Devotions for Astronauts No. 2
Moralistas En Garde
Pay attention! I am sending you out like sheep among wolves, so be as prudent as snakes and as harmless as doves. -Matthew 10:16 (CJB)
Content Warning: Combat, Mild Brief Language
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Corporal Oskar Benton of the 8th Moralista Regiment pounded the pavement with his combat boots, his gear rattling against his clothes, his arms, his thighs, his body. He felt more like a collection of loosely organized debris tumbling along than a soldier of the highest military order on Libertalia running for his life and the life of others.
When he had grabbed the SecurCHIP and ran, he hadn’t even bothered to look over his shoulder to see if he was being followed, he was certain they’d be after him. He ran on pure adrenaline and assumption at that point. And while he was acutely aware of the capabilities of the 8th Moralista Regiment, he was not in fact certain of what those abilities looked like when deployed against fellow Moralistas, such as himself.
I got Lance Corporal Hendricks killed!
The rain spat on him, judgement for betrayal of the Code, or tears from God at the loss of innocence, either way, it served as an omen of ill fortune, the storm overhead marking the real world tumult that was about to be unleashed, if he survived the flight. Neon purples, blues, and reds shown brightly on the swaths of rain, painting the technologically advanced capital city of Libertalia known as Philopolis in vibrant hues. On some other night, it might be thought of as “beautiful”.
Some of that vibrant light glinted off an aerial descending between the buildings. It bore the unmistakable markings of a Moralista interceptor, a vehicle designed for quick VTOL insertion and extraction of Moralista Guardsmen.
They wouldn’t dare attack a fellow Moralist in public, would they?
If they were willing to go to such lengths, then the situation was already more dire than he had previously imagined. To date, after more than a millennia of their order, there was not one documented instance, outside of personal vendetta that any Moralista had fired on another. Civil war, coup, revolution, and the like were all foreign concepts to the Morlista Order. At least, until now.
Oskar knew that in order to retain peace and security, to save lives, he had to get the information on the SecurCHIP to the currently serving Commandant of the Order, General Jarrath Levantine 112th Commandant of the Moralista Order.
His boots continued slapping the wet hard surface, splashing as he went. He careened into people, apologizing every few seconds as he cut his way through the busy weekend crowd filling the street. Most looked shocked to see a Moralista Guardsman barreling through a crowd without a weapon drawn or obvious conflict. Moralistas themselves were not uncommon in public by any stretch, but one seemingly without their famous slow and methodical composure was sure to arouse the curiosity of many. He knew it was an odd sight and didn’t like the attention it drew.
The interceptor passed just overhead, the roar of the engines at full throttle slowing its descent. It touched down and disgorged its complement of Guardsmen. A number of bystanders had stopped going about their affairs in order to watch. The level of general curiosity on the street increasing exponentially with each passing second the breakdown in decorum continued.
This is the path they’ve chosen. I did not choose this, but they have forced my hand.
“You there, stop!” A Guardsman shouted.
Only God himself could convince Oskar to stop now.
He carried on him evidence of a coup of some kind within the Moralista Order. From the bit he had gathered before snatching the SecurCHIP, the traitors were planning something that would reshape all of Libertalia and undermine over 1300 years of tradition and precedence within the Order. He would not be party to such a redefining of his home world, a violation of every duty and code that had ever driven him. He would die before he’d allow it to happen.
He smashed into a family with small children, sending the father to the ground with a splash and a thud. “I’m so sorry, sir, please forgive me!” He ran on before he even received a response. Just another violation of his moral duties. He’d never let a mistake with a citizen like that go unchecked and unresolved.
A shot rang out.
Shooting, in public?
He knew the traitors to the Order were motivated, but they truly didn’t care about public safety?
Prickles ran down his spine. He felt sick to his stomach.
BANG BANG
A civilian dropped just ahead of him. They really were opening fire on him and willingly endangering innocent lives. The people chasing him wore the uniform, but they had no right to it anymore. His heart burned with rage and drove his muscles like nuclear fuel in a fusion reactor.
He had to cover the three blocks to Devonshire Street where he could use the underground metro to get to central Philopolis. He would find Headquarters there.
Is the metro even a viable option with a tail? How would I pursue someone like me? How would I counter that?
He’d have to work that out on the way there, if he could make it.
Another interceptor flew low and fast overhead.
Pop Whizz, Pop Whizz
A sharpshooter had sighted in, framed by the opened side door of the interceptor just down the block, positioned for enfilading fire.
I need cover or at least concealment.
He chanced a look over his shoulder. Four Guardsmen plowed through the crowd, shoving people aside violently. The crowd between the pursuing Guard and himself grew thinner by the second. Up ahead the fascia of the next mega tower incorporated ornate pillars. It wasn’t much, but he weaved in between the pillars for a couple hundred feet until the front face of the building terminated and he was exposed again.
He turned at the next street, even though it wasn’t Devonshire. Anything to take away the sharpshooter’s advantage. Unlike the street he’d left, this one was eerily quiet, the daytime shops all having shutdown for the night. The warm glow out on the main street did not touch this street and only a few lights brought shape to the street. A preferred venue to be sure.
Bang-bang bang-bang-bang.
The sounds of individual shots ran together.
Rounds impacted the street and sidewalk, sending chips of concrete and roadform spraying into the damp night air. Several windows from a nearby shop shattered due to stray rounds. Each crackle, smack, and bang were part of a countdown to the bullet with his name on it.
He chanced a look over his shoulder again and saw Guardsmen still on foot but no longer trying to shoot at him. They were trying to see him in the dark which was proving to be a double edged sword for Oskar as well who tried to pick his way through the various obstacles littering the sidewalk along the stretch, trashcans, cheap benches, makeshift outdoor dining areas and the like. Regardless, he pressed on with all his speed, jumping, dodging, or shoving as necessary.
The interceptor with sharpshooter came up from behind. A few shots hit around Oskar, but most hit the wall, usually after zipping through the awnings.
At the end of the block he turned to get back on track for intersecting Devonshire street. The interceptor made a lazy turn to follow him as though the ship itself had been befuddled by Oskar’s turn.
Another check over his shoulder revealed the pursuing Guardsmen hadn’t yet cleared the corner to join him on the new street with better lighting and unfortunately less concealment for Oskar. A tiny alleyway between closed entrances opened to the side and he chanced running down it.
Feeling like some kind of explorer in search of treasure he ran along the tight space between backdoors where piles of trash littered the street and stench concentrated ready to commit indecent acts on the faculties of anyone unfortunate enough to pass through the area. A break in the straight corridor gave way to a space reminiscent of a courtyard as the exits for several structures and spaces intersected and dumped out into a brick paved area completely open to the sky overhead, providing a singular place of rain shower. The interceptor screamed overhead, attempting to get an angle on him.
Several alleys branched off from the open area and Oskar chose the one praying his spatial orientation was still intact. A cat hid under a bent piece of sheet metal two stories up, looking down on him with silent judgement. A chill ran through his body. He heard the echo of boots and shouted orders reporting off the narrow brick gauntlet from behind. They hadn’t yet made it to the intersection, but they were still too close for comfort.
Oskar beat on, driving his shiny black boots against the slick cobblestone of the millennia-old alley. His muscles burned, but he knew it wasn’t as bad as the burn that comes from a bullet biting into the flesh. And so it drove him on. The fear inoculated him against the pain.
Up ahead, between the haphazardly stacked restaurant boxes on one side, and the generator tear down project someone abandoned on the other side, he could just make out the purple glow for which Devonshire street was notorious. The amount of neon on the street bordered on the absurd, but “destination” places were always like that, something ridiculous to capture the minds or hearts of those passing by or those who intended to. He’d be highly visible and there’d be a large number of civilians in the way, but the metro entrance leading underground likely wouldn’t be too much farther.
