General Summary
"Ah. I see the good duke of Nanton V has decided to take the time out of his busy schedule to visit his dear old Aunt. Welcome home boy. You look thin, would you like some wine?"
"Hello, Viceroy Ranoss, Aunt. I have not come for a social visit... unfortunately." The duke spoke without making eye contact, staring at the portaits on the gallery wall.
"Well spit it out then if you're not here for wine and conversation. What do you need?" Great Aunt Imelda Ranoss said, now looking towards the same paintings with a tired look.
"I do not come for my need but yours. I recently visited our family mining colony in the Napier Belt around Proxima. Very valuable, but, our production was slowing."
"Just like I said. It doesn't seem like you can hire good help these days. Nobody wants to work! How do you think I got all this money then hm? I earned every penny. Sweat of my brow and all that."
"Yes, Aunt Ranoss."
"Oh, Now I'm your Aunt Ranoss? I thought I was the Sector Viceroy there for a minute but now you've ruined my fun."
"Which honorific would you prefer?"
"You sicophant. This is why you'll never make it. I don't care what you call me. Just do your job and tell me what's wrong with my miners."
"The boss of the plant killed himself, Ma'am. In protest. Several of his crew did as well. They don't have food. They are living on recycled waste, and they are rationing oxygen. The debris in the field is picking them off while they mine, and every time it damages the station they loose even more of it. The survivors begged me to petition you for the resources they need. They don't mind the work... They are stranded. Their cargo ship died, transmitter got hit by an asteroid, and cargo shipments stopped three years ago." A pregnant pause echoed in the chamber filled with vapid finery. "Why did you stop their transports?"
"Oh, does it really matter? They stopped meeting quotas a decade ago, and it was going to cost a fortune, and I dont mean that lightly boy, a fortune to get them off that Sol forsaken rock. It was the better business deal to make it an unfortunate miscalculation. A smudge in the ledger. You'll have to make those decisions one day, you know." The viceroy coughed, the sound of mucus and slime building in her ancient lungs.
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