Augustus paused in front of Old Ret's Bar, briefly glancing over the stacked, glowing signs above the entrance. Among them were flashing English letters of all kinds—even one offering rental rooms—apparently, as long as it could emit light, the slum dwellers here wouldn't give up so easily.
As the officers shouted and stormed into the bar, they began dragging out or beating the innocent patrons who had simply been drinking near the counter—until Ret himself emerged from a dark, sealed backroom filled with excited screams.
Old Ret's left arm had been replaced with a grasping mechanical limb, and his right leg—hidden beneath his trousers—had undergone a similar modification. In Tarsonis, especially in these chaotic slums, such body modifications were as common as tattoos and piercings among rowdy youth.
This wasn't merely because many people had lost limbs in violent conflicts or hazardous jobs. Plenty had voluntarily replaced their arms or legs in the hope of becoming 'bulletproof'.
However, the current state of such technology was still quite primitive. The modifications affordable to slum residents were severely limited by tech constraints—requiring frequent part replacements and far less dexterous than natural limbs. They were only useful for basic daily functions at best.
Tarsonis's slums might well be the most chaotic, lawless corner in the entire universe. In order to survive, people here resorted to using biological or chemical enhancers—many of which came with serious side effects—to gain an edge in brutal gang skirmishes. These side effects included, but were not limited to, the development of extra soft tissue, teeth, or even tentacles.
"Sheriff Anson, I already paid for this month—"
"Shut up! You filthy human trafficker. Butcher!" Anson barked, cutting Ret off sharply. "I swear by the sacred duty of every officer—I will make sure you end up in prison."
"You dare detain Mr. Tychus Findlay, a law-abiding citizen of the Federation, without cause? Have you no regard for law and justice?!"
"Tychus Findlay? Now that name I remember."
Ret, who had appeared somewhat panicked and confused at first, suddenly cracked a knowing smile.
"He owes fourteen girls their rightful pay. As their protector, I was simply doing what I had to do to collect that debt."
"I don't believe a word you say."
Before the sheriff could respond, Augustus stepped forward and stood beside Ret. Calmly, he stared directly into his eyes, hands folded behind his back. "I want to see Findlay. Right now."
"You heard him, didn't you? Then go do it."
Ret hesitated for a moment, but ultimately obeyed. The aura Augustus gave off was far from that of a naïve rich kid out of his depth. Ret hadn't earned his place in the slums just by brawling and bluffing.
Soon, Tychus emerged, tied up in an intricate shibari pattern with a thin rope, surrounded by several burly men. He was still completely naked—not even wearing underwear—which made the particular style of bondage feel almost philosophical.
Lisa immediately reached out to cover Augustus's eyes, while the other Heaven's Devils burst into roaring laughter.
"Mengsk, you're a damn good man! I knew I could count on you!"
With an exaggeratedly smug tone, bordering on false bravado, Tychus barked at the thugs around him: "Come on! Untie me already, you useless lapdogs!"
Ret didn't bother bringing up the debt again. He ordered his men to release Tychus. After all, if it came down to a formal confrontation, Tychus would surely deny owing anything—and neither Augustus nor the armed officers behind him would back Ret up.
Just then, a seductive-looking woman stepped out, tossed Tychus a pair of underwear, and praised his skill and stamina with a teasing smile.
"Sheriff," Augustus said, brushing aside Lisa's hand and watching Tychus calmly put on the underwear, "please let this guy know how much it cost me to bail him out today."
"Remember this debt, Findlay. You owe me."
...
Augustus stayed in the city of Tarsonis for about a week, and the city left a deep impression on him.
The magnificent and majestic Tarsonis stood as the heart of the Terran Confederacy. Its countless gleaming towers and sprawling industrial zones had permanently reshaped much of the planet's crust. Perhaps, centuries from now, the people of Tarsonis would level the mountains and fill in the oceans—nature would be thoroughly conquered by mankind. One day, the stars would become this race's garden, and the galaxy no more than a winding path within it.
Tarsonis was a prosperous hub of both economy and industry, where cutting-edge technology found its earliest applications. Anyone with talent or cunning had the chance to soar in this world of technological wonder—but could also lose everything in an instant.
It was the cradle of Terran civilization, the birthplace of it all. The power of Tarsonis alone was enough to crush Korhal IV. Even if all the Confederacy's colonies united in opposition, a full-scale war across the Koprulu Sector would be required, with countless lives lost in the process.
And yet—behind the glittering facade, beneath the economic and technological glory—lay an uncountable mass of the impoverished. The extreme imbalance between rich and poor had created an irreparable rift between classes.
Corruption and cronyism permeated every level of the Confederacy's government and subordinate institutions. The privileges enjoyed by the nobility had lifted them above both the state and the common people. So far removed from the lives of their citizens, they had grown arrogant and indifferent.
