Dawn of the Mad (33 page)

The two were interrupted by the flash of the video screen mounted by the view port. The image of Captain Cruwell took form.

“You two come down to the hangar bay. We’re taking a shuttle down to meet the marshal. That means your dress blues, Scotts,” Cruwell said.

“Damn! I hate that uniform,” Scotts protested.

“Deal with it.” Cruwell looked like he was about to sign off, but he resumed. “Roman, you’re going to have to wear one of our uniforms. I hope you don’t mind. You will be meeting our top military commander, and your clothes are, well …”

“Well,
what
?” Roman looked down at his crusty Levi’s. His brown leather jacket had developed some kind of odor he couldn’t identify, and his T-shirt had several blood stains on it.

“Your appearance is unacceptable. Also, if you wouldn’t mind taking a shower, that would be good.”

“OK. What do I do with Morris?”

“What?”

“My cat.”

Cruwell thought for a moment. “Right, that furry thing you have. I am getting you temporary quarters at the training academy. We will take you there first to get settled in, and you can drop your cat there.”

Cruwell lastly turned and faced Scotts through the video monitor. “Don’t be late, Corporal.”

Scotts came to attention and saluted the video monitor as it powered off. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “I wonder if we’ll meet the supreme chancellor himself.”

“Who is he? Your leader?”

“Yes, he’s our leader, although he’s only a shell of the man he once was, say twenty years ago. The war was his idea. Our planet was overpopulated, and the only way to relieve the pressure was to seize surrounding worlds.” Scotts strode over to the food dispenser and programmed a request for another glass of water. “Our war is actually a civil war. Technically, we were part of the same empire many millennia ago. I guess eventually somebody just gets too ambitious, and not everyone can get along any more. Peace doesn’t last too long around here.”

“I know about civil war,” Roman said. We had one where I am from.”

Scotts walked over to the view port and looked out toward his planet, slowly sipping the water. “I forget how the war started, to be honest. But we all followed the chancellor and still do … well, most of us anyway. Our empire has begun to fall into ruin. What was promised to last only a year or two has dragged on for twenty more.” He drank the last of the water and set the glass down on a nearby metal table. “Perhaps it will end soon.”

Roman stared at him in silence. Scotts stood motionless for a moment, absorbed in his own thoughts. Turning to Roman, he flashed his smile and said, “Get your cat. Not all is bad on our planet. After this little meeting, I’ll take you to my favorite club. They have the best spirits in town!”

Roman scooped up Morris, who was lazily resting on the bed. Scotts put his arm around Roman, and the two exited the room, heading toward the hangar bay to board the shuttle that would take them to Luriana, Hellenheim’s capital city.

CHAPTER 31

“I hate this damn thing,” Scotts said as he pulled the high collar of his seldom-used dress uniform away from his neck. “And these damn pants are too stiff.” Gold stripes ran down the sides of his pants, and his rank was displayed on both sleeves of his tunic. His left shoulder displayed the infantry patch of the United Consortium of Planets ground forces, and he also wore the silver winged insignia indicating his status as a pilot, although he was primarily an infantry grunt now.

“Corporal, shut up.” Sergeant Matthias sipped from a glass filled with a bright green liquid, holding a cigar in his other hand. His right arm was in a clear sling that suspended his healing arm. He was doing much better, albeit still very sore. Like Scotts and the others, he wore his dark blue dress uniform. Medals from various campaigns decorated the jacket, rivaling those of Colonel Chuikova. Captain Cruwell and the colonel stood just outside the oaken doors that led into the office of Marshal Von Jesonik, with Matthias, and Scotts close behind them. The colonel casually smoked a cigar, pausing every few seconds to look at it and inhale the smoke. He was the only one wearing battle armor, as he often did, just in case he were to be called away at a moment’s notice. Roman stood by himself, looking out through the window over the industrial landscape. The dominance of the grey buildings in the landscape shocked him. Most were devoid of any architectural significance, just plain, block buildings. Scotts had explained that the society was now based on functionality, as opposed to aesthetic beauty. Some buildings, such as those of the national university, remained worth visiting, and Roman made a mental note to take a tour whenever he got settled in.