He weaved through the detritus in the alley and hesitated for a brief moment as the sound of the active street complete with cars and pedestrians and interceptors all pounded his senses at once. It looked just like every tourist picture, vid, and XR he’d ever experienced. It was a street that never stopped being surreal with it’s massive holo billboards projecting miles into the sky and the sheer canyon effect the buildings created despite their intricate designs that varied them up from the large mono blocks that occupied much of downtown. Even with violence in hot pursuit, it was still enough to throw off his senses.
After the momentary pause, his feet turned over again, heading out of the alley. A stairway entry for the metro popped into view out from behind a crowd of people, not more than 100 meters away. He sprinted for it, jumping from the top step toward the wall mounted guardrail, hoping to use some of the techniques from his urban movement courses to gain some kind of speed. His boots slammed hard against the metal rail as his body thumped against the wall, hitting just oblique enough that he didn’t bounce off. Awkwardly he used the notch in his boots between heel and front to grind the rail, desperately trying to keep balance. His rifle barrel on his back smacking the wall every couple of feet.
As desired, he gained a huge amount of speed and cleared the steps entirely, but at the cost of jumping at the end into a sloppy tuck-and-roll impacting his right shoulder first, sending an audible crack running through his body accompanied shortly thereafter by a fiery bolt of pain. He’d almost certainly torn or dislocated something in his shoulder. He pulled out of the roll, staggering onto his feet, slipping on the ultra clean tile. But his feet found purchase and he chugged on.
A rifle report pierced the comparative silence and the clean tiles exploded like miniature landmines going off in a chain reaction as the rounds peppered all around Oskar. He instinctively lunged sideways toward a pillar, the only form of cover or concealment between where he had just been and where he was trying to go, the next flight of stairs down. With his attackers pressing on, he could not stay behind the pillar, but instead, tried to move so that it stayed between him and his assailants, hoping that his spatial reasoning was sufficient for the task.
The noise of small arms fire escalated from brutally loud to torrential cacophony to a sea of tidal waves made of sound crashing against him so hard they were no longer heard but felt. The tiled walls and floors not only failed to dampen the sound, but amplified it funneling it directly into Oskar’s brain stem, rendering him a man of nothing more than legs moving and head exploding from pain, so much so, he would recall later that he’d forgotten entirely about his shoulder.
He made a beeline for the closest part of the next flight of stairs and hurled himself into open space as much as he could. His memory having been more or less correct, the second flight was shorter than the first and he cleared the steps falling nearly a story in the process. Despite his fantastic summoning of old information, he landed poorly and sprawled immediately. He had the good sense to attempt to pull his limbs in as much as possible and attempt to roll sideways. He slid to a stop, his cheek grinding against the immaculate tile, and pushed up, lunging to his feet, and bolted forward. Pain became irrelevant. Only the survival of the Order mattered now.
The last flight of stairs lay not more than twenty or thirty meters away. His pursuers had not yet reached the second flight. Their continued sighting in for aimed shots slowed their pursuit. He ran straight for the sign directing users to the various platforms that hung over the entry to the descent. Some kind of pipe adjoined the sign to wall and to ceiling and he reached for the lower part that resembled a hanging exercise bar. The momentum flung his body up and forward from the top of the steps, launching him again into open space. His luck ran thin and his feet caught on the faces of some people unlucky enough to be ascending the steps right at that moment.
His angular velocity immediately changed for the worse as he tumbled forward, flying straight down at the steps, landing about half-way down the flight. He still had some forward momentum that carried his injured form down the rest of the steps in a jolting, bouncing tumble.
He felt nothing. He knew something was broken, but he could not will himself to feel pain even if he wanted to. Things still worked well enough that he pried himself from the tile, a red smear remaining behind having leaked out from somewhere on his person.
A train already sat at the platform heading for downtown Philopolis as expected since they came every ninety seconds through the Devonshire street station. And just as predictably, hundreds of people were waiting to get on. Only the few at the edge of the crowd closest to the stairs had even noticed him and the few people he had knocked down. One came over to check on them, but the other few just averted their gaze. Likely, the sight of an injured Moralista probably just confused them to the point of inaction.
Oskar pushed passed the crowd trying to board the train. At maximum it’d be on station for thirty seconds more, perhaps it’d be enough time to clear off before the other Moralistas hunting him could board.
Like the station itself, the train radiated cleanliness and light. It made for a pretty picture, but besides chairs or adjoining sections between cars, there was little in the way of cover or concealment that wasn’t a fellow human being.
After entering the nearest car, Oskar chanced his first look back in what felt like eons. A fireteam of four Moralista Guardsmen charged down the last flight of stairs, guns raised, disregarding the danger to anyone else. Their crisp dress blue uniforms and ultra sleek black knee high leather boots always inspired a sense of confidence and professionalism in Oskar’s mind, but now, being on the receiving end of his fellow comrade’s violence, it took on new sinister qualities like inevitability and invincibility. He could do or say nothing that would change their minds. His death marked “mission accomplishment.”
This was not the Moralista way.
Oskar ran toward the front of the train, shoving past anyone who was in the way. He made it to the next car. Seconds later, the doors to the platform sealed, and the motors accelerated the train toward downtown and destiny, if he was lucky enough to live that long. Shouting emanated from the car behind him. Two of the Moralistas had managed to squeeze on board before the doors shut. One was trying to sight in for a shot. The other jammed his rifle into an old man in the way who flew through the air, slamming his back into the seating against the walls of the car. He’d likely never walk again if he survived at all.
Running forward meant running out of cars long before they reached downtown. And unlike his rogue compatriots he had no intention of using his rifle in the crowded confines. No matter the importance of the information, it didn’t warrant violating the Code. Doing so would undermine everything that drove him at that very moment.
He dove behind a section divider. Gunfire erupted, shattering glass, sprinkling a confetti of metal dust, glass bits, and paint flakes throughout the air around him. People screamed and cowered in corners, most threw themselves to the ground. A lull in the fire came and Oskar took his chance, bolting for the next car jumping over bodies, possibly dead or just paralyzed from fear.
There’s too many civilians for me to face them. Perhaps a car ahead has fewer people?
Even then he had to actively fight the revulsion rising up in him at the thought of turning his hand against a fellow Moralista. The Code dictated that no Moralista should enact violence against another. The Code also dictated that where possible self-preservation was a duty. Lastly, the Code was also clear about the general orders regarding following the rules and edicts of the jurisdiction in which they were operating. At present, his assailants were in violation of Philopolis ordinances against unprovoked aggression. Never could he have imagined than any part of the Code might be in contradiction with another part. He might have experienced existential angst if the immediate need to survive did not weigh on him so greatly.
Oskar entered the next car, closing the one behind. He checked around the door seal for any potential lock, manual or otherwise, he could engage. Nothing stood out to him. The two attackers entered the car he had just left, both opened fire. He rolled to the side, away from the door, hoping the metal skin of the passenger cars was sufficient for cover. He used the opportunity to observe the room. Yet again, screaming, ducking, cowering, and prostrate passengers filled the compartment. Knowing speed might be the only ally available to him, he sprinted when the gunfire ceased. He hoped a magazine change was in order for them.
In his desperation he started tripping over people on the ground or hanging into the aisle. He hated to think he might be hurting someone, but he simply had no time to check. The sooner he could get to a less crowded car, the more likely he could reduce the number of injured or killed bystanders. The real-world trolley problem played out at lightning speed disgusted him. He hoped he made the right call. He bowled over a young man about his age, terror soaking his eyes with tears.
