Subject to Service

[Scheveningen]

"Many false pacifists that rule our governments preach the credence: we are who we make ourselves to be, war does not define us. How can they know that, having never walked the battlegrounds as we wounded, tortured and hurt one another upon?"

Prologue

"Magistrate."

It was raining. Rather, 'when it rains it pours'. Matías liked that turn of phrase, especially apt when looking out the window to the veranda from his office, sitting in his comfortable chair. The weather conditions were dreadful. The roof sounded like it was about to give in to the harsh coastal rain. Less than a hundred meters of visibility. Clouds darker than the hearts of the-

"Magistrate, sir?"

Forget the poetic tangent. She was called here for a reason. He'd turn in his office seat, more than a fair few of pins and awards adorned on his breast. To name a few, the Insignia of the Eridani Colonial Magistrate, marking him as the officer in chief of the illustrious position of having to rabble rouse, organize the defense of developing worlds against low-grade piracy, the active suppression of any potential riotous gatherings by typical citizens of the frontier worlds with protection and security licensed solely to the Eridani Corporate Federation, and so on. His charge, Vao Zhara.

He wouldn't have it any other way. This work was far too important to have someone else do... incorrectly. Funny how that happens too often.

Sweeping his leg around the base of the office chair, he'd pivot and rotate himself on the chair around to face the newest prospective Wrangler. A rank-and-file enlisted Federal, to be sure, outsourced all the way out from home to guard the special interests of the ECF's grandest investments. A long way from home, anything to get a pair of hands to do some work. Not like she had anything going back home.

"Petty Officer First," Matías would grumble, "I'm sure the lieutenant of your division gave you a general idea on why you were summoned to my office."

The woman in front of the Magistrate's desk carried herself precariously, cautious not to say the wrong thing, "I'm not sure, sir, she was vague on that note."

"I see," said Matías, picking up a ballpoint pen and etching lightly on his fingertip with a certain level of anxiousness, "I'll have to ensure the lieutenant is instructed to do a better job of communicating to her subordinates. Can't have this sloppiness affect communication standards."

"Yes sir," the young woman replied in the affirmative.

He'd notice despite her characteristic litheness, she still kept a good attempt at ensuring both her arms were at rest behind her back. Perhaps overindulging in this passive-defensive posture, or likely due to how intentionally reserved she was being, especially in his presence. To be this taciturn is almost unnerving. Almost.

"There is a vacancy. I'm sure the company has heard of the 'incident' that happened, you included? A useful Marshal of mine went missing." inquired Matías.

"Yes, sir, but the after-action report says he was killed in action attempting to claim the bounty-"

"That was what I wanted it said," he interrupted gruffly.

"I understand, sir."

"I'm glad you do. Most in your company are either not too bright to understand, or too morally up-heaved and self-righteous to get why that is." Matías would cease fidgeting with the pen, dropping it into its inkwell on his desk. He would interlace his fingers, right thumb over left. "Now I got plenty of women -- and men, who got just as high marks at the range as you. Just as high marks in the survival room, and I got plenty of chatterboxes in your company with the silverest of tongues this far out in Vao Zhara. Plenty of qualified folks. You wonderin' why I need just you?"

"It's not favoritism, sir," she'd remark, gauging the Magistrate's reaction and locking eye contact intently.

"Most certainly not."

The magistrate would stand, hunched over his desk now, with his palms flat on the desk, ruffling his thick brows and his burly archetypal mustache.

"Well, maybe a little. I doubt anyone above me would damn well care if I assigned my own daughter a special post. Despite the amount of damn good shooters I have in the battalion I directly command, I got awful scarce amounts of trust for anybody that ain't you. Too many folks are quick to draw when they have to, but they oft get rather queasy when certain wrongs need to be righted. You been with us for a year and a half now, and even if High Command would have an issue with it, I think they'd still wouldn't mind, since this isn't some cozy workshop I'm rightly going to send you to. For once, this has risks. This is a test. A good test," Matías would squint, meeting his daughter's eye-to-eye focus with mixed contempt and concern.

"What do you need me to do, sir?"

"Congratulations on the promotion, Chief Petty Officer de Santos," he said with a clear bravado in his tone, his smug expression changing from his serious tone earlier, "You will substitute for the late Marshal Ling Quan, counter-piracy subdivision. You will be part of a squadron of other esteemed Marshals in combating the rise of the narcotics and arms smuggling cell embedded in the local colonies of Hao Tsun, Bao Tsun and Diao Tsun in this sector, as your most recent agenda."

Matías continued, "You will serve with nothing less than distinction in rooting out the criminal elements that threatens to undermine everything Colonial Development has invested in ensuring this sector gets itself well set-up. You will report to your locker, grab your ruck, and relocate to your new post. Make sure you remember to speak to your Quartermaster buddy on the way out, he'll ensure you have your uniform pressed and good to go. Can't have you showing up with your dated Wrangler attire."

She would remain still and stoic, replying, "Yes, sir. Am I clear to leave, sir?"

Matías would settle, sitting down in his chair and fishing a cigarette from his coat pocket, sticking it into his mouth and mumbling, "You report to me now. Not that oblivious lieutenant who sucked her way to their rank. Every development on every case, you'll report to me during scheduled holocom briefing sessions. I might allow entry spacers to sham out of errands but you will adhere to procedure and treat our operation regulations like they're the god-blessed Bible. That'll be all, you are dismissed, Chief Petty Officer," he finished, waving off the woman.

She would salute briskly, spinning on her heel and moving to leave through the door of the Magistrate's office, only to be halfway out before she heard a concerned bark from behind. At least four meters away, but his shout carried through the room.

"Vira."

She hesitated, stopping in place, not expecting her name to be called. Many thoughts rushed through her mind, expecting many things at once to be said by her father. Awash with spite, maybe not hate, but certainly spite, annoyance, revulsion, but still a sense of unconditional love, in its own warped way. But not like how a daughter loves her father. Like how a pawn loves their king, maybe, out of necessit-

"I'm counting on you. We all are."

Maybe she misjudged. She didn't turn to face him. She only made a silent and subtle nod, and continued her stride, the door closing behind her.

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