Everything that had happened to him since leaving Earth had been something straight out of a science fiction book. His situation reminded him of old
Doctor Who
episodes he used to sneak downstairs to watch late at night on public access television while his parents slept upstairs. Regardless of the outcome, he was happy to be on this adventure; it truly was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He raised a glass filled with bright green liquid to his lips and let the smooth contents run down the back of his throat. Ernst, Von Jesonik’s attendant, had said the strange brew was called Torol, for its origins on the jungle planet Torol, and that it was the finest ale he had to offer. Both the planet and the drink were said to be named for an ancient explorer who had charted many of the worlds that made up what once was all of the United Consortium of Planets. The drink’s main ingredient was derived from a toxic plant. Whatever it was, Roman already felt a heavy buzz coming on, and he was only on his third sip.

The massive doors opened suddenly. Ernst stepped out in traditional robes, with golden symbols embroidered on the sleeves.

“Please, come in. The marshal will receive you now.” Ernst bowed deeply as the men filed past him into the grand office. Roman set his glass down on a table before going through the doors, and he straightened the blue dress uniform issued to him from the training academy supply room. It briefly brought back memories of his time served in the Army back home.

“Gentlemen! Please come in.” Marshal Von Jesonik stepped out from behind his desk and shook everyone’s hand, pausing after shaking Roman’s. “You must be Mr. Roman. It is an honor to meet you. I hope we can make your stay as comfortable as possible.”

“Thank you,” Roman replied humbly.

Von Jesonik stood directly in front of Colonel Chuikova and put his gloved hand upon the colonel’s armored shoulder.

“Johann, I am so pleased. The chancellor himself sends his regards.” He dropped his hand and walked back behind his massive desk. “I cannot tell you how crucial your mission was. Our science teams are busy analyzing the specimen you have brought back, and the initial reports are very favorable.”

The all stood frozen, side by side, and said nothing.

Von Jesonik continued. “Johann, you and your men deserve a much needed rest. In two weeks’ time, we will meet again to discuss the future. As of right now, consider yourselves on leave.”

Scotts and Matthias turned toward each other, smiling. “I have one other thing before you are dismissed,” Von Jesonik said, nodding to Ernst, who retrieved a large ornate box, inlaid with gold and jewels, from the desk. He slowly opened it, revealing the contents.

“I know how much you detest these things, Johann, but it will be done.” He walked in front of the assembled men and issued the order, “Group, attention!”

The men came to attention, Roman following suit. Von Jesonik walked around his desk and stood in front of Roman.

“Mr. Roman, for unwavering service and commitment to the chancellor of the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the honorary rank of lieutenant.” He reached into the box and pulled out a pair of silver shoulder boards with a single gold stripe on them, and he put the gaudy rank into Roman’s left hand, shook his right hand and moved down the line, leaving Roman staring at his newfangled decoration.

“Corporal Joachim Scotts, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of Flight Officer, 1st class. You will get your orders for assignment to a fighter wing in the near future. Congratulations.” Scotts broke into a huge grin as Von Jesonik placed a silver shoulder board into his hand and pinned an insignia onto his collar. The marshal moved to the next man, with Ernst trailing behind with the box.

“Sergeant Roger Matthias, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of Command Sergeant of Infantry.” Seeing Matthias’s jaw drop, Von Jesonik continued, “That is the highest non-officer rank, and with it comes many responsibilities. Your years of service and your impeccable service record have not gone unnoticed.” Von Jesonik handed the chevron stripes to Matthias and pinned the rank to his collar. He moved on and stood in front Cruwell.

“Captain Sebastian Cruwell, for unwavering service and commitment to the United Consortium of Planets, I hereby bestow upon you the rank of major.” He reached into the box and retrieved the insignia of gold star and crossed swords, which he pinned to Cruwell’s collar. He placed gold shoulder boards, carrying an image of the star and crossed swords, into his hand. Cruwell shook Von Jesonik’s hand and stared at the shoulder boards with a blank look on his face. Many thoughts crossed his mind at the moment, one of which was his rapid ascent through the officer ranks. He thought he might be the youngest major ever appointed.

