Laeonas Tannras’ ship tore across hyperspace, the tunnel of blue space warping around the ship whose cargo had once been trafficked slaves. Staring out the viewport as he sat in the cockpit, the boy thought he recognized the pattern of the Hydian way. That was impossible, ofcourse; hyperspace had the same appearance no matter which lane one happened to be on. But the boy knew that he had taken this route before, and subconsciously, his mind was preparing him for the long overdue return to homeworld.
His destination was one that those who made their living through selling goods were familiar with. If one wanted to go anywhere in the galaxy to sell their goods, passing through the Brentaal System was almost a necessity. Intersecting between two of the largest, most far reaching hyperspace lanes one could travel along, Brentaal was a nexus of the galactic economy. It was deep in the New Republic’s core, right next to Chandrila-- the former capital of the last republic-- occupying a place of local prestige.
For others, Brentaal represented nothing more than a blip on the galactic map-- an intersection between hyperspace lanes. To those who touched down on their ways across the galaxy, Brentaal was a wealthy world of refined tastes; ancient art, operas that were only surpassed by Coruscant performances, palaces that would dazzle anyone who explored them.
When they’d look out the windows of their hotel rooms, or stumble out onto the streets drunk, carrying a purse of winnings, they wouldn’t notice the folks around them glaring. They wouldn’t notice that they were often corralled into smaller sections of whatever cities they stayed in. They’d barely notice the sound dampeners outside their hotels, built to stop them from waking in the night when they heard the sound of blasterfire.
Brentaal IV was home to seventy-billion people. While much of it’s populations did live long, healthy, and happy lives, a sizeable section didn’t reap the rewards of Brentaal’s economic prosperity. All accepted that the noble houses received the lions’ share of revenue from Brentaal’s valuable galactic position, and all accepted that they were subjects to be ruled. Most were able to accept this arrangement because Brentaal’s industrial economy was still strong enough to support the tens of billions of her citizens… but not all of them.
Entire swathes of the cities that covered Brentaal’s surface amounted to little more than urban slums. They had formed following the collapse of the empire, with the demand for weapons manufacturing in the core dipping considerably following the imperial withdrawal from the world. As such, billions of the world’s inhabitants had been left destitute for over a century. Communities that had once been vibrant and wealthy had gradually descended into economic depression, with the only legal jobs mostly revolving around low-wage service work.
This was the environment that Laeonas had been familiar with for most of his life. Brentaal was not a world of glittering palaces to him; it was a world of run-down apartment tenements. Of corrupt police officers, extorting bribes in exchange for a lack of beatings or forgiveness for petty crimes. There was no luxury besides access to a holoviewer, and mid-quality booze to slake one’s thirst.
Hyperspace slipped away from his vision. His sunken, dreary eyes looked out, squinting at the sight of the sun that had beat down upon him for most of his life. A planet with massive polar regions, and an arid surface covered by salt-flats greeted him.
Home.