Chapter Text
“Moving on. As I’m sure you’re well aware, the Emperor will be decreasing your staff’s earnings by ten percent this new fiscal year...”
“What? Hang on, I didn’t know about this.”
“...bringing it to a wage of thirty percent of the total monthly earnings from the Gelatonium refinery, in contrast to the forty percent from last year. The remaining seventy percent is taxed and returned to the Emperor.”
It was Tax Time, and the Emperor’s assistant had video-called Mort to discuss the employment terms of the new fiscal year. The Morts had recently renewed their contract (by force), but the new terms were not as stated at the time of signing.
“Yes, yes. I know how it works, but this is not what I was originally told, ya know?”
“The amount levied reflects the changes in the average wage within the Nefarious Empire.”
“Aw jeez, I get that, I do, but there’s no way I can possibly accept this. Thirty percent is just way too low.”
“Uh-huh, okay,” the assistant nodded, but her attention was on her tablet.
“This is outrageous. We Morts already give so much. He can’t do this to us.”
“Of course.”
“I won’t stand for this... I... I reject these changes.”
The assistant finished tapping on her tablet and returned to the camera with hands folded.
“Duly noted. In that case, the Emperor thanks you for your time, and you should expect a visit from him soon.”
Mort blinked, “Huh— no! Wait!”
The assistant ended the call with a sing-song, “long live the Emperor.”
Remorse set in as the Mort grappled with the implications of her actions. She began to shake as she stared at her reflection in the blank screen.
“Oh gosh... what have I done?”
--
Due to the brutally corrupt nature of the Nefarious Empire, citizens worked long hours for little pay and were taxed in excess. The system was especially oppressive towards organics whose lives were often heavily exploited and possessed very few rights compared to robots to whom have societal priority.
The Morts had been working under the Emperor for a few years now, having taken over at the Sargasso Gelatonium Refinery after the previous workers had collectively met their demise. Knowing all too well of what happened to the Kerchu, the Morts had learned to triple-check their spelling of the Emperor’s name on their tax returns.
Generally, the Morts had been on good terms with the Emperor, working diligently and without complaint (out of fear).
Up until now.
It wasn’t her intention to cause problems, Mort had never stepped out of line before, and she wasn’t certain if her refusal to settle was even considered as total non-compliance. She didn’t think so, but the Emperor never physically visited planets unless there was a conflict of interest, which, from what she had heard, normally ended horribly for the disputant.
Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do - she had to face him.
When the time came, Mort made sure to meet him alone, somewhere outside of Sargasso’s central zone. The other Morts couldn’t know of what she’d done.
She watched as his ship landed where she’d arranged - the swampy outskirts of the lesser-used outpost Zulu.
The Emperor exited and walked towards her with pace, leaving a handful of warbots waiting obediently by the ship - a large yellow one looking particularly scary.
“Y-your greatness. I... I just want to start by apologising for my rashness, I—“
“So you should,” he stopped a few feet from the Mort, towering over her, ”do you have any idea of how inconvenient this is for me? Because of your blatant disregard for my terms, I’ve had to travel lightyears to this cesspool of a planet.”
He shook some slimy swamp mire off of his boot. The Mort choked out multiple apologies as the robot’s hands found purchase on his hips with a sigh.
“Anyway, I expect that my assistant explained everything to you,” he shifted his weight and picked at his metaphorical teeth, “it’s just a ten percent wage drop. I think thirty percent is reasonable, don’t you?”
“Aw jeez. Th-that’s the thing, your greatness. The number... it’s just too low. We’re already struggling as it is. M-my people, my family, I— we can’t continue working under these conditions. It’s—”
The Emperor held up a claw, “let me stop you right there.”
The Mort swallowed and wrung her shaky hands as he leant forward, casting a dark shadow over her.
“Need I remind you of who you are? You exist purely at the service of my empire. You and your petty little race are only good for one thing: factory work. You’re useless otherwise, and I guarantee you won’t find work anywhere else.”
“I... I understand. Don’t get me wrong, your greatness. Us Morts, we- we know our place. But—“
“But?”