He pressed on to the next car. More gunfire, but this time he took no cover instead lowering himself as much as possible and kept going. The next car. The next car. And the next car. He could see the front of the train approaching, options ran thin.
A sign sat on the door to the last car before the driver’s car. It read “Reserved Cargo”. He threw open the door, thankful it had not been locked. Seats had been replaced by racks and people by cargo. Various kinds of packaged goods and luggage filled most of the shelves.
I will fight them here. They will die here.
Again he fought the revulsion. He pushed it out of his mind hard and focused on his training. Only a handful of seconds remained until they’d be upon him. He observed his environment, weighed the options. The rifle still posed a threat to civilians, that was out. His only option lay with his saber. It served a mainly ceremonial function, but requirement forced Moralistas to keep them sharp. Actual use was rare for highly kinetic situations, reserved rather for ceremonial reading out of warrants or placing people under arrest in peaceful scenarios.
He chose a nook between two shelves that narrowed the aisle considerably, the “choke point” of the car, close to the center. It didn’t provide much in the way of cover, but it did conceal him and that’s all that mattered. So long as they didn’t come in guns blazing, he’d have a chance. Oskar placed his bets on their previously aggressive ammo consumption leading to conservation on their parts. They’d want to make their shots count now.
He unsheathed his saber, crouched behind the rack, and peeked around the edge to observe the door leading back to the rest of the train. They’d be on him any instant.
Their boots thudded like rolling thunder. They threw the door open violently. He pulled back from the edge and girded himself against the coming entanglement. Hesitation took hold in the footfalls of the pursuers. Oskar doubted himself for a moment, but realized there was no going back, nor forward, they died here or he died here.
The clomp against the floor intensified, growing closer. Oskar held his body in perfect tension focusing on his breath rather than his fear. He didn’t believe he’d be able to get a thrust or slice of the sword completed without taking a couple of rounds to the body. He observed his environment with what little time remained to contact.
As quietly as possible he reached an arm back to one of the boxes on the shelf and shoved it through to the other side where it fell with a heavy clank. Gunfire exploded immediately. Oskar rounded the corner. The front man had his gun trained on the box. Oskar ran the sword right through the exposed ribs on his flank where a seam ran for the sewn in armor. Because the men had stacked to enter the narrowed section, the rear man could not get a clear line of sight to Oskar who was currently skewering his comrade. The first man slightly turned his head to look at Oskar and went rigid.
“I’m sorry, brother.” Oskar looked him square in the eyes as the light faded from them. “Serve me in death.” He shoved the body forward sword protruding, running him into the second man. Oskar doubted it was a killing blow, but it was enough to slow him. He withdrew the sword as fast as possible, stepping back into a ready stance to perform another strike. The front man fell to the floor. The second man had started to double and brought his gun up quickly into a parry against Oskar’s falling blade. The saber glanced off the gun, and the second man fired erratically, missing due to the close range and wild swing. The saber was lighter, more agile, and Oskar pulled it back in for a lunging thrust aimed at the neck. The blade sliced into something critical near the brain stem and the man died and fell.
Oskar bent over him and rest his hand on him for a moment. “I’m sorry for you as well, brother. I wish it had not come to this.”
Will I have to kill more of my brothers before the day is out?
He shuddered at the thought.
He used the edge of one of their dress shirts to clean his blade and sheathed it.
Now he need only wait the few minutes to get to downtown, where he could hopefully begin the process of restoring peace to the Order. With the little time he had until his stop he walked back through the cars, helping people to their feet, reassuring those he could, and checking to see if there were any wounded he could attend to. As part of their issued gear he had a small first aid kit in a hip pack and doled out what he had. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t hardly anything at all. But it was everything he could muster in the few minutes available.
“Now approaching Rhettfield Square.” The prerecorded female voice sounded bright and well rested. Oskar realized he couldn’t relate.
The train arrived at the platform and he made his exit to the stairs. He hurried to surface level keeping a lookout for reinforcements. The people working against him at present may very well have a good idea of where he was going and what he was intending to do. Every step remained perilous.
He made it to the street level without incident. The Moralista Order headquarters tower lay not less than a block from the metro entrance. Amidst the towers looming over Oskar, bright lights and activity filled the sky. Ships coming and going, personal transports mostly, as well as automated drones. The street was bathed in so much light that if one didn't look skyward one could be forgiven for thinking it was daytime. Despite not seeing an obvious threat, he opted to sprint anyway.
Better safe than sorry.
He got several odd looks from passers-by but no one said anything. Comparative with the previous violent encounters within the last hour, the general din of the city felt serene by contrast. Unlike the shooting, the quiet actually increased his anxiety.
Keep it together Oskar.
The monolithic tower rose amidst the more conservative buildings adjoining it. The Moralista Order headquarters, a gigantic lime, marble, granite, steel, and glass composition that looked out of place in Philopolis. It featured layers of sculpted arches, ornate artwork, straight, powerful lines made of glass and steel between the sections. It looked like a multilayered monstrosity of art and power that refused to bend its will to any other structure or culture. It was its own statement, its own thing out of time and place. As much as Oskar loved the Order, he was still undecided if the building was beautiful or hideous or something of both. At a minimum, it was not something that could be ignored or duplicated.
He approached the gigantic ten meter tall glass doors nestled inside the even bigger marble arch. Three reliefs of Moralista commandants looked down on him, judging his every move, determining the purity of his actions.
“May I be declared worthy.” He reached for the door, resting his hand on the enormous gold, bronze, and silver intertwined handle. He tugged confidently, and the power assisted door opened with relative ease.
He stepped into the great welcome hall, a tiled mosaic floor greeting him, his every step clicking and clacking seconds after he brought the foot to rest on the ground. The open space ascended fifty or more meters into the air before it became more enclosed. Even then a central column of openness rose all the way to the very top of the tower hundreds of meters above.
He strode to the concierge’s desk, feeling safer at headquarters because surely the rebellious faction would not track him down and open fire within the building they all cherished. A young lady in professional dress greeted him.
“Good evening Corporal, how can I help you?”
“I need to speak with the Commandant of the Order, as soon as possible.”
She hesitated. “I’m happy to accommodate you any way I can, Corporal, but there is a high probability I cannot arrange a meeting with the Commandant on such short notice, especially at this late hour. I’m sure you understand.”
“This matter is of life and death to much if not most of The Moralista Order, please do what you can, if you’d be so kind, madam.”
Shock danced across her face. “I’ll, do what I can. Give me one moment, Corporal.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She picked up the phone. After speaking for a minute she looked up. “Can you be more specific about the nature of this threat?”
Oskar wasn’t sure how to answer. He himself hadn’t reconciled the notion of internal strife within the Order, but the idea that he might expose someone else to that knowledge made him sick. But what choice did he have. The information needed to be relayed as quickly as possible. “There’s a coup developing inside the Order. I have the details on me. The Commandant must know about this right away.”
The thought of seeing the Commandant terrified him. He would do what he must, but for a lowly corporal to stand before the authority presiding over the entirety of The Order presented an overwhelming feeling to Oskar. It seemed to be the theme for the evening. In fact, much of the experience had been like moving through a dream thus far, actions he engaged in felt not entirely of his own volition upon reflection, but they were in fact the only ones he could have taken given the scenario.
After another moment, the concierge addressed him. “Commandant Levantine will see you now. He advised discretion and going straight to his office. I’ve unlocked the option for the Commandant’s suite in the elevator. Just press the button with the star, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
He stepped on the elevator looking at the concierge as the doors closed.
She gave him a smile and nod. A shadow of worry still remained on her face.
