polished wood table regarding each other with an air of contempt. They worked and broke bread together, even plotted and schemed together, but no man fully trusted the other. It simply wasn't the Rednasi way. In the Rednas Empire power is everything, and the only ones that deserve it are the ones that are strong enough to take it. Each man had his position. Notalap was the agricultural overseer, his was the farms and ranches. ReDolb had the mines and refineries. The massive DaNerg controlled the factories. Elderly Ginipesh, from his perch over all commerce, controlled the movement of it all. What had brought them all together this night was the prospect of seeing their position diminished by having to answer to a man young enough to be a son to any of them. To top it off, this was a young man renowned for being impossible to challenge. The list of men who had lost to him was a long who's who of battle-hardened veterans.
"This is utterly ridiculous!" blustered Notalap. "Twenty years, we have run everything that moves on this pitiful backwater rock, and now, all of a sudden, we have to answer to this boy! Has the Queen completely lost her mind?"
"Keep your voice down fool." Ginipesh implored. "This is a secret meeting, remember? Even meeting like this could get us charged for treason. If someone were to actually hear you, we would all get strung up. Then you wouldn't have the boy to worry about." composing himself he continued. "That being said, I agree, this is a tremendous insult. To assume we need oversight after decades of autonomy and faithful service."
DaNerg chuckled, cutting him off. "I'm sorry, 'faithful service' you say? Are you going to sit there with a straight face and tell me you haven't been skimming, running gambling rooms, and whoring out the females like the rest of us? Did you think Lastirk didn't KNOW about all this? Be insulted all you want, but please don't act surprised."
"Be that as it may, why now? What does that sex crazed lunatic hope to gain from any of this?" said Notalap, throwing up his hands in frustration.
"It's simple," Redolb answered, shaking his head at his compatriots as he leaned back in his chair. "She's choosing her successor." He kept his volume low, but the deep baritone of his voice commanded attention and carried his words clearly. "She wants to see which of her sons is fit to rule when her time comes to an end. She will leave the throne to whichever of her sons proves most capable in their post. I imagine she thinks that would be better than having her son fight to the death." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "That being said, to hell with 'why', the question is; what are we going to do about it?"