Von Jesonik stood face to face with the colonel. He reached into the box and retrieved a gold baton, covered with many jewels and intricate carvings. “Johann, I will make this short. You are elevated to Ground Marshal of Army group Dreadwolf. Congratulations.” He placed an ancient baton, which had been presented to dozens of general staff officers in the past, into Chuikova’s gloved hand, his face cracked with a rare smile. Von Jesonik stepped back and surveyed, one more time, the men assembled before him. He stood stiffly and saluted. The men each returned the salute. Von Jesonik lowered his arm and declared, “Dismissed!” The men filed out of the office single file, with Ernst trailing behind. Ernst closed the doors to the office, leaving the men to themselves in the foyer. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Scotts asked.

Chuikova looked down at the baton he had received. “No, I guess it wasn’t that bad.” He looked at Cruwell and nodded approvingly. “You’ve earned it, major.” He walked over to Matthias and Scotts. “None of this could have happened without you two, either, that’s for sure.” Scotts and Matthias each laughed and slapped Chuikova on the shoulder. Chuikova turned to Roman, who was standing off to the side. For the first time in a while, he felt like an outsider—almost.

“Johnny. Welcome to the brotherhood.” He shook Roman’s hand and ushered them all down the corridor toward the turbo lift, trailing behind. Roman couldn’t help but think that the colonel had forced that statement and handshake on him, but the feeling was short-lived as Johann shouted, “Tonight, drinks are on me!”

The men erupted in yells and cheers, sending many robed people scurrying out of their way, wondering what was going on.

Scotts yelled over his shoulder toward Roman just as they started to enter the turbo lift. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do, lieutenant!”

The turbo lift doors sealed shut, silencing the corridor. The lift descended, taking the men to some much needed rest and relaxation.

Roman spotted the sign riveted above the large, steel double doors, reading
Bloody Hell’s Tavern
. The tavern was a small, square, windowless building three stories high. Monoliths of varying size dwarfed it on all sides; one almost had to know exactly where it was to find it. Roman looked at the sign and shrugged. This was where Scotts had told him to meet everyone for drinks. Everyone had split up taking care of their own business, leaving Roman exploring the city on his own for most of the day. In front of the tavern, a few soldiers in utility coveralls milled about, talking to one another. Overhead, an occasional monorail car passed by in a whiz of speed, kicking up a fast breeze. The lack of anything resembling cars on the street intrigued Roman. All the transportation appeared to done by monorail, or people simply walked. Everyone also seemed to be in good physical condition. Of course, having to walk a few miles to get someplace (the tavern was two miles or so from the barracks); it would be difficult to be lazy or out of shape. As Roman walked toward the double doors, they slid open silently, beckoning him inside. He stepped into the threshold, and the doors slid closed silently behind him. A scanner built into the wall briefly searched him for contraband. Once the scan was completed, a female computer voice spoke. “You may proceed.”

Roman stepped down into a large sunken area, filled with all types of people. He found it difficult to see very far in the pale light. He recognized the grey military uniforms of the infantry, the blue uniforms of the navy, and the loose-fitting robes favored by most people in the civilian sectors. Video screens suspended from the ceiling showed news broadcasts from other planets. Roman noticed a large eagle, carved out of what appeared to be wood, hanging above the bar. It clutched what appeared to be a real, and still bloody, sword in its talons. Various artifacts lined the walls, including what appeared to be unit insignias of various military units. The bar area was fairly crowded, with most of the patrons either standing around tables in the middle, drinking and talking, or sitting in booths surrounding the circular bar. Roman straightened his newly cleaned leather jacket and walked toward the bar. The hot shower he had taken earlier had left him refreshed and completely recharged. He watched those seated around the circular bar enjoying after-work drinks, some of them playing a game of chance on the numerous video screens. Few took notice of Roman’s strange attire, save for the bartender.