As described, the elevator contained a large decorative button, twice the size of the others, with a big gold star featuring intricate lace metalwork. A ring of golden light surrounded it. Oskar pressed the button and rode the elevator to the top floor, to the Commandant’s suite. Ridiculous as it was, the ride to the top felt more nerve wracking than the previous hour of running for his life had.
The doors opened.
The scene before him revealed an opulent suite decked in the finest woods, metal working, rugs, and artwork both on the wall and on pedestals. Aromas of woods and other warm smells hung heavy in the air that Oskar could not immediately identify, but it felt homey and welcoming.
“Come in Corporal!” An unseen deep voice boomed confidently across the space. It still retained a welcoming rather than aggressive quality while still feeling commanding. So strong was the voice, that Oskar’s feet moved before he consciously willed himself to walk forward.
He proceeded through the rich wood-lined hallway filled with impressive busts and portraits, mostly of former Commandants of the Order and highly decorated heroes. At the end of the hallway, in a large open white room, stood two Moralista Sentrymen flanking a true-to-life scale, all-marble statue of General Amos Klein, First Commandant of the Moralista Order. The dress blues on the statue, while all white, appeared incredibly life like. An unfelt wind blew his coat tails gently. The gaze from the chiseled stone pierced so intensely Oskar had to resist the urge to offer a salute. The Sentrymen flanking the statue stared straight ahead. Oskar always marveled at fellow soldiers that stood in sentry positions for hours on end. He preferred action, walking the beat, greeting people. But there was a duty for all types.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he stepped into the space containing the statue and sentries.
“Do come, Corporal Benton, do come. Our former Commandant won’t mind you passing by without asking for leave to do so.” The voice came from just around the corner through a side door adjoining the anteroom.
Oskar rounded the corner to find yet another large space outfitted in wood and leather and rare metals and stone. Bookshelves lined the walls on either side. A large Ultra-NeoGothic stained glass window towered three stories at the back of the room. It was the single most luxurious room he’d ever laid eyes on in person. A massive rug, likely hand crafted, filled with patterns and sacred symbols covered the ground between the opening to the foyer and the enormous desk behind which stood Commandant Jarrath Levantine.
Oskar came to attention and saluted. “Good evening, sir.”
Commandant Levantine gestured to the plush leather chair in front of his desk. “Do sit down Corporal Benton, put your mind at ease. It seems you have information to share with me.”
Oskar crossed the room to sit. He fought the awe he felt, hoping he would not lose his military bearing. He had not reflected on what his experience might ever be like should he ever meet the Commandant, but he certainly hadn’t expected such a warm, welcoming approach from the most powerful force commander on the planet. He expected as much pomp and rigor as the building he occupied suggested.
“Sit, sit.” Commandant Levantine gestured, waving his hand a little. The man did not have infinite patience, despite his warm words. “Speak freely, what’s going on?” The Commandant stayed standing.
Oskar sat and his mind reeled as he sorted through the evening, overhearing the discussion of the coup, stealing the SecurCHIP, the chase in public, and killing fellow Moralistas. Each on their own might warrant a meeting of this caliber. But what was most important? What should he mention first? Hesitation rarely featured in Oskar’s repertoire.
“I killed them. I had to, I mean. I. They would have killed me. It’s not our way, I didn’t know what to do.” The words tumbled out of Oskar. He fought every urge to keep from bursting into tears. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how troubled the killing of fellow Moralistas had made him. “They were chasing me and shooting and they killed civilians and hurt people. I had to. I cornered them and used my saber. They died, because of me. Their bodies are still on the train. I’m sorry, sir, I’ve failed the Order. I just.”
“Corporal,” Commandant Levantine handed Oskar a glass filled with brown liquid, “calm down. Enjoy a Scotch on me. Go slowly. Who chased you? What did they want? Is this related to what you told my assistant?”
Oskar took the glass. “Thank you, sir.” He took a deep breath and sipped the Scotch. It tasted unlike any alcohol he’d ever tried. The flavor, rich and warm, brought a sense of peace to him almost immediately. “Is this real sir? From Earth?” He’d never even seen something from Earth, let alone enjoyed something from there.
“Indeed it is, Corporal. Go slowly, but be detailed. Many lives could be saved by the details you share with me. First, have you gotten a chance to relay any of the information you discovered to your regiment or jurisdiction commander?”
“No, no sir, I ran straight here. I made a command decision and felt the information was too important and sensitive to filter through the chain of command. I assumed some of my chain of command might very well be compromised.” Oskar took another sip. It truly was incredible.
“You are a wise young man, I commend you Corporal. If there is indeed a coup, then there must be compromised elements at many levels. The information you possess cannot fall into the wrong hands. You’ve given us the tactical advantage over the situation so we can reestablish order.”
Yes, reestablish order, that’s precisely what’s needed. This should never have happened at all, how could it have?
“Yes sir, I hope I can be of assistance in that regard.”
“Continue with your story. Start with how you discovered the coup. I need names and what all you know. Go ahead, continue.” He waved his hand again in that agitated way. It struck Oskar as an emotionally excessive gesture considering the professional restraint the Commandant demonstrated in the rest of his posture.
“My team performed a routine patrol of a known derelict tower awaiting renovation. One of our premier donors requested the patrol and the task was assigned to my fireteam. I know many Moralistas will execute a perimeter and first floor check only, but I felt we should check the entire building. So we proceeded through the building, using the stairs, leapfrogging our way up by twos.”
“Were you ordered to check the entire building? And be specific, which building?” An edge crept in to Commandant Levantine’s voice.
“No sir, but my CO has routinely instructed our regiment to go above and beyond, to seize the initiative, and that there is not such thing as too safe. I was trying to follow his guiding principles. It was the old Hammer-Worth Industries tower several blocks south of Devonshire street.”
“And yet you failed to make contact with your CO or other supervising authority to get clearance on this expanded search, is that right, Corporal?” The voice sounded less warm, more formal now.
Confusion gripped Oskar’s mind. Why would The Commandant be upset? The information he uncovered would certainly be invaluable to him and his ability to track down the traitors. At least he assumed that was what might be ascertained from the SecurCHIP. Could there be something on it that would make The Commandant upset, something he wouldn’t want others to know? He looked up into the piercing gaze of Commandant Jarrath Levantine. And he saw him for the first time. Instead of a resolute professional appearing as carved out of stone as the First Commandant standing in the foyer, he took on the visage of a demon. He hadn’t changed expressions, but the stare transformed in Oskar’s mind from an understanding gaze, to one ready to destroy.
The sudden terror made him want to leap from the chair and run. Somehow, he stayed put, hoping, praying that his own face did not betray a thing. Oskar’s mind recoiled in perplexed horror, seeing himself as from afar.
But if the coup was meant to overthrow the Commandant and he’s aware of it then how would that make sense? How could he be in on the thing to overthrow himself? Or was something else at work? Did I miss something?
“Corporal,” the voice of Commandant Levantine projected loud and clear into Oskar’s thoughts. “I asked you a question Corporal. When I said to be at ease, I did not mean for you to disrespect me with your silence.”
How long have I been thinking?
“Sorry sir, I guess I’m still overwhelmed by the whole experience, I just want to get the details right for you, sir.”
The Commandant appeared mollified and took another sip of Scotch.
“No sir, I did not obtain explicit instruction from a commanding authority to proceed with a general search of the entire facility.” Oskar noticed he had both hands wrapped around his cup like he was trying to warm them with hot chocolate on a winter’s day. He hadn’t even remembered doing that. He decided to match the Commandant sip for sip in order to appear at ease.
“What happened next, and where was your team?”
“As I mentioned, sir, we were leap frogging the floors by twos. Myself and Lance Corporal Hendricks happened upon a series of rooms with running electricity and noise indicating some kind of activity.”
