Enter Remus (Part III of SkiFI)

Destroying parts of one’s own ship and putting it back together were a significant drain on one’s resources – that is, of course, unless you were Remus Piddleberry, Space Pirate Supremo and Heir to the Universe, whose personal wealth was fabled to be somewhere between the worth of all the diamonds on Traxon IV, and the value of the planet Augous itself. You could pluck out diamonds from Traxon IV’s sandy beaches by the fistful (if you wanted to get your fist chopped off by the Traxi Protectorate), and Augous’s crust was made of pure gold, running 2 miles deep into the planet’s crust. The values of these two worlds was so mind-bogglingly high (as per the base prices set at the start of the Galacto-economic age), that no one knows exactly how much either is worth, or indeed which is higher. Which makes Remus’s actual worth even more difficult to determine, and hence, utterly meaningless to our story.

Another reason why it is utterly meaningless to our story is because I’m not Remus Piddleberry.

I am, however, a former noble from the Pariah* system, one of middling wealth, which gave me the means to regularly fry the circuits of my errant but entertaining shipboard computer, Freddie. At last count I calculated that if I never took another trip around the galaxy again, I would have the means to probably destroy and rebuild Freddie every day for the next year or so.

(To be continued tomorrow: Day 300 of “Tom and Freddie”)

*Pariah is one of the few systems that is more frequently known by the name given to it by outsiders – ‘Pariah’. Besides the fact that its true name is unpronounceable by mostly all sentient beings in the universe, it is also cursed to cause instant death to any of the natives who speak it. Since ‘death’ for the Pariah people essentially means reverting to a state of pan-dimensional omniscience and boredom, something truly more frightening than conventional death, the regulators of Pariah reconstructed the curse so that it operates only within the bounds of their solar-system. Weak-willed Pariah’ns are free to leave the homeworld, with the understanding that they never return. There’s a AstroPub just outside the bounds of their solar-space, which is the first stop for the newly off-worlded, where droves of drunks scream the homeworld’s given name over and over and over again, just to get it out of their systems. From there on out, it doesn’t make sense to explain to others that they are from Gy$Okw@fanB/qSx]ll[oP – noone else can say it, spell it, or remember it. It’s just easier to say “I’m Pariah”, and everyone knows exactly what you’re talking about.

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