Several hours later Commodore Gellantra strode in the officers cabin. Crewman immediately yelled attention!. " At ease comrades". He waved with his hand. " Dobar dan comrades Katz, Vincenta" He nodded with his head slowly taking his coat off. " You probably wonder why am i here i assume?" He asked with a smile on his face while putting a bottle of vodka on the table. " Well explanation is quite simple i am here to oversee this delicate process of choosing our new revolutionist. Pretend as if I'm not here and continue the good work." He raised his glass in the air while yelling. "Zivjeli!!"
As Vicenta called for next, a teenager-looking person entered the office, not nervous at any even with all the guns he got around him. He was a bit tall, but too young for being even an adult, then he started talking:
"Greetings, Comrade Vicenta, as you may know my name is Nathan Luis, yeh, "Luis" is of hispanian origin, but everybody knows me as "Luka", libertonian freelancer. I'm here for applying in the SCRA oficially, as I have been all the time helping your forces while the office was closed and been helping your allies too.
I got here an autobiography-like thingy I got here *puts the paper he used in the lobby on the desk*. Right before coming here I have been working inside Liberty and Rheindland for the Coalition, Comissar-Captain Alvin Katz and Angie Broch are witnesses, as stated on that writting. *he looks a bit more intimidating* seriously, I don't care if I'm under 18 or anything, I got a ship so there's no reason for not letting me fight, my parents were coalitioners too, so I have to follow them!"
Suddenly stoped, Luka stood still on front of the desk, with Vicenta looking right at him with an intimidating look, but having no effect on him.
Gellantra sat silently smoking his cigar waiting to see Commissariat at work. Vincenta looked annoyed and that was shown to be a bad sign because 90% percent of applicants ended up in body bags or were thrown out of the airlock after that look."Lets just see what will happen" He muttered.
A scruffily dressed, middle aged man walks into Katz's office, short-cut brown hair, a tattered leather jacket and khaki brown cargo pants. He walked in with a straight posture, as if he didn't want to look too... 'Pathetic'.
"Hail, Commissar."
The man stood at attention.
"My name's Ryan. Ryan Henson."
"I've been flying around for a few years, seen all the crap people have been going through, in Leeds, the Rheinland - Liberty border, Kusari... Point is. I'm here to join the Revolution."
Ryan kept a straight face, holding his pose, seeming unfazed by the men with their guns, and the assault bot in the corner of the room.
The dividers spun in his hands expertly, his pale grey eyes squinting as he double checked his findings, looking across the broad glass table in the commandant’s office towards the recent reconnaissance reports collected by his advanced scouts. He was right, they could see him coming and they were reacting to his movements.
Commissar-Commander Katz scooped up a cup of tea and sighed, chewing on his lip as he analyzed the detailed reports and files of the applicants had taken of the surrounding systems.
The office was kept dark, back lit display cases and shelves lining two walls loaded with books. All uniform, all with matching covers. Each important for political theory, or military theory, or scientific theory, there was no questioning Katz’s academic past.
He was taking extra precautions, ensuring a second layer of security was in place on the ship. A cadre of highly specialized Marines under the direct orders from the High Command itself had been deployed, dark eyed Arabic men that remained in key places though sensitive areas ready to react should anything go wrong.
The Commodore was sitting behind Katz’s desk over against the wall, watching while Vicenta stood in the center of the room, looking at the young Luka in front of him. Katz was keeping very quiet through the interview, occasionally looking up before looking back at his reports.
“Are you a spy?” Katz asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Behind Luka, the large automaton of the war bot hissed to life, moving with surprising agility as one massive hand grabbed Luka by the Torso, lifting him into the air, as the second hand grabbed onto Luka’s free arm, wrenching it painfully tight threatening to tear the boy in half if he gave the wrong answer.
“Think very, very carefully about your answer,” Katz said, shifting papers from one side of his table to the other. “If you are a spy… Viatchislav here will rip your arm out of its socket.”
The door is opened by a woman wearing a Cardamine filtration mask commonly worn by the Outcasts when away from their home planet of Malta. She looks as though she is about 36, has long dark brown hair, and has light blue eyes. She stands still for nearly a minute and the Coalition Recruiter grumbles in an angry tone.
"Well, are you going to speak girl?"
"Hola, sir," she said feebly.
"You've come all this way to say hello in Spanish. You better tell me what it is you want before I get angry," he growled.
"Well sir, I've come to join the ranks of the honorable Coalition" she replied.
"I highly doubt that you believe you're going to be accepted into our army with a simple statement."