“Did you ever at any point make a report back to your command?”
“No sir, I probably should have, and I’m sorry for that, but as things became kinetic I felt it best to just get the information to you as soon as possible.”
“Go on.” The Commandant sipped.
Oskar sipped and then elaborated. “To avoid alerting anyone, we used only hand signals and avoided using our comms even with the other fireteam members. I felt it was important to get a threat assessment before rallying the whole team. We carefully searched rooms that appeared to be furnished and recently used. We happened upon some kind of data or security room with computers set up. A large table filled the center of the room with drawings, schematics, lists, and so on. Adjoining that room was something of a rec room or meeting room. The door stood ajar and we heard people inside talking. I glimpsed one of them and saw a fellow Moralista. We almost entered the room right away to give our greetings, but something made me hesitate. Thinking back on it, I’m not sure what it was.”
“Good intuition, likely.” The Commandant took another sip.
Oskar sipped forcing the liquid down.
“I heard several voices talking. They were discussing headquarters and it’s defensive capabilities. There were several mentions of local jurisdiction Moralista units, especially Security Regiment, and what their SOP dictates regarding attacks on the headquarters. And a number of mentions about a new competent authority ruling over the Order.”
“So you never heard anything explicitly saying that I or any of the command staff or structure would be overthrown?” The searching gaze returned to the Commandant’s face, looking for cracks in the story.
I’m in danger, but I don’t even understand what’s happening. I’m certain I overheard the makings of a coup, but something is off about the Commandant, he knows something about all of this, which wouldn’t make any sense if he’s to be overthrown. Should I be withholding information? What am I supposed to do?
“I guess it’s that good intuition you mentioned, sir.”
“Alright, so how did you go from overhearing a potential plot to being in my office?” He drained the last of the Scotch, holding the glass up to inspect it, playing with it, testing it’s weight. Oskar opted not to finish his drink, the rare delicacy had taken on a decidedly foul taste.
“Someone noticed us, I’m not even sure who or from where, it might have been a different door. But we ran out of the room immediately. They started pursuing us and opened fire immediately. Lance Corporal Hendricks got hit and went down. I would have gone back for him, but there was no cover and I was overwhelmed. By the time I made it to the stairs there were already a number of aggressors between me and the Lance Corporal and I had no choice but to flee. I do not know what became of the rest of my team. I made it out of the building and began my flight across town to get here.”
“Let me cut to the chase.” Commandant Levantine set the glass down on the table hard with finality and leaned forward coming closer to Oskar. “What did you take.”
He knows about the SecurCHIP I grabbed from the central table in the computer room when we fled? How could he possibly know that?
“I,” Oskar looked at the rejected Scotch and gathered his will, “I ran. I simply ran. All I have are my memories.” The SecurCHIP felt enormous in his pocket.
Commandant Levantine pressed a button on his desk’s control panel. “Corporal. For your sake, I hope you are not lying. Lying would be a serious offense against myself and against the Order. On your feet, Corporal Benton. At attention.”
Oskar shot to his feet ram rod straight, as ordered.
The two Sentrymen from the anteroom entered the office and flanked either side of the Commandant’s desk.
“I will ask you again, but before I do, I need to ask you a question, Corporal. Do you believe the Order is perfect, that it can do no wrong?”
Oskar hesitated, taken aback by such an unexpected question. “Sir, I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Are we God, Oskar? Are we perfect? Am I a god to you? Am I thee God to you?”
“No sir, I have great respect for your office, but you are not God, nor is the Order perfect.”
“Precisely.” Commandant Levantine walked around the desk, passed the sentry and came to stand next to Oskar. “Face me.”
Oskar performed a drill style facing movement, staying at attention. Fear allowed him to do nothing else. The Commandant stood nearly a head taller. It made Oskar feel small and vulnerable, a feeling to which he was wholly unaccustomed.
What is this man’s angle, what have I stepped into?
“I am a man, Corporal, as are you. And our Council likewise is composed of men, each fallible in their own, way, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Our order has been around for over thirteen-hundred years. And I like the previous 111 commandants before me, I am beholden to the Council. Do you suppose that the Council has made mistakes in how they’ve managed the Code, or have they been completely infallible in all that they’ve done?”
The Scotch seemed to burn Oskar’s throat again, coming from the other side now. “I suppose some mistakes have been made.” The line of questioning made him anxious. He knew The Commandant wasn’t wrong but at the same time something about the way he was asking seemed wrong.
“And after all those years, those uncorrected mistakes have compounded, have they not? Are not commandants bound by Council decisions thus making it impossible to change things without the consent of two or three commandants successively? Is that not the way of the Order? Change comes slow if ever, because decisions must be agreed upon over multiple generations, correct?”
“That is my understanding, sir.”
“But real world changes to jurisdiction policy or major trade alliances or even off-world influence happen on the scales of years or decades, they happen within a single life-time, not over generations. And our Order moves too slow to accommodate these real world changes. We are an Order steeped in policy so thick it’s centuries behind. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can carry on the intent of the Order even better if we had more flexibility and timeliness in our changes to the Code. Is it not best to carry out the intent behind the Order, Corporal? Is that not what First Commandant General Amos Klein would have us do if he were here today?”
“I think so, sir.”
“I know so. I’ve read everything that man ever wrote regarding our venerable Order. We stand at a precipice where we must evolve or die. From your position on the ground that might not seem apparent, but these last thirty years have shown me how handcuffed our Order is. It’s time to bring it into this age. We need a fully democratic system that allows for the Order to let Moralistas, everyday soldiers such as yourself, to vote on changes to the Code. I’m proposing a new era that will allow us to fulfill our duties on a scale never before realized. Do you understand?”
“That sounds like a major change, sir. What has the Council said about it?”
The Commandant brought his face close to Oskar’s. He growled with a hiss. The demon eyes returned. “The Council is the problem, Corporal. Haven’t you been listening? I thought as one of the most loyal soldiers of our great Order you’d understand what I mean. Would it not improve with input from those who do the work of the Order itself? Don’t you want your voice heard?” He stood back up giving Oskar space to breathe.
“Yes, sir, I would hope that my input is valuable to the Order.”
The Commandant clapped his hands on Oskar’s shoulders. “Precisely. So you do understand?” He smoothed Oskar’s dress coat around the shoulders and removed his hands from Oskar’s epaulets. “So I’ll ask again. Did you take anything from where you overheard this so called plot and is it still on you or did you lose it along the way?”
He knows I took something but he doesn’t know if I have all of it with me or not. He doesn’t want others to know.
In a complete breach of decorum and protocol he looked directly at Commandant Levantine and asked his own question. “Sir, do you intend to overthrow the Council?” The thought had not previously crossed his mind because such a thought seemed so preposterous as to be discarded upon conception, but the evidence now suggested otherwise.
The Commandant glowered at first and then calm washed back over his face. “There will be no overthrowing, Corporal. Merely, if the members of the Order decide through direct voting that removing the Council is the best way forward, then so be it.”
Oskar felt certain that any such vote if conducted would somehow end up favoring exactly that position. Dissolution of the Council, representatives from every jurisdiction, did not inherently sound like a good idea. Perhaps voting amongst the soldiers had some kind of value, but he was certain at a minimum that dissolving the council not only wasn’t in keeping with the long standing intentions of the Order but was also a violation of the Code as it currently stood.
Oskar stepped back from the man and drew his saber. “By the power vested in me by the Code of the Moralista Order, I hereby place you, 112th Commandant Jarrath Levantine, under arrest for violations of the Code of the Moralista Order within my jurisdiction. I’m duly required to inform you that—.”
The Commandant’s voice boomed as he stepped back. “How dare you, you petulant child. Arrest this filth!”