And those in power feared reform—because they were the ones who needed to be reformed.
This world needed to change.
...
On January 22, Augustus and his men boarded a starship bound for Meinhoff, and by the evening of the 25th, they had safely returned to the Iron Justice, the battlecruiser stationed in the planet's orbit.
Inside the captain's quarters of the Iron Justice, Augustus met with his long-absent superior, Lieutenant Colonel Horace Warfield, who had summoned him immediately.
"You stayed in Tarsonis longer than they expected," Warfield said. "They asked me why you remained an extra five days."
Warfield was a minimalist. Unlike some noble generals who decorated their quarters like royal palaces, his captain's room contained only a standard field cot and a few lockers.
"They?" Augustus, still weary from the aftereffects of hyperspace travel, searched the unusually spacious captain's quarters for a soft sofa—but found only a few angular stools. He didn't particularly mind.
"Not us. The Marines don't care what you did in Tarsonis," Warfield replied. "It was the Terran Confederacy Bureau of Investigation. The agents have already set their sights on you." He was dressed in a formal officer's uniform, prepared to board a transport to Meinhoff's Marine and Fleet High Command.
"That doesn't surprise me. And it's probably not just one agency watching my every move," Augustus said as he casually dragged a stool over and sat down. "They'd probably even overanalyze me buying a dress—frantically trying to decipher the motive behind it, like a monkey whose tail just caught fire."
"They're this nervous for one reason: your last name is Mengsk," Warfield said with a nod. "I didn't fully understand what happened on Korhal IV before—but now I'm starting to see why both you and Arcturus chose to leave in such a hurry."
"But what did you do in Tarsonis?"
"Nothing much. Danced with some noblewomen and their daughters. Paid visits to a few leaders of the Tarsonis Old Families. In the last few days, I gave speeches at a few of the city's universities—told the students they should cherish this hard-won peace, defend the Confederacy that grants them their rights, and fulfill the duties of every Confederate citizen," Augustus replied.
"Sounds like the usual rhetoric. You know how it is—I had to stick to the organizers' script just to be allowed on stage. But what surprised me," he added, "was that there really were a few 'progressives' among the students—people with lofty ambitions, dissatisfied with the Confederacy's incompetence and corruption."
During his time in Tarsonis City, Augustus met with the leaders of three Old Families—the Terra family, the Holt family, and the Brubaker family—and, as an invited guest, toured the Sky Towers of four other Old Families, along with the industrial facilities owned by their corporate conglomerates.
Without exception, these seven Old Families held no particular hostility toward the Mengsk family or Augustus himself. In fact, some of them sought to extract greater benefits from Korhal IV. At this point in time, the Old Families had not yet anticipated that an even more severe uprising—or even full-scale war—would erupt on Korhal.
The other twelve Old Families, including the Bennett family, coldly rejected Augustus, refusing any contact with members of the Mengsk lineage. This was despite the fact that Augustus's public statements consistently expressed his vehement opposition to his father Angus's ideology and conveyed Korhal IV's sincere desire for peace.
These Old Families had a mix of warm and cold attitudes. Their views on the Mengsks of Korhal—and on the broader political landscape—varied according to their positions and interests. For instance, the Holt family, being the most junior among the Old Families, seemed more inclined to welcome change in Tarsonis, where the distribution of power had long stagnated and solidified into a lifeless pond.
After these days of direct contact, coupled with intelligence provided by Umojan agents, Augustus had largely identified which families could potentially be won over. As for the members and officials of the Tarsonis Confederate Parliament, Augustus wisely avoided engaging with the cunning and unpredictable politicians altogether.
"That's right. Words like that are best said by someone like you—a 'hero'," said Warfield. "You're Angus's son, yet your statements are the complete opposite of his. That's exactly the image they want."
"And it's the image I want, too," Augustus replied, rising from the stool and gazing through an open observation port in the captain's quarters, out into the blackness of deep space. "When they asked me what I thought of my father, I told them he was a madman. When they asked if I was a devoted patriot, I let my eyes well up with tears and said I loved this pure land beneath my feet with all my heart."
"Maybe you've got a future in politics after all," Warfield said with a hearty laugh.
"Actually, I don't think I'm cut out for politics," Augustus replied. "I believe Arcturus is the one who was born for it—though he probably hasn't realized it himself."
"I'm not so sure about that," Warfield said, then suddenly remembered something. "There's one more thing—I almost forgot. Your retirement request has been approved. So, what are your plans next?"
"I'll head to Umoja first, then return to Korhal," Augustus said. "Some of my subordinates are also looking to retire soon. With so many people leaving service at once, there may be complications. I'm asking you—just once more—to help me with this."
"All right, no problem," Warfield said as he walked over and patted Augustus on the shoulder.
"If there's ever anything you need from me, don't hesitate to reach out."
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