Eugene Debs snoozed in the bunk of his prison cell, facing the barred door. Across the cramped room was another bunk that held a rather burly Xeno. There had been some consternation on Debs' part once he realized that he had been incarcerated with a Xeno, but once he realized the man was not intent on crushing his windpipe, he settled down quietly to await sentencing. The LPI, by and large, arrested people on bogus charges, threw them in prison, put them to work, and lost them in a bureaucratic process that ensured that the time before they could attain freedom legally was as long as possible. Debs had already worked his shift in the factory, making dolls for little girls. It sickened him how the LPI operated, but he kept his head down and gritted his teeth. He wondered how he'd get his ship back, or his crew for that matter -- who knew how fast the bureaucracy would move for them?
The Xeno, who had been lying on his back, rolled to his side so that he was facing Debs. Despite his uncouth appearance, there was a certain intelligence that was amplified by a fervent belief in his eyes. He spoke, and the words were impassioned and forceful, leaving no doubt that what he articulated was born of the utmost conviction.
"It used to be a man could make an honest living in Liberty, but that time's long gone. Government let the corporations sell all our jobs to the foreigners; Kusarians and Rheinlanders, mostly. Then what they did with all the homeless, out-of-work men was cruel and inhuman -- they rounded them up and put them to work here, paying next-to-nothing. Sickening. Near half the men in here did nothing wrong but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Me and mine, we aim to fix the condition of the Libertonian workers; we're the Knights of Labor, not 'Xenos'. We don't truck with foreigners stealing our jobs and crippling our nation, so people call us racist. I say we're patriots of the utmost order, and those who are selling Liberty are the real terrorists. Inflicting terror and the working class and their families, who wonder where there next meal will come from -- and who hope that it won't be coming from prison."
Debs was staring at him with incredulity, surprised out how persuasive a speaker he was. It wasn't even his words -- it was the way he delivered them. He was immediately drawn in, and the personality of the captain made him especially receptive to the message that was being presented. Maybe, just maybe, here was a cause worthy of a man of Debs' honorable caliber. The Xeno rolled on to his back, having seen the wheels turning in Debs' mind. He was satisfied that the seed had been planted, and time would tell if it grew or not.
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