The sentries drew their sabers and took a step toward Oskar.
“He is in violation of the Code. Dissolution of The Council is against the Code in it’s current form and we are duty bound to uphold the Code.” Oskar gestured at the Commandant.
“We are duty bound to uphold all commands of the Commandant,” one of the sentries said, “sorry, Corporal.”
Oskar took a step back from the advancing sentries. “The Code dictates that it stands above even the Commandant, and even he and all he commands are beholden to it. You are duty bound to the Code before you are duty bound to the Commandant.”
The sentry that remained silent lunged for Oskar with a thrust. Oskar parried. The sentry that had spoken joined the fray with a slash that landed on the back of the first sentry. Oskar’s attacker fell.
“Staff Sergeant Okiwe at your service, Corporal. You are brave. I will follow you now.”
The Commandant ran behind his desk.
SSgt Okiwe drew his sidearm pistol and fired several rounds in quick succession on the Commandant who promptly fell behind the desk. “He keeps a revolver in there.” Oskar and SSgt Okiwe ran to the desk and found The Commandant wounded, blood seeping out of his shoulder and dripping from his mouth.
“You’ll not leave this building alive,” Commandant Levantine said.
“We’re going to need help,” SSgt Okiwe said. Pointing to the Commandant, he said, “guard him. I’ll place a call for reinforcements.” He left the room in a hurry glancing at his fallen Sentrymen on the way and said, “dammit, Simmons.”
Oskar stood out of arms reach from the Commandant and looked through the drawers of the desk finding the revolver. He stepped back, pocketing the revolver in his dress coat. He kept his saber ready.
“You’re a fool, Corporal. We could have built something great here, but instead you chose the old way, the slow way. The path of stagnation and decay, the path that will be our undoing.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I believe in the way of the Order and the Code. As my oath dictates I do not render judgement, even now, as disappointed as I am in you, sir, I do not judge you, for it is never the job of a Moralista to make judgements only to enforce the rules or laws or customs of their jurisdiction. And ours requires Moralistas to follow the Code. This jurisdiction provides the ability to arrest Moralistas who fail to follow the Code. I just would have never imagined that it would be my Commandant.”
Commandant Levantine pushed himself up into a seated position against the nearby post, blood oozing into the dress coat all around his shoulder, dying it a dark purple. He scoffed and said, “I’ve already won, Corporal. Victory was assured, I simply had the easy way or the hard way. And your actions tonight have forced the hard way. But regardless, I’ve worked on this my whole life. Even if you kill me, the Order will change permanently.”
“Your actions will no doubt have a lasting impact, but regardless, we will do what is right, we will not allow a violation of the Code to go unchecked, even by you, sir. You will be held accountable. You will be judged by a high court of Philopolis. This is our way.”
“Was our way.” Commandant Levantine spat some blood from his mouth.
Oskar shook his head in disgust.
SSgt Okiwe ran back into the room. “Some members of the Security Regiment are on their way up. However, the rest have taken up fortified positions near the first floor to deal with the troops amassing outside.”
“Fortified positions? Troops?”
The Commandant burst into laughter broken by a sputtering cough. “I told you that you won’t leave this building alive. How strong is the 8th Moralista Regiment anyways, Corporal?”
“We’re one of the toughest on the planet, that’s why we’re assigned to Philopolis.”
The Commandant laughed again. “Exactly. Do you think the Security Regiment can handle your 8th boys?”
“You corrupted my regiment? My leadership is doing your dirty work?” He could not bring himself to use honorifics.
“Just catching on? And here I thought you were clever.”
“Clever enough to do my duty,” he forced the last word out, “sir.”
A dull thud came through the floor.
“Appears the party has started!” Commandant Levantine said with a bloody grin and demon eyes.
Several more Moralistas from the Security Regiment arrived, possibly a platoon’s worth of men all able to fit inside the room, showcasing its true size. Their red fourragères stood in stark contrast to the blue of their normal uniform. The old symbol brought a small sense of peace to Oskar because it represented order, order that was desperately needed right now. The world sat upside down. Some of his friends or at least good men he had known were likely dying downstairs right at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to curse and kick the Commandant. But duty, ever his guiding light, demanded that he redouble his efforts to extract the offender from the building safely.
Another several thuds came through the floor.
A captain of the Security Regiment approached Oskar. “Captain Redding of Headquarter Security Regiment at your service, sir.” It was customary for the arresting Moralista to be given authority over the matter at hand unless they ceded authority to someone else or a “breach of confidence” as defined by the Code occurred.
“As you are the competent authorities in regards to the security of this building, I cede command authority to your regiment and will follow your guidance.” Oskar decided to retain authority and ownership over the prisoner specifically, but all tactical control of the situation fell to the Security Regiment now and in this case the immediate representative, Capt Redding.
“I acknowledge receipt of command and will perform my duty. Thank you, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir.” Oskar saluted the captain signifying the return of authority to the highest ranking official in the room, outside of Commandant Levantine.
Capt Redding turned to his men, several squads ready to serve. “Never before would I have imagined that we would face a threat inside this building from our own, but nevertheless we face a threat, which is what we are trained on. We will use our ‘railroad’ method to get the Commandant and arresting official out of this building safely. At present, despite the tactical complications and the intensity of our foe, we can proceed with plan Alpha. Remember your training. Lets get moving!” He immediately turned his attention back to the Commandant and Oskar and called out to his men. “Search the prisoner for communications and armaments and provide security entourage for the arresting official. Place Commandant Levantine on his feet.” He looked right at the Commandant. “I won’t have any problems with you, will I, sir? You good to walk?”
“No problems. Sure. Can’t say the same for the 8th.” Commandant Levantine said.
Capt. Redding ignored his remarks and turned to Oskar. “You’re going to want to stay close to me. Even if your regiment has been compromised and knows about our waypoint system for moving VIPs through the building, I guarantee you they don’t know everything. We’ve trained for possible scenarios like this one.”
“Seriously?” Oskar said.
“8th Regiment might have the strongest and most capable men. But Security Regiment has some of the smartest and most suspicious men. We think ahead, Corporal. Now, lets get to it and stay looking alive. I’d secure the saber if I were you, this is gonna be a straight out gun fight.”
“Roger that sir. Lead the way.”
“Lets go! Squad Alpha and Bravo push up, leapfrog to waypoint Halo-Six. Squad Charlie, provide security. Entourages and escorts do your thing. Staff Sergeant Okiwe, fall in with the entourage. Move people move!”
The men exploded into action, various staff and lower NCOs gave orders like a well oiled machine and the whole contingent moved like one mass out of the room, across the anteroom and through a door on the opposite side giving way to another large room featuring security monitoring devices, computers, workstations, doors to other rooms, and possibly sleeping quarters. On a monitor, Oskar had just enough time to make out what had to be the first floor lobby. It was completely engulfed in smoke. Debris flew about the picture. Bodies lay on the floor. Intense fighting had already happened and continued. He briefly wondered about the concierge he had talked with not less than half an hour prior.
The group continued forward at a good clip, through the security room and through another doorway featuring heavy armor and locking clamps that had recently been undone. It turned to lead into a nondescript hallway big enough to fit three men wide, but still felt too narrow for the amount of people moving through it at present. Due to the 90 degree turns every so often it was no longer clear to Oskar which way he was facing inside the building and whether the unremarkable hallway traversed across the middle of the building or along one of the edges or where exactly it was intended to connect to.
The hallway turn 90 degrees and went down a flight of stairs that zig zagged back and forth down to multiple landings that was long enough to make one think it might be multiple stories, maybe five? Maybe ten? No doors connected to any landings. The stairs simply went down and down. Everything the whole way was bright white walls and floors and ceiling with bright white lights. Not a single ornamental thing existed in this space. It’s pure utility shown clearly.