“B-but... I feel my workers deserve more than thirty percent.”
The Emperor straightened and pinched between his eyes, his head lowered and eyes closed in frustration.
“How irksome.”
He released a deep sigh, clearly overburdened by the disappointing information.
“I grow tired of your wretched stammering and your... persistent refusal to yield.”
The Emperor dropped his hand and returned his scornful glare to the smaller, ambling closer to her.
“Have you simply forgotten who you’re dealing with? Or... no. Better yet,” he cleared his nonexistent throat, “have you forgotten the fate of your predecessors?”
The Mort trembled.
“If so...”
He swiftly grabbed her by the uniform and brought her up to his full height, holding her just inches from his face.
“Then allow me to remind you.”
“Nohooo, please!”
“Put her down.”
The intrusion of a third voice caused both heads to turn.
A young girl stood firm only a few metres from the two. Her fists were clenched on either side of her thin frame, and with a tightly knitted brow, she glared daggers into the tyrant.
“Rivet! Oh no, honey, this doesn’t concern you! You shouldn’t be here!”
The Emperor briefly studied the interferer before dropping the Mort to the ground.
“A Lombax.”
His interest piqued, he slowly approached the child.
Mort rubbed at her back, “Rivet, get out of here!”
He loomed over her, but Rivet didn’t break her gaze.
“And a female one at that, hmhmm. How rare.”
The Emperor crouched down a couple of feet from the girl and paused for a beat to visually inspect her.
“How old are you?”
The child’s expression further hardened, “how old are you?”
This evoked a genuine laugh from the robot, “I like her.”
“I won’t let you do this to the Morts. They slave day in and day out at the refinery. And for what? For you to just... make their lives more miserable by cutting their pay!”
She stabbed an accusatory finger at the Emperor, to which he grinned darkly.
”You should be ashamed of how you treat people. Mort is a hard worker, she... they... we deserve better! You... you’re a horrible ruler!”
The Emperor hummed wickedly as Rivet finished her spiel.
“Is that so?”
He reached for her scarf and yanked her forward so they were inches apart.
Mort gasped, “please, she’s just a kid!”
Rivet winced at the sudden invasion of space, but didn’t recoil.
“No, go ahead, you’re right to cower. Hmmhm.”
His pupils flickered as he focused on the girl squirming within his grip.
“Nobody’s ever stood up to me like this before,” he grabbed her cheeks, making sure she’s looking him directly in the eye when he said, “and this is why.”
Upon releasing her, he stood, straightened and turned to Mort, “twenty percent.”
“What?! Noooo! That’s not... W-we didn’t—“
The Lombax’s steely gaze dropped.
The stunned Mort tripped over her words as she tried one last time, “please, your greatness, I beg of you,” but her voice was small and stripped of all strength, ”that’s not... what you said. You—“
“I’m past negotiating. And thanks to your employee here, you don’t have a choice.”
“I... I...”
A lump formed in Rivet’s throat as the stuttering Mort finally gave in.
“Then it’s settled,” the Emperor folded his hands behind his back and about-faced, “I think we’re done here.”
Overwhelmed and devastated, the Mort began to sob - her tears a display of penitence to her race.
The Emperor looked to the girl once more, flashing a brief smug smile before leaving.
The Lombax watched the robot tyrant go with hatred in her eyes, as she attended to the mess of a Mort.
--
Rivet couldn’t apologise enough for her error, so instead, she pledged to work thrice the hours she normally worked to atone for her mistake.
She spent her long workdays thinking about the Emperor - his burning eyes cemented in her mind. A lingering tightness in her throat mimicked that of the way he yanked at her scarf. And even when she finally found rest at night, lying in her tiny Mort bed, his face was all she could see.
Over the weeks that followed, the Morts treated the young Lombax with care despite her missteps. It was only natural to assume that such a confrontation would have negative effects on a child, as most who had survived contention with the Emperor became meek and listless.
Instead, the events of that day only drove Rivet to chase retribution, and she vowed to herself and her Mort family to one day put an end to the Emperor’s tyranny.