Stranded

The fat man has an air of authority around him. He is seating lazily, hands on his shirt, waiting for the crowd to move. Next to him crouches a child with the stern eyes of a watch dog.
A villager comes forth, chances a request. With an unshaven smile, the petty lord denies it.
You want the key to the sky, but I just do not see what’s in it for me at this stage.
A ruckus.
Guys… guys, guys. I’m just sayin’, I’m not actin’ in your best interests that’s for sure, but think about it. You used to hate your old life. Now you have a purpose, a new home to build, and I am totally ok with that. I’m not killing, I’m not raping anybody.

We tried your ways, we tried the statistics and the satellite, and it did not work out for us. Now let us try my way, violence that could be and a tax in food and women. I am not un-gentle but please accept I do not consider myself exiled here by misfortune and this terrible crash. I had a long look around and I like what I saw. This is my place.

The fat man is the new lord of this virgin world. He can be; planets far from Empire space are rarely exploited as they should be. Barring a deployment of troops and industries for planetary exploitation, Fat Man can hope to live long and happy. The child is the sole survivor of the noble family who commissioned the ship. He used to be a baby, a toddler; he now is an uneducated blue blood savage. The wreck’s riches are still many; some systems function flawlessly. All are keyed to the genetic pattern of the orphan.

As long as the boy can bring power and light in the community, the fat man will rule.