The bottom of the stair well gave way to another large door with locking clamps that had just been undone. The platoon filed into the room. Oskar had never seen such rooms in the few times he’d ever been to the headquarters building which mostly seemed to be made of offices and training commands. He assumed almost the entire building was filled with paper pushers. The completely bare hexcrete walls, ample, but cheap lighting, and completely utilitarian design challenged his preconceptions. The room, while not tall, spread out substantially with barricades strewn about in what seemed to be random positions, except that he noted they all had slots for firing through and provided clear line of sight to doors and the three open entryways that connected to the rooms.
“Squad Alpha portal 1, Bravo on 2, Charlie on 3!” Capt. Redding shouted. “Entourage standby.”
At his command, the squads filed off separately down the three entryways.
Booms sounded not to far off having been transformed from the dull thudding noises they had heard higher up in the building. Oskar might not have understood the headquarters building, but he understood the sound of explosions. Either through their own progress or the progress of the assailants, or both, Oskar and company found themselves closer to the action.
“They’re performing route selection and clearance,” Capt. Redding said to Oskar. “With the level of aggression from the 8th, we’re assuming they’ll breach our secured movement system at some point, but by proceeding through each section as an airlock we can minimize how many of them we’re exposed to at a time and we have fall back points to allow us to take different routes. No matter how good their documentation, they can’t possibly know every route we can take. But we have to assume contact with the 8th at some point. Look lively.”
Oskar felt the weight of his rifle, the standard issue Gorman 12-v3. It was a fine rifle, one of the best, actually, but he still preferred his saber. The rifle felt like a blunt instrument by comparison and always struck him as less professional. But then again, he never deployed his saber in a all out firefight either because that would be suicide.
Commandant Levantine mostly looked tired, but his gaze lingered on Oskar. The bloody smile returned. A chill ran down his spine.
“Clear,” the leader of Squad Alpha reported.
“Push to Kepler-Two!” Capt. Redding said. “Squad Alpha first, Bravo next, then Entourage, Charlie on security, push and lock, people, go go go!”
The platoon flew down another barren hall separated by locked doors. This time Oskar could hear members of Squad Charlie locking the vault-like doors behind them. Reports of gunfire could be heard now. Contact seemed likely.
Squad Alpha already had the door to “Kepler-Two” open. The platoon filed in even quicker than the previous room. The group buzzed with electric anticipation. “Kepler-Two looked nearly identical to “Halo-Six” and similarly bore no markings. Oskar wondered at the hours of training it must take to navigate the labyrinthine corridors and rooms.
An explosion shook the walls. It sounded like it might be on the same floor not far from one of the sealed doors. Shouting and the screams of dying or injured men trickled in.
“Squad Alpha portal 1, Bravo 2, Charlie 3, Entourage on standby, we know the drill, move!” Capt. Redding words came out as trained as the movements his platoon now performed.
Not fifteen seconds later, Squad Bravo’s leader reported, “clear!”
“Squad Alpha, status?” Capt. Redding shouted as he re-positioned his grip and pulled the butt of the rifle a little tighter into his shoulder preemptively.
Oskar felt self-conscious and double checked his grip on the rifle and looked the Commandant over, thankful his hands were restrained and that he was injured.
“Squad Alpha?” Captain Redding waited for a response. The lack of conversation made the shots from rifles and explosion of grenades and screams of dying men more pronounced. “Squad Bravo first, Squad Charlie second, followed by entourage. Start moving, now!”
Seconds later someone in Squad Alpha shouted over comms, “Contact!” The gunfire echoed down the hall, a full order of magnitude greater in sonic volume and intensity. “Squad leader down!”
“Squad Alpha fallback! Secure route and provide security.”
Oskar and his group were already on the move down the hallway Squad Bravo had cleared. It connected to another dizzying flight of stairs that descended a large number of stories. The clomp of boots echoed through the space but the gunfire in adjacent spaces drowned out the footfalls with the staccato bursts.
Members of Squad Alpha weren’t far behind Oskar’s group, but some were taking a knee to fire or setting up on a defensive position as other members ran back. They appeared to be leapfrogging their way.
“Failure to secure! Failure to secure!” screamed one of the Squad Alpha members running at full speed and pushing past the entourage in the stairwell. “Captain Redding, failure to secure!”
Seconds later Oskar and entourage including the Commandant were all in the next room, which he had failed to overhear the name of, not that it mattered since it too looked identical.
“Defensive positions! Entourage near portal 3, plan for egress, Squad Bravo clear portal 3. We must secure this position!”
The entourage escorts directed Oskar and the Commandant to a position across the room behind barricades with an opening to a hallway that presumably lead to the third option the captain had referenced. Squad Bravo ran past and down the hall unsealing the door and proceeding to clear whatever lay that way. Oskar took up a position on the barricade that gave him line of sight to the door from which they had come. Security members still filed into the room, but the sound of erratic gun fire inched closer.
After a few more seconds, no one else came through the door, but the clomp of boots could be heard in the stair well.
“Secure the door!” Captain Redding screamed.
Two members from Squad Charlie immediately responded, running out from behind cover straight for the door. A grenade entered the room just past the two soldiers and before Oskar could even process what he was looking at, he started to duck, his reflexes kicking in. The explosion rocked the room and despite it’s barren nature hexcrete dust flew everywhere engulfing the space in smoke. His training continued to guide him and drove him to his feet and rifle back up on the barricade. He could hear nothing, but he saw through the swirls of dust and smoke figures from his own regiment emerge into the space. He opened fire as did several other Moralistas from Security. One by one members from the 8th, people he may have met at one time or another dropped.
Another grenade entered the room.
The grenade exploded immediately after Oskar took cover. He wasted no time in mounting back into position again, the haze filled the room even more.
Other members from Squad Charlie ran across the room attempting to force the door closed. Someone from the 8th was wedged in the door. Oskar sighted him through the haze, aiming for his head that was poking through and fired. The limp body offered no resistance on the door and it was shut and sealed. Gunfire and pounding followed shortly thereafter.
Capt. Redding emerged from the fog of war and grabbed Oskar’s shoulder screaming something that could not be heard. He pointed down the egress hallway where Squad Bravo had gone. Oskar grabbed the Commandant and the entourage followed. Yet another stairwell greeted them. Oskar stumbled down the last few steps, his coordination inexactly matching his intentions.
The exact replica of all the rooms they had been in already at least retained its clean look, still free from the signs of battle. His entourage ushered him and the commandant over to a similar barricade to the previous room, but their back was to a door instead of a hallway. After Capt. Redding entered the room and a few other Moralistas from Security, they sealed the door immediately. One of the soldiers ran up to the now secured door and pulled out two of some kind of object resembling a plastic explosive and mounted each one on the large clamps that locked the door to the frame. Everyone cleared away from the door and a bright light like a slow motion explosion emitted from the two objects. Seconds later they had stopped. The clamps now looked like goo, but were solid. They appeared inoperable.
Security members ran past Oskar and his group and opened the door behind them. He could no longer make heads or tails of which squad was which and thanked God for the foresight to cede command authority to Capt. Redding. If not for the entourage, he’d be absolutely lost in the sauce.
One of the entourage gestured toward the door and Oskar pushed the Commandant through and then followed behind. The swarm of escorts followed. Security ran in front, Security ran behind. The walls blurred, the lights blurred, everything sounded like one thing, everything felt like one thing.
Another door. Another place. Boom. Some stairs. Pow. A door. Scream. another door. Walls. Shouting. Pushing. Another place. Another door.
