Mendel sighed, "Yes... yes... I kind of wish I were there with you, to be honest... but these damn regulations are... well... new regulations. Used to be, back in the good old days, we were allowed to shoot people just because they looked a little funny..." he reached out for a Vodka bottle. "Drink?"
"I had a bit in the bar afore comin' here, sah, an by a bit i mean i drank a pair of Zoners under the table, and it wouldn't do to vomit on your shiny desk."
A smile cracked the edges of his face as he continued.
"As fer regulations, the ones they ha'e in the Navy for who you can an' cant shoot....heh, out in the Edge i could drop nova soon as i see red. There, i ha'e to actually try and reason with the man, try an' get these murderin' scum to change their ways. Never worked, but thankfully tha' stopped once i moved out ot the Rhein front."
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
"Heh, aye, but that thought stopped when she punched me in the gut and set my arm on fire when we first met. At least, i think it was my arm that was on fire. That whole night's a little fuzzy. Shouldn't ha'e introduced them to Molly Afterburner."
Ian shrugged and picked up the glass, using the excuse of drinking it to hid the momentary frown as he sat down. I have no idea where this conversation is going, but there hasn't been any gunfire, slicing, or maiming yet, so must be going good!
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
Mendel blew out a sigh, "we got that calendar... you know the one... Babes of Sirius in Uniform... she was December... frigid..." he made a slight shiver. "Just the right touch of frost that one... now tell me... decorated officer like you, damn good kill record, and an impressive file, why the hell do you want to give all that up... not to mention the fact that that there are officers in the Coalition who would do anything to let Admiral Cain Dominate them and give them orders for a bit... why give all that up?"
Ian's face fell as his eyes unfocused and stared at the the files in the Commissar's hands.
"Admiral Cain is gone. Nobody knows where, she just....disappeared. With her went Task Force Seven. You must understand, most of the member of the Seven were Primary fleet rejects, either kicked out, denied, or quit of their own volition. When i took up with the Commanders Cain, i burnt my connections with most of the High Command. And once your application to the Primary gets rejected, that's it. Good night, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Not that they would have booted me, but looking forward to twenty years of playing traffic cop or responding to natural disasters wasn't what i had in mind."
He slammed the rest of the vodka, twirling the cup as it caught the faint light and cast patterns on his skin.
"And Zanders and Hale and Anderson and the like...they believe too much in the system, and not enough in the system's purpose. I saw a good man murdered afore my eyes simply for flying the wrong ship, and countless others ruined for who they chose as friends."
He shifted in the seat, his eyes coming up and staring dreamily.
"They...they aren't good people. Once i was on patrol with Officers Ryan and Kunz in Manhattan, and we came across these pirates, a gunboat and three snubcraft. Well, of course we had no intention of going peacefully, and they had no intention of letting us go. We had a couple a seconds before they closed, and i managed to get a transmission off to Lietenant Zanders and Ensign Blue, who we had just passed. We fought back, knowing that any second backup would come, and we would win. But it didnt. I mean, he got the damn message. I KNOW he got the damn message, i double-checked it myself!"
Ian paused, collecting himself.
"When the bastard attended the funerals it was the last straw. I punched him in that smug face, drafted a nasty letter to Hale, and got the hell out of Dodge."
His voice was becoming increasingly animated, as hidden emotions roiled to the surface.
"And from there, where the hell was i supposed to go? Back to the Corsairs, maybe, but i had more than enough senseless family violence in my youth, and i'm an old man now gorramit. I need something to believe in, something that's not xenophobic nationalism or ignorant terroristic idealism. And that's where you come in."
He set the glass down and gestured around the office.
"You come from a long tradition, aye, and carry old ideals, but your nation is young enough yet to know that the system is but a tool, to know the ultimate goals. In the Navy or the Corsairs this exam would be carried out in great chambers meant to intimidate, not in a small friendly one-on-one."
He paused in the middle of jabbing his finger at the Commissar's chest to reinforce his point. Something is wrong here. All the rumors and stories point to horrific acts of violence, torture, murder, maiming and amputating. Why the hell am i getting the nice treatment? Vodka from the Commissar's own stock, talk amongst old veterans, no bullets in my kneecaps. He had been trained twenty years ago to notice such incongruities, but time, vodka and gin had dulled his sense. Either something was horribly wrong, or the Coalition had gained a new, kinder, gentler face. Heh. The odds on that are about as good as the odds on sleeping with Alison Cain. Course, nothing's truly impossible.
gone four years, first day back: Zoners still getting shot in Theta :|
The door to reception opened sizzling and a young man in the twenties entered the room. He didn't look back and he didn't stop while entering the room. He just went straight forward to the reception and cleared his throat. Master Chief Pasha stared at him without any emotion in his face and with one hand calm on his side and the other at his shotgun. The man's eyes blinked to the shotgun and a weak shimmer of fear came to his eyes, but his face remained composed. He had choosen his path. There was no way back anymore. Or only through a sudden gunshot. The man started to talk. He had an hard accent, a weird mixture of Bretonian and of another unidentifiable language. "Privet, ma name is Dimitry Sikjitsch. " He stared at the master chief like he was expecting him to say something. "I'm here 'cause of ze recruitment." Pasha looked back bored. "I didn't expect something else. So...you know what you are about to do?" Dimitry only nods. "So you know the procedure, I need your data before you can do anything" Dimitry nods again. He took out a scrunched sheet of paper. "I've prepared somezing" "No." Pasha chuckled and looked at him amused "You want me to read that? Read it out loud" He booted his datapad and prepared it to take Dimitry's biography. Dimitry coughed and look at the paper, written in squiggly letters. "Erm. Da, da. I'll do zhat."
