Across the two hundred million light-years of Sector 3 (The Western 200 Galaxies), three million darkened agricultural worlds were reaching the final limit of their endurance.
Outside the Golden-Ear Main Planet—which had been warmed by Jiang Tuntun’s porcelain jar of lard rice. Two hundred trillion citizens on millions of outlying farming planets were huddled around dying embers in minus-one-hundred-degree darkness. Their breath freezing on their eyelashes as the last warmth of their stolen suns faded from the soil.
Up in high orbit on Flagship #301, Plunder Clone Leader #301 stared down at the fourteen-year-old girl in the Central Granary Square. Whose rosy cheeks were currently puffed out like a glowing golden hamster—and barked nervously into the fleet intercom:
“Don’t panic! Even if she swallowed our two thousand black holes and broke through to Rank 9, those 200,000 natural suns are already inside her stomach! You can’t un-eat a sun once you’ve digested it!
Without sunlight and seed-grain, the two hundred trillion mortals in the Western Galaxies will still freeze to death in ten minutes. We can force their survivors to sign lifetime debt-slavery contracts for a single lump of coal!”
Down in the Central Granary Square, eighty-year-old Old Farmer Chen looked up at the pitch-black sky beyond their planet’s atmosphere. His old heart tightening with worry for his fellow farmers across the two hundred galaxies.
