"Nikolai Kasheyev," Alicia observed, looking up from her desk at last.
She gave him the once over, as a guard moved forward to quickly search the man for any concealed weapons. Satisfied that there were none, Alicia gestured for him to approach the table.
Katz was standing on the far side of it, a customary pose for him. It was rumoured that he loathed sitting down on the job, and that his office in the Kremlin Dome on Volgograd was similarly spartan. An academic that refused to yield to laziness.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips and gestured with it as the applicant approached.
"Comrade Kasheyev," he said keeping his tone even, looking over the rims of his glasses impassively. "This is the Glorious Fighter Corps, perhaps you could tell me why you feel you are worthy of joining its ranks?"
Kasheyev nodded, somewhat hesitant now that he stood before the Premier. His heels clipped smartly together, standing at attention, as was appropriate when addressing ones superiors. He spoke quickly, as though rehearsed.
"Comrade Premier. You ask me to speak of worth, of myself and the Corps. I am afraid I cannot. A man is only as great as the cause to which he devotes himself. Without that, without something in which to believe, he is nothing. He is a shell; he cannot even be called living. It is our cause that gives us purpose, the ability with which we work towards it defines our worth.
Without action, Comrade, there is no cause. Without a cause, one becomes worthless. Until proven otherwise, I am no more worthy then any man you may choose. I do not believe then, that worth can be defined through words. It is a man's deeds that are the truest expression of character. The Glorious Fighter Corps have already proven their capabilities in the war against the Volkhan." Nikolai's face twisted into a sneer as the traitor's name left his lips.
"The Infantry... We did not do so. I do not rejoice in the fact, but it is true. We were little more than observers, at best." The Conscript shuddered, whether the action was due to the cold or memories was difficult to say.
"It is to the Fighter Corps that I owe my freedom. I ask only for an opportunity to repay that debt."
Katz nodded, reaching out to pick up his coffee mug and taking a long draught.
"I often get asked about the IND partnership with the Coalition, and often accused of being a Capitalist in Trotskyist clothing," Katz half smiled. "Why do I allow the New Economic Policy in the Coalition, instead of War Communism?"
The question took Nikolai by surprise. He was primarily a soldier; matters of state policy were rare subjects of discussion in the barracks, to say the least.
"If there is a tool available, and its use does not harm the wielder there is nothing to be gained by forsaking it. The survival of people of the Coalition, and of Sirus, must come before any other factor. It does Sirus no good, Comrade, if we wither and die in this god-forsaken place. If socialising with capitalists is necessary to ensure the ideals of Communism continue to live, so be it.
Isolation was once the policy in the past, but that does not mean it was the right one. An idea need not be an invasion by force. These... businessmen, to which you speak, take our ideals back to their homes, as surely as theirs are bought here. An idea can grow, Premier, and it will given time. Those who hear of the Coalition directly from us may doubt our sincerity. To hear of it from their countrymen though, is different. Without interaction, we become distant. Foreign. When that happens, we lose the trust of the people. Perhaps not those already with us, on Volgograd and Gorodok, but those who might have seen the true way. Those on Manhattan, and New Berlin. All are citizens of the Coalition, they need only be made aware of the fact.
Warfare is one means of showing the way, it does not mean it is the only way, nor the best."
Still, Nikolai did not allow himself to relax, his eyes tracing the passage of the coffee mug from table to hand. It was a far richer odour then the smells to which he was accustomed, no doubt the product of such trade.
Katz extinguished his cigarette, as he took an easy stance.
"The only thing capitalistic about profit, comrade, is that there are those who use it to exploit others." He reached for his cup again. "No the Coalition has nothing against the acquisition of wealth, in fact that is encouraged. It was under Lenin, under Stalin, even in Pre-97 China. What is illegal is that those that seek to acquire wealth often exploit others in the pursuit of it."
He tilted his head to the side as he drank, "When the Phantoms destroyed JiangXi, the first people on the scene to help were the IND and the TAZ. The IND brought food, supplies, medicine, out of their own pockets. They didn't ask, nor have they asked since, for any kind of payment for this. Only to help."
"Think on this well. If your family were starving, and dying... and a man came to offer you what you needed, out of his own pocket, for nothing other than his will to help... is that not the very core of what it means to be a communist?" Katz smiled again. "This is why I deal with Otis Jethro and Jonathan Winchester, not because they bought us, or bribed us... but because they helped us back onto our feet when we were knocked down. And they have stood in our corner ever since."
He turned back to the applicant.
"Tell me of the Outcast-Corsair war, and why it dooms both of the Hispania survivor groups."
Nikolai nodded in recognition, shirking a dusting of snow with the motion.
"The war? It is the feuding of children, comrade, and all the more foolish for it. The Corsairs and Outcasts share their circumstances, and yet will not pool their efforts." He shook his head in disbelief.
