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> CEO - "You MUST obey me! Now bring me food, bring me the crops, I'm HUNGRY!"
> Former employees - "We're stuck on this world, too, buddy. We grew this food, we'll eat this food. You want to eat, you either start helping out, or you can eat the bland nutripaste crap the replicators make."
> CEO - "So why in h--- don't you just KILL me, if you hate me so much??"
> Former employees - "Because it's more fun hearing you whine, and because SOME of us are nice enough to hope that you might actually learn, like your wives and kids have, to work WITH us in peace." -- Lessons

They said that the _Ostentatious_ was the ship of dreams. They weren't entirely _wrong_, it was just that it was the ship of _dream_. Singular. One man's dream to make the most luxurious space yacht with every possible amenity and the kind of engines that make small minds excited to show them off.

CEO Victor Truman Valerium only took it on one flight. Shortly after he bragged that nothing in the universe could take it down.

Nature hates a vacuum. The universe, full of vacuum, hates blatant displays of hubris. It should surprise nobody that the _Ostentatious_ set forth on her maiden voyage with only the _appearance_ of being fully prepared. With little if anything to do with basic safety precautions, and not enough lifepods. It should also surprise nobody that the ship went down in unsurveyed space whilst the pilot - CEO Valerium - was attempting a maniac manoeuvre that was ill-advised. Even for vessels designed to do it.

It was sheer dumb luck that they all landed on a habitable planet.

Those lucky enough to survive planetfall salvaged what they could of the _Ostentatious_, picking off her gilded frames and marble veneers to make a shantytown around the crater.

The first year was always the roughest, even in _planned_ colonies. Ground had to be cleared. Ground had to be broken. Crops had to be grown. Animals had to be hunted. Even then, there were elaborate steps that had to be taken to be certain _anything_ was edible.

His nine wives and seventeen children progressively disowned him during that year, preferring to join with the surviving workers rather than eat nothing but nutrient soup from the food printers.

Madelina Valerium, formerly prized for her physical attributes, became a miracle worker at keeping the food printers functioning and functional. She gave her silk ballgowns to the people making filters and lived in denim and canvas. Victor disowned his daughter very quickly once "she let herself go".

Former sixth wife Felicity could organise logistics like no other. She could calculate rationing on the fly and, as a bonus, concussed a Dire Pig with one blow from her Designer Purse. It only takes one such instance to become a legend, but she went out and _hunted_ them like that.

The impromptu colony survived a lot of the winter on every part of the Dire Pig but its squeal.

First Harvest was a day that would last in lore and legend, at least until they reconnected with the Alliance. Time would tell. Those who tilled the land, those who tended those first seeds with anxiety and paranoia, those who carefully encouraged every leaf, all were throwing a party.

They had won. They had won fertile soil and enough crops to see them comfortably through the next winter. _Without_ having to resort to Dire Chitlin Surprise. Further, they had enough to plant for _next year_.

It was still a thin party, but the relief in having _enough_ was palpable. Everyone was in a mood to celebrate. Well. Almost everyone.

"What in the [UNPLEASANT AFTERLIFE] is this? You need to be repairing my ship for launch, not partying! What sort of food do you call this [EXCREMENT]?" A moment to process that there was _real cooked food_ at this event and then Victor demanded, "Where the [FORNICATION] is _my_ share?"

"Sure. We'll get you what you deserve," said one of the former cleaning staff, now known as Suz to everyone else. She picked up a clipboard and pretended to do calculations on a piece of bark there. "How many hours did you spend on soil enrichment?"

"I don't even know what the [UNPLEASANT AFTERLIFE] that is!"

"Mm-hm. What about weeding? Did you do any weeding?" The questions went on. How much time building, how many hours hunting, did you do any childcare, what about cooking? "Where were you at harvest time?"

"What's with the third [FORNICATION] degree? I. Am. Your. _Boss_! You give me what I ask for and you make it look nice or you're _fired_!"

"I quit on the day of the crash, asswipe. When you said that none of our lives mattered. Go hunt a Treecat or something." For show, Suz handed over the bark, which had a big scribbled circle on it. "This is what you deserve."

Victor attempted to take what he wanted from the array of food, only to have his hand swatted by assorted wooden spoons. Wielded by assorted ex-wives.

"I'm your husband," he yowled, hands growing red from so many swats. "You aught to be grateful. I'm the reason you're even here."

"We know," said Felicity, reaching for her famous purse. "That's why you're lucky we don't kill you."

Only now did he notice that a lot more of his former staff and subjects were arming themselves. Even the _children_. "Go ahead. Kill me. It won't do you no [FORNICATION] good. You'll all die without _my_ command skills."

This was greeted with laughter.

Something soft landed on his head. A jester's hat made of multicoloured leaves.

"It's way more fun to listen to your whining. If you want some of the feast, go peel some potatoes or something. Or go suck paste at the food printer. Your choice."

Laughter is an excellent weapon, in the right circumstances.

[Image <a href="https://www.canstockphoto.com">(c) Can Stock Photo / Engdao</a>]

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