After seconds or minutes, one of the doors opened to a substantially bigger space.
The lobby.
Somehow they were on the ground floor. The realization jolted Oskar’s senses back into working order. The sense of orientation did nothing to relieve his pain or exhaustion but his ability to think dramatically improved. The space had transformed entirely. Strewn about the area were barricades and fortifications. The concierge’s desk lay smoldering, a distant memory. And bodies lay haphazardly about, almost suggesting a maze of some kind had been formed on the floor.
The group steered toward a makeshift fortification near the wall closest to them. Once inside, a scruffy older looking Moralista approached them. “Captain, what’s your status?”
“We’re down half strength, but we have the Commandant in tow, gesturing toward Oskar and his group. It’s the best I could do, General, sorry.”
“Considering how hard those 8th boys fight, it could have been worse. We’ve got their nuts in a vice on the upper floors where they were trying to penetrate the egress network. They took the bait on most of the red herrings. The 8th really committed heavily to this and I’d say you’ve got a clear road to the courthouse. I’ve already got commitment from the 12th and 47th commanders to send reinforcements, but truth is, this might spill out into other jurisdictions way beyond Philopolis. Apparently the commandant here has been building something for a while. We might be in for a real long fight, but it’s hard to say. We’ve got limited intel.” He looked directly at Oskar. “I hope to God you’ve got some evidence on you that can help us figure out this whole mess.”
“I’ve got a SecurCHIP on me that I think has useful information on it.” Oskar patted his pocket.
“I knew it.” Commandant Levantine spat.
“With all due respect, shut the hell up, sir.” The General glowered at the Commandant. “I’d push out as soon as possible if I were you boys. We don’t need you waiting around to see if they have reinforcements of their own. Get that man to the courthouse and secured in a jail cell. Even as ballsy as the 8th has been tonight, they and their cohort aren’t likely to try something so risky and public as attacking the courthouse. At least, I hope.”
“Understood, sir,” Capt. Redding said. “Let’s go, you heard the man.” He turned back to the General, “excuse me for asking, but are you guys gonna be ok over here?”
The General laughed. “I’ve been in worse scraps than this. Nothing so morally repugnant, but definitely worse fighting. We’ll make it. Probably. Now get out of here before you break out into poetry or something stupid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Oskar and his group were already heading for the door. Gunfire and explosions still echoed from high up in the building.
“Beeline it to the courthouse, lets go!” Capt. Redding said.
Ten minutes of double-timing later, what remained of the platoon arrived at the courthouse. Several Moralistas from Security Regiment who manned the jail greeted them and allowed them entry right away. Oskar spoke with the clerk and detailed the prisoner and the accusations brought forth against him. The Moralista clerk raised his eyebrows obviously shocked as any Moralista would be since no Commandant had every been arrested for any reason, let alone something egregious in all the 1300 years of the Order’s existence. He relinquished the SecurCHIP into evidence, the smoking gun that would almost certainly end the career of the Commandant.
Demon eyes looked at Oskar one last time, their fire burned a little dimmer now. “I will destroy you one day.”
The entourage ferreted the Commandant away to be placed in a cell. Oskar did not see which one, nor did he particularly care. It was over, more or less. Or at least, the hard part was. Or maybe the hard part was yet to come? He wasn’t sure anymore.
“Take five,” Capt. Redding said to his platoon and walked over to Oskar. “Come with me, Corporal.”
They went to a nicely furnished interrogation room. It felt rather welcoming compared to what they had recently experienced.
“Take a seat, Corporal.” Capt. Redding gestured at one of the plush chairs lining the edge of the room. The captain also grabbed a seat and let out an audible sigh. “That was some shit, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” After the constant motion and yelling and insanity, seeing the captain at ease was surreal.
How is he so calm?
“Listen, what you did was brave bordering on stupid, but also necessary. You absolutely did the right thing. I want you to know that, just one Moralista to another. You did your sacred duty, executed it flawlessly.” Capt. Redding nodded to himself, seemingly impressed with his choice of words, but then hesitated looking away, thinking for a minute. “Your regiment is probably almost completely compromised and will likely be destroyed or mostly destroyed. It’s safe to say that the 8th will be disbanded after this if I had to guess. It might be too early to think about, but you’re probably gonna need a new home. As it happens, Security Regiment will likely need good soldiers like yourself rather soon. The regiment replacing the 8th will likely want to scoop you up, but just know that if I have any say, there’s a spot for you with us if you ever want it. Just, y’know, think it over for a bit.”
He got up from his chair and went to leave the room. “Rest up for a few more minutes and then come talk to me before we figure out how to sort things out.”
Some amount of time passed, the stress from the evening slowly ebbed from his body, taking with it the adrenaline that had kept him propped up throughout the whole ordeal. In order to fight falling asleep in the chair, he made himself leave the room.
Out in the painfully average lobby he found Capt. Redding coordinating with another officer that had since arrived, a Colonel from the looks of it, possibly from the 47th? After a minute the Colonel stepped away and proceeded outside. Capt. Redding noticed Oskar and came straight over.
He gestured over his shoulder back toward the direction the Colonel had gone. “Reinforcements.”
“Sir, I wanted to thank you and your men for keeping me alive and escorting us,” Oskar said.
“No problem. Don’t even mention it. It’s literally just the job.”
“Right, thanks anyways.”
“You need to go home and get some sleep. You’re off duty as of now and you’ll report to me first thing tomorrow morning. But you need rest.”
“I don’t know where to go, sir, I live, well, lived, in the 8th Regimental Barracks. I doubt I can go there now.”
Capt. Redding produced a KeyCHIP from his pocket and handed it to Oskar. “113 Orville Road. You’re staying there for the night. Get rest, contact me in the morning. If you need anything. I’ll let my wife know you’re coming. She’ll help you. Now get going.”
Oskar went to leave and felt the lump still in his pocket. “Oh wait, sir,” he fished the Commandant’s revolver out of his pocket. It looked old, very old, possibly from Earth pre-lens gate era. “I believe I’m required to return this.”
“Put that away, now.” He pushed it back toward Oskar’s pocket. “I never saw it, no one saw it, and the spoils of war is an ancient custom that I did not just remind you of. Shoo. Go to bed. I swear you’re worse than my child. Get out of here.”
Oskar left, letting his hand slide into his pocket to feel the pistol grip of the old revolver. It felt good.
114th Commandant of the Moralista Order Oskar Benton pushed the revolver across the desk to General Calloway of the 9th Armored Regiment. “And that is how I got this thing. I’ve had a couple of historians look it over and they suggest that it’s probably from the late 1800s to early 2000s, but it’s difficult to date things that far back.”
General Calloway looked the gun over, feeling the delicate etched artwork, gently rolling the cylinder. “Sir, this is mighty impressive hardware. It’s not everyday you come across 1500 year old artifacts, let alone ones with a story like that.”
“No it isn’t common at all.” Commandant Benton stood. “Care for another drink?”
“Got any Scotch?” General Calloway asked.
“Not really my thing, sorry. I can offer you a genuine Bourbon from the Kentucky region on Earth, how’s that sound?”
“Sure thing, so long as it comes with one more story, sir, if you don’t mind.”
Commandant Benton poured a glass for both and distributed them. “Did I ever tell you about how I was involved in the lunar siege of 3427? You know I was there, right?”
General Calloway gasped. “You were not.”
“I was.”
“Do tell.”
“Sure thing, General.”
Commandant Benton began another story.
Disclosures: This work is entirely my own and made without the use of aids or generators. Art created using AI powered dream by WOMBO via dream.ai.
Feedback on all work welcome and encouraged, especially negative feedback as it helps me improve. Thanks for taking the time to read my work. Love you all.