"It is the very nature of their existence that dooms them. The Corsairs cannot exist without outside assistance, or they will fade into the dust of their world. The same can be said for the Outcasts. That... addiction ties them more to their home world than any other group in Sirius. They cannot leave, Comrade, not truly. That weakens them.
I do not see what they hope to gain through this war they fight. Territory they cannot inhabit?
Both are predatory nations. They seek to survive through pure force, taking what they cannot produce themselves. That existence... It is not living, it's simple survival. The more they grow, the more they must seize. So, the numbers of those they may steal from decreases. They attack civilians, transports carrying the most basic of supplies, without thought of where they may go.
They do what the Coalition must not. Their governments have grown distant from the people, focusing too much on conflict, military strength.
The Hispania could have been a new beginning for them. Instead, they allowed fortune to divide them. This war does not destroy them, Comrade-Premier. It was their fate as soon as the survivors drifted apart. Conflict only hastens it. Had they united from the beginning, perhaps things may have been different. Instead, both groups chose to live at the expense of others, as parasites and eventually turned on each other.
They placed betterment of their own 'nations' over their people." Kasheyev shrugged, the movement barely noticeable under his coat. He had little sympathy for the people of the Hispania. They had chosen their fate, and chosen poorly.
it had taken a fair while to get this far, which in geographic terms, wasnt far at all, in fact, it was where he had started.
Aleksandr Kurcov had started out from Manhatten once he first caught with of the Coalition, after many favours pulled and credits parted with, he finally got what he wanted, a mercenary had given him the location of a known Coalition recruitment office, which to his surprise, was somewhere very far away.
Returning to the planet, Alek made his way to where he needed to be.
Looking at an indiscript, yet forboding building, he checked the address one last time, then walked inside. The inside was much grander then the out, red velvet cushioned couchs, Well nurtured plants, pictures of men and events littered the walls. In front of him was the recruitment desk.
He walks over, greeted by the recruiter.
She looks up "Hi, can i help you?"
"What do you have for me?"
"I dont know you, you new here?"
"uh, you bet"
"Ah, well i work for the Coalition, This is our base, Card?"
Alek hands over his card, and when offered a seat, he takes it, looking at the women, who beckons him to mention why he was applying.
Rubbing his chin, he looked at her "Well, my Name is Aleksandr Kurcov, Born in liberty, but my origins come from the Rheinland Military, Im here because im sick to death of the idiocy ive seen in the house worlds" He takes a moment to lean back into the chair, as notes are tapped into the data slab. "Day after day i saw the mindlessness that this supposed "freedom" has been bought by the current governments, theres no sense of being, no reason to hold true to ones brothers, or sisters" He leans forwards at her "I want to change it, i want to change all the reasons why my parants had to leave their family and their homes, to end the suffering brought upon us by the blind ideals of the capatalist houses. I have the skill to fly, and not once have i been able to feel like its been put to good use, The Coalition is the Good i wish my skills to be used for.."
Alicia calmly put the card into the bin, dusting her hands as she did so. Cards were so bourgeoisie.
The recruit was nervous, it seemed. But as long as he kept his head about him, he would survive.
She went back to typing the application information into the database.
***
Katz stared for a long time at Nikolai.
"Wait outside on the platform, I will make my decision soon." He gestured towards the doors, as he sank his hands into his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet.
"Aleksandr Kurcov," he called, Alicia feeding him the name onto the laptop open on the wooden table before him.
Once the young man was standing before the aging politician, Katz stopped his rocking.
"Why do you want to be a part of the Coalition, son?"
Nikolai nodded, swallowing his apprehension. In truth, speaking to the Premier unnerved him. The man had both the experience of years and the entirety of the Coalition to back him. By comparison, he was worthless. Then again; why had he come, if not to become something more? Regardless, it mattered little now. His fate would be decided by greater men then he. With a cursory salute, and a brief glance in the direction of the new candidate, Kasheyev stepped back into the biting cold. Doing his utmost to ignore the menacing war-bots, he fished a cigarette from the depths of his coat and lit up. Nikolai inhaled gratefully, reveling in the warmth. He may as well. It could have been his last.
> Error... Unable To Request ID Information, ID Information Classified...
> Name: >Insurgent<
> Colonist: I were born and raised on Mindoir, a small border colony in the Attican Traverse. When I were sixteen, slavers raided Mindoir, slaughtering my family and friends. I were saved by a passing Alliance patrol, and enlisted with the military a few years later.
> Ruthless: Throughout my military career, I have held fast to one basic rule: get the job done. I've been called cold, calculating, and brutal. My reputation for ruthless efficiency makes my fellow soldiers wary of me. But when failure is not an option, the military always goes to me first. I sent 3/4ths of my unit to its death and murdered surrendering batarians on Torfan.
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![[Image: 5438_s.png]](http://signavatar.com/5438_s.png)
![[Image: TutashkiaProgress3_zpsa428aa57.png]](http://i1080.photobucket.com/albums/j339/Argonavtebi/TutashkiaProgress3_zpsa428aa57.png)