Heart of the Nebula by Joe Vasicek

some people
less than others.
    The only reason civilized
society isn’t overrun by barbarians and criminals is because of the
sheepdogs, Danica’s words came to his mind.
But what about all this inequality? He gritted his teeth. With all
the flagrant opulence around him, he couldn’t shake the feeling
that he had risked his life only to let a more insidious predator
undo all that he had worked for.
    Toward the bow, the corridor opened up to a
magnificent wood-paneled staircase leading down to the observation
deck. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a
stupendous view of the starfield outside. A dazzling crystal
chandelier hung from the center of the room, directly over an
automated serving bar. Retractable tables and chairs ringed the
windows, enough for the luxury yacht to host large, extravagant
parties while parked in orbit.
    Lars sat on the far side of the room,
admiring the view from one of the chairs. He wore the standard gray
jumpsuit of a merchanter, complete with compact utility belt and a
black leather vest that was wrinkled and cracked with age. James’s
lips turned up in a smile; he’d hardly ever seen Lars wear anything
else, not even in the video speeches he’d made to the General
Assembly of Citizens. In his decidedly working-class clothes, he
looked more than a little out of place here on the luxury
yacht.
    “ Hey,” he said as he
climbed down the stars. “Mind if I take a seat?”
    “ Not at all,” said
Lars.
    James settled into the shifting contours of
the egg-shaped chair across the table. For a moment, the cushions
felt lumpy and uneven, but the smartfoam soon conformed to his body
shape. As it did so, he couldn’t help but feel as if it were trying
to eat him. Lars chuckled.
    “ Not used to this kind of
luxury, are you?”
    “ No,” James
admitted.
    “ Neither am I. The
diplomatic committee likes to charter this starship for its more
important missions. Though it does seem a bit opulent, I suppose
it’s necessary to grease the wheels of diplomacy. Care for a
drink?”
    “ No, thanks.”
    “ Suit yourself.” Lars
lifted his glass and turned back to the magnificent
view.
    “ You know,” said James,
“it’s only been two days, and we’re already halfway to Gaia Nova.
If we were in a sublight convoy, we’d barely be out of the K3
trojans right now.”
    “ It’s amazing how much
difference a good FTL drive makes in space travel.”
    “ That’s not what I’m
talking about,” he said, shaking his head. “The wars have decimated
virtually all of the occupied worlds. Karduna, Tajjur, Gaia Nova—no
system has been spared. And yet, five years ago, the kind of
journey we’re making right now would have been
commonplace.”
    “ I know,” said Lars.
“Sometimes, I feel as if the outer edges of our own system are more
foreign to us than the other stars of the empire ever
were.”
    “ They’re definitely more
dangerous. With all the local piracy we’ve had to deal with,
‘occupation’ doesn’t really describe the way the Hameji are running
things.”
    “ Yes,” Lars agreed. “To
them, we’re just a vassal state. So long as we produce tribute,
they’re content to let us manage our own affairs.”
    “ Or let everything fall
apart.”
    Lars nodded. “It’s the same thing
everywhere. Gaia Nova is one of the worst examples—three stations
have collapsed since the occupation began. When you look at all
we’ve been through, it’s a wonder that the Colony has survived for
as long as it has.”
    “ Yeah,” said
James.
    They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.
Outside, the stars shone like cold, distant jewels. The wispy pink
tendrils of the Good Hope Nebula lay just out of view, but James
caught sight of a couple dark molecular clouds—blots in the
starfield.
    “ Do you think this
conference will accomplish anything?”
    “ I hope so,” said Lars with
a wry grin. “I’m the one who organized it, after all.”
    James’s eyes widened. He regarded