Pavel Medvedov.
That short name, in itself, meant quite a lot.
It was that of a decorated Rheinland war hero, a Rheinland Cruiser Captain - since courtmarshaled after the Kusari retreat... It had also the name of a brilliant Strategist consultant for Rheinland Navy - while he had still been in service with them, that is. It was now the name of a lone miner specializing in operating in systems on the Edge, known for his habit of opening fire on anyone who tried to come near him. He was an old fellow, probably over sixty. Although his vivacity was dubious, there was no denying his tenacity. Some thought he'd never die - and given what he'd been through, the mere fact that he was alive or hadn't been shot for egregious behavior was almost a miracle.
Not that he believed in miracles. Bah! Faith in miracles or deities were for the weak who couldn't live for themselves. Those who couldn't forge their own paths. Faith in governments, now that he came to this thought, was also misplaced. Not that you could trust any of them with anything. Bunch of corrupt pigs, sitting in their offices, playing with the people like they were pawns on a chessboard.
Likely, it was the past of strife with the government was what had brought Pavel Medvedov here - to the SCRA recruitment office. Or maybe it was recent revelatory experiences he'd had with a certain Sev, wanting to change the world and all that. Or maybe just his roots had brought him here. On yet another hand, it might have been simple fate that he had somehow been told about the SCRA and their mission. Maybe it was fate.
Not that he believed in fate. Bah! Fate was just another way of saying nothing. No matter what would happen, it would be your "fate." Those who resigned themselves to fate did nothing. Pavel, knew, though, that his fate was his to control, even as old as he was.
And that was he was walking down this hall, in his old, worn greatcoat and captain's hat, stroking his grey beard in contemplation. That was what had given his aged eyes another crease of worry, and that is what gave his feet a more determined step to replace their aged shuffle.
And that was why he pushed the door to the SCRA office open.
