General Kriz’Nit Far glanced up from his tablet when the door to his office whispered open and admitted a small group of officers. It was time to discuss the output from the Naraxian mines. Ever since the last species they’d brought into the system died off, Gravitrum was becoming extremely difficult to find.

  It was a cycle they went through every few hundred years. The Stygiboran government would ‘save’ a species from its own heresy by bringing them back here and giving that species a new purpose under their dark touch. Without fail, the handful of creatures lucky enough not to be thrown into the mines would be accused of crimes they couldn’t have committed. Finally, the judicial system of the Stygiboran hive mind would have them convicted to a life sentence. Those prisoners would inevitably end up in the mines, digging up Gravitrum in exchange for one more day of life.

  Ironically, the Stygiboran fleet spent roughly thirty percent of the produced Gravitrum in order to find—and save—a new slave species. The cycle was ancient, older than written history, and one the Scaladorians had eventually found success in.

  That was the result when only the most obedient were allowed to spawn offspring.

  “Thank you all for coming. As you know, this meeting is to discuss the current output of the Naraxian Mines. To my understanding, things were looking up, but the production speed has significantly dropped over the past several weeks.”

  Mandibles clacked and heads bobbed around the table as the group processed the words. All members were already aware of this, but the protocol mandated that someone give a briefing before each meeting took place.

  “If this trend continues, we will be unable to stock the fleet and our empire could come to a grinding halt. The humans in the mines already have not produced enough ore to refine, and the ones on other worlds have been too well behaved to convict. Unless we’re willing to deal with the much larger issue of social unrest, we can’t just steal people off the street and force them to work. I need ideas.”

  “Well, Sir, I think the answer to our issue is easy if we’re willing to put in the work. Why don’t we send another wave of probes and find a second cosmic body with high concentrations of the material? Once we’ve done that, we can either staff this location with true-blooded Scaladorians and pay them a fair wage, or look for a secondary slave race to pull it out of the ground.” General Croc’set Jak pulled up a star map as he spoke, zooming in on the Stygiboran Empire and highlighting potential targets.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “A second slave race would cost entirely too much. Travel alone would eat our entire budget and potentially bankrupt the system.” General Kriz’nit replied, “However, if we can convince some of the lower class to go into the mines voluntarily, we could potentially cover the lost output.”

  In the corner, Lieutenant Pikt snorted with amusement. It was well known that Scaladorian citizens did nothing for themselves. The fact that senior leadership thought this conversation was going to result in a single full citizen entering the mines was so stupid, it was almost funny.

  “You think I’m wrong?” Kriz’nit raised an antenna.

  “No Sir. I don’t think either of you is wrong. But I do think you’re both incredibly na?ve.”

  “Go on.” A twitch in General Kriz’nit’s antenna giving away his frustration.

  “Well, Sir, our people believe what the church tells them. The average citizen truly feels they are better than the slave races, simply because they’re born under the shadow of Stygibora. The truly devout among them even hate the lower races, twisting the scripture until it fits their narrative rather than the original.”

  It was a problem across the entire empire, and each of the officers knew that. Ironically, it was one their predecessors created centuries ago attempting to solve a different problem. While the belief was core to the Stygibora, religion no longer served the Scaladorian government the way it once had. But it was hard to weed out belief once it infected the weak of mind.

  “You're saying that even if we get to the legislation passed, the chances of getting the lower class into the mine voluntarily is slim to none? Do you think we could sentence them the same as we do the lower races?” General Kriz’nit rubbed his carapace in frustration.

  This loss was something the council had expected for a long time. In the early days, Gravitrum was almost as common as iron. Now, they were lucky to get three units per day. There was always the choice to bring in more heavy machinery to dig deeper, but that came with significant costs as well.

  Perhaps there was some merit to trying to find another celestial body made of the rare material. But considering the circumstances that created it in the first place, that could be a very long and fruitless journey.

  General Kriz’nit swiped at the air, pulling up the recording program he used to issue changes in orders.

  He didn’t want to issue the command, and it wouldn’t be popular, but the need to conserve Gravitrum was greater than his need for popularity.

  “Attention, all units assigned to the planetoid Narax. Effective immediately, tours of duty will change from fifteen-solar rotations to forty-five. Units currently deployed will finish the rotation as scheduled. The new tour of duty duration will take effect at the beginning of the new rotation.”

  Kriz’nit turned off the recording and met the disapproving gazes of his advisers. They didn’t agree with changing the status quo. But sometimes, making an unpopular call was necessary.

  He hoped—for the sake of the Scaladorian people—it was the right one.