Quote:Name: Dimitry Sikjitsch
Age: 28
Height: 1,76 m
Weight: 85 kg
Hair colour: Black, short, military haircut
Eye colour: Iceblue
Background story: I vas born on planet Leeds in Bretonia, a son from a vorker, many brothers and sisters. I growed up in ze vorker slums of Leed. It vasn't a bad life despite half of my brothers died from ze bad medical care and my mother vas shot by ze police during a razzia. *his view was getting hard* Vhen I vas 19 my brother Andrej killed a policemen and ha' to run avay from Leeds. Because I vas vith him vhen he shot him, my father told me to abscond too. In a stolen Cavalier light fighter ve managed to escape into ze New London system vhere ve first took refugee at ze Trafalgar base from ze Junkers. Ve had no money so it didn't look fo' us, but a random stranger, a junker donated us a lil' money. His name vas...eer. His name vas Calvis, or something like zhat. Nevermind he is dead. Vith ze lil' money ve had Andrej bought and ol' ship from a junker. A sabre vhich Andrej took to Dublin to earn money from pirates by defending zhem or doing some scouting for zem. Ve didn't earn much, but ve could survive from it. Ve alternated in flying ze Sabre and ve both fought against ze Bretonian forces many times. After half a year Andrej had enough from flying around an' serving random pirates. He had enough money so he bought an used Civilian Bomber
and earned ze money himself by asking transports fo' a lil' donation *he sighed* Ve had many discussions 'bout zhat because in my opinion zese poor vorkers are exploited and you shouldn't steal zem zheir last profit...but in Andrejs opinion zey were all greedy capitalists. Ve used ze money Andrej earned in his Roc bomber to keep our ships vorking and to buy a permanent quarter on ze Trafalgar base.
I vasn't satisfied vith ze situation. Ve managed it to start a new life, but I always had to think of our father home on Leeds and all ze other vorkers vho still vere caught in zeir lil' vorld vith no chance to escape. So I talked vith Andrej and convinced him to start something. He vent to Dublin to talk to some vorkers and convince zhem to stand up for zeir rights. I vaited two days fo' him to come back, but he didn't came. On ze third day he came back, but his ship vas in pieces and he vas vounded badly. He told me something about ze Mollys attacking him and zhat he has to leave fast. He didn't let me disagree and took his Sabre in direction of Rheinland with the advise for me to leave Bretonia too. *he coughed and then went on, but Pasha interupted him before he could start again: Is that all on your little paper?"* Niet, it aint. Ze version on ze paper is vay shorter. *Pasha glanced angry at him: "Then I'd prefer to hear the short one!"* Da, da, I'll shorten ze rest up. I tried to continue vith Andrejs work. I had his bomber left here. But vhat I saw out zhere in Dublin really disappointed me. Ze vorkers vere brainvashed or to scared to do anything. I didn't saw a chance...'till I heard of ze Sirius Coalition Revolution Army. I heard zhat zis ze only organisation in Sirius zhat still fights for ze right goals. For a real freedom. For ze vorking class.
"That is all? A nice little story, Sikjitsch. But I hope you wont waste the commissars time like you wasted mine" Dimitry looked confused. He took a fast look at the other man sitting in the room. "So vhat shall I do now?",he asked kind of insecure now. "Take a seat and relax Sikjitsch...Wait until it's your turn" Dimitry noded. He put the paper back in his pocket wondering if he angered the master chief. But he took all the worries from his head and ereased them, like a fast shot from a mining laser erases asteroids. He didn't want to trip and fall at the end of this long chapter. He shruged and took a seat.
Mendel listened to the story, stroking the glass as he sat back, cross-legged.
"How many of these... Task Force Seven boys are still out there..." He motioned for Alicia.
"Take this man to the Communications room, see if he can't convince a few of his friends that Revolution is better than buckling under and going down on your knees before Hale."
Mendel smirked, "you sir... you are what the revolution is truly about. Not revenge, nor pathetic whinging about hardships. No, it's about men who know how to fight, who have finally realized that there is a better way. Come back when you have contacted them, and let me see how much of a Revolutionary Leader you really are."
He watched as Alicia guided the man out of the room. Sitting a moment longer as he drained his glass.
Dimitry looked at the door and at the other man sitting in the waiting room. Then he suddenly noded and stood up. He cleaned his throat and walked into the commissars room. "Privet commissar...Mendel!" He raised his left fist a little like a small greet but he didn't know if it would fit here. After that he stood in the room impressed and a little bit lost while waiting for the commissar to comment on him.
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