The Worker Prince by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

meet your quota,” the taller soldier said.
    “I try, sir, I do. The new quotas are impossible,” the worker pleaded, his voice shaking, his face filled with fear.
    “The Alliance sets the quotas, not the workers,” said the shorter soldier with a cocky grin.
    “Your job is to meet them,” the taller soldier added.
    Davi watched the worker’s eyes. He didn’t appear to be making excuses. Instead, he appeared to be struggling to remain upright.
    The shorter soldier poked him hard in the chest. “Did you think you could stop doing your work and keep making us look bad without any consequences?”
    The worker shook his head, confused. “No, I—”
    “Maybe we need to teach you a lesson.” The taller soldier rolled his eyes as both soldiers grinned.
    “No, please. I’ll work harder,” the worker said, backing away.
    The taller soldier took a club from his belt and started banging it on the wall, inches from the worker’s head. Wood splintered under the impact as nearby windowpanes rattled. The worker trembled in fear.
    “You’ve said the same thing every day this week!” the taller soldier responded as he swung the club again and again.
    Davi tensed, his nostrils flaring as he started toward them, preparing to interfere.
    Zylo grabbed his arm. “Let them handle this!”
    Davi was shocked. “They’re going to beat him!”
    “He probably deserves it,” Zylo said, unconcerned. “We get nothing but trouble from these workers.”
    “Nothing justifies cruel abuse of another human being,” Davi snapped, yanking his arm free.
    “These workers don’t qualify for the term ‘human,’” Zylo said with growing irritation. “You might want to know the situation before you decide to interfere with our soldiers doing their duty.”
    “Their duty is to make sure the workers stay on task, meet their quotas—”
    “Their duty is to do whatever it takes to maintain the workers’ production levels and focus,” Zylo’s cheeks reddened as he shot Davi a reproaching look. “Maybe someone who’s been on the planet only a couple of weeks should observe first before rushing in. Lord Xalivar’s order authorized whatever’s necessary to keep the workers in line. The Prince of all people should know these policies come from the top.”
    Davi did know but he’d never imagined anything like what he was seeing. “He didn’t mean this ,” he said, matching Zylo’s accusing stare. He hadn’t known about this specific order. Could his uncle have authorized such barbaric means? He wanted to respect his uncle, yet what he had seen conflicted with what he knew in his soul to be right and just.
    “Come on. There are other things I wanted to show you.” Zylo grabbed Davi’s arm and led him on past the soldiers across a well-groomed lawn. Soft grass bent with each step, cushioning his feet. Davi ignored the hand on his arm, realizing that here he was just another officer, not a Royal whom touching casually was forbidden by law. Clearly, he had a lot to get used to.
    Over the next two hours, Zylo and Davi toured a few factories and then the city works warehouse where workers bore responsibility for keeping the city’s parks and transportation corridors in top condition—picking up garbage, clearing debris, and tending landscaping and plants.
    At his desk again, late that afternoon, Davi couldn’t get his mind off what he’d witnessed. He stared at a plant on the windowsill next to his framed diploma from the military Academy. They amounted to the only decorating he’d had time for. Sparse light reflected off the standard gray paint common to government offices. His standard chair sat next to a standard desk buried under piles of files, in queue for the file cabinet behind him. Occupying space between stacks of papers were his computer terminal and communicator. The blandness of the room matched his mood, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the plant, a gift from the ambassador he’d met at the palace. It stood