"Si, I am Alexial Vargas, I was born on Malta about 43 years ago. I have finally escaped the wretched group of people who have the gall to call themselves the Maltese Nation. I am through with their various ways in which they enslave people. They are not only slavers through physical means, but they enslave the minds of innocent people with the disgusting drug that I am so very dependent on, Cardamine. They prey on innocent civilians stealing their very belongings, pillaging and killing anything that enters too close to areas they believe are theirs. I have chosen the Coalition in my quest for redemption for several reasons. The house police forces and militaries are just as evil and corrupt as the people of my homeland, they carry the support of the people in a false guise of hope and very slowly killing the men and women of Sirius, with their evil laws. Were I too join them I would merely be combating those despicable people who I shudder at calling my brothers, for no other reason than being paid to do so. The Coalition, they are the true hero's of Sirius, they do not care about the public image, they care about doing what is right, and that is why I have so desperately sought you out, I wish to redeem myself by doing what is right, by no subduing myself to the many wrongs that are taking place in Sirius even as we speak. I am what you would call, the villain who has been shown the light, and helps the hero in the end before their time is up. I seek redemption, and the only way that I can see possible is to combat the various evils in Sirius among the true heroes."
The woman stood still and tried to look confident in the presence of so powerful a man. A man who was a member of the true heroes of Sirius in her eyes.
When Evgeni Nabokov made it to what was thinly described as the "Recruitment Area" of Trotsky, it was clear that things were less than hospitable to, well, anyone not wearing SCRA insignia already.
Nabokov thought nothing of the stern guards posted at 15 meter intervals along the hallways... he thought nothing of their fingers touching their gun triggers, nothing of their steely eyes following him at all times. Worst of all, perhaps, he thought nothing of their pure sense of disdain and disregard that emanated from all sides.
He traversed the narrow hallway as he sought the recruitment office. Looking up, Nabokov was taken aback by the sheer numbers of mean faces confronting him. Sadly, it was nothing new to the young man who bore distinctly slavic features. For a boy growing up on Berlin, it was his curse.
~ Get out of here, freak!
Na-bokov, named like a jack-off!
No squinty eyes allowed!
~
The teases from his youth actually hurt a lot less than the dozens of job rejections and social snubs he received later in life. Nabokov always looked to life after his schooling as a new start -- a fresh page to make it on his own, through his own efforts... but the disappointment came quickly to Nabokov. He was a misplaced soul.
As he snapped out of his less-than-nostalgic memories, he finally noticed a door with a simple sign: "Recruiting"
With a degree of conviction and a helping of desperation, he opened the door to find an even more inhospitable scene. A grim looking secretary glared from the corner of the room, and a man who appeared to be recently beaten stared with dire intent: he motioned for Nabokov to move out of the doorway.
As Nabokov shuffled to the side, he cleared his throat.
"Uh, I'm here to enlist?" he managed a feeble statement.
The secretary, fixated on the weakness shown by the young man, raised a weapon and fired away: "WHAT?"
After a paralyzing few moments, Evgeni Nabokov raised his tattered courage to the surface to state with conviction:
"I'm here to enlist."
"There's a wait. Sit. Down."
"Yes ma'am!" He thought but could not manage to verbalize. Instead, he simply sat as still as he could.
Antonio Briccant decided to sit down. The secretary appeared to be busy directing the people who had just entered to sit down.
Quite a few people had turned up. Briccant wondered whether the Coalition operated on appointments system. Then, he sighed when he realised how stupid that would be, since it would compromise security.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering when he would be called and how his interview would go.
Alicia was overworked, and being a communist meant no pay.
That was a bad combination, overworked and underpaid. In her line of work, following Citizen Katz around on his merry little adventures, taking orders and being the poor person that had to deal with the myriad of characters that flowed through the doors trying to get a few minutes of the Commissar’s time.
It was, however, becoming a zoo.
She stood up, pulling a pencil out of the bun her hair had been pulled back into she gestured to two marines.
“Come with me!”
The followed her into the main office, connected to the Trotsky’s CIC, where agaggle of impatient recruits had barged past her and were trying to get attention, while poor Luka dangled in the arms of a rather large, angry looking AI Warbot. And Lt. Commander Volkova was apparently trying to brain one of the new recruits.
Commissar Vicenta stood in the center of the room, Katz behind his table and the Commodore behind the desk.
Alicia blew her whistle loudly.
“Alexial Vargas, Ryan Henson,” she pointed. The Marines charged forward, grabbing both. “Take them back into the hall and tell them to wait until they are called.” She looked apologetically at Katz. “I am sorry sir, I don’t know how they got past me and in to see you without being called. Next time they’ll just get shot.”
Katz inclined his head as both Henson and Vargas were dragged out of the office and thrown roughly up against walls. Unfriendly assault rifles pressed against their foreheads to keep them in place.
Alicia walked back out to her desk, as Volkova was escorted out by the remaining Marines, leaving Luka to answer Commissar Katz’s questions.
She stuck her pencil back in her bun, “After Luka is done, it will be Antonio Briccant. Then it will be Evgeni Nabokov. Followed by Vargas and then Henson. Wait your turns, the Commissar will be all to happy to have his Warbot tear you limb from limb, but as you can see… the Bot currently has his hands full already…” She gestured to the still open door where the recruits could clearly see Luka dangling.
“Be patient!”
Katz’s voice was quiet, deadly, coming from inside the room, repeating his question.
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