Ten thousand golden crates descended through the misty atmosphere of Galaxy #208.
The Weaver-Star Cluster was famous across the cosmos for its luminous cosmic silk. For ten thousand years, eighty billion weavers had worked the colossal looms of Weaver-Nine, spinning spirit threads for the great sects. Now, every single one of those eighty billion workers was dying.
Black blood-parasites writhed across their brows. Their trembling hands could no longer hold the shuttles. Their children lay in cold textile dormitories, their breath growing shallower by the hour.
As the Taichu relief containers drifted toward the public plazas, a deep electrical hum tore through the clouds.
From the highest hill of the capital city, a colossal magnetic tractor array fired a blinding purple beam. The tractor beam seized all ten thousand golden crates out of the sky. With a harsh screech of artificial gravity, the beam dragged the entire shipment toward the private palace of Planetary Governor Pang.
The crates slammed down onto the polished marble courtyard of the governor’s estate with a series of heavy thuds.
Governor Pang stood on his grand balcony, leaning over the carved jade balustrade.
He was a grossly overweight man dressed in seven layers of gold-embroidered silk. Diamond rings glittered on all ten of his sausage-like fingers. Two concubines knelt beside him, peeling celestial grapes, while a dozen armed guards fanned him with peacock feathers.
