Garrot was on the third-to-last question of a remedial class session on urban infiltration methods when he noticed his quarry; a signature silvery-white hairbun through the polished ice of the study hall’s window.
He scribbled out some guesswork answers and fumbled his paper onto the stack at the front of the room. The instructor’s rebukes echoed back as he dashed out the door, chasing the hairbun through the gleaming wooden halls of the intercompany Barracks.
“First Sergeant! Miss Grazey!”
The First Sergeant slowly pivoted to face him, maintaining her stride. “Your class seems to be missing you, Private. Were you dismissed?”
Grazey consistently maintained an erect posture in her stride, but even by leaning into a jog, Garrot had trouble matching the officer’s pace. It almost felt like she was speeding up.
“Well, no, ma’am - I just...I’ve done as you asked.”
“Hmm,” mused Grazey, her eyes forward. “You thought over your transfer to Breaker Company. The meat grinder that’s going to get blown up by railside bombs when the Dark Spawn begin their fight in earnest. The company that even to a cranky old hag like me, is known to be full of upstart racists eager to find their next snowbinding victim.”
“...Yes, ma’am,” said Garrot. “I’ve thought long and hard about it.”
“And, now that you’ve reconsidered it...you’ve come to me to rescind the application.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Fuck’s sake, Private Hathorne...”
Grazey at last turned to face him.
“Y’ask me personally? I don’t think you’d even be doing anything fruitful for the Empire by volunteering as punching bag for those pig-brains. This is a waste of my time, and a waste of your life.”
Garrot maintained his gaze, fully expecting the dissuasion.
“And...I think you’re wrong, ma’am. I...I think it goes without saying an officer shouldn’t speak about the Legion in such a way. You shouldn’t assume such things about anyone.”
Grazey gritted her teeth.
“Private, they’re not assumptions. I know I certainly ain’t no saint. Offer no apologies for the crap in my own record. I laugh at all the jokes that officers make over drinks about dirty migrants, even the ones that aren’t funny. But even I know that Breaker Company’s full of a bunch of racist fuckwads. That’s probably why they were picked. They won’t hesitate pulling the trigger.”
“...I won’t hesitate either, ma’am. These people are terrorists we’re facing.”
Grazey sneered at her. “Think anyone will remember you for it? If you’re expecting cameras and journalists to praise your unmarked grave, think again.”
Sensing she was still producing no reaction, Grazey sighed, conceding that her warnings were having no effect.
“Come to the officers’ building, 2200 hours. I don’t know your division’s training schedule - If you can’t make it, you can’t make it, and that’ll probably be for the best. Dismissed.”
Garrot thanked the First Sergeant for her time, and sprinted back over to the classroom, whereupon he was ordered to recite parade procedure for his unsanctioned leave from class.
The remainder of Garrot’s day blurred by. He’d filled his minds with plans on how to make his first impression to the next Sergeant in Breaker Company—how he might alleviate any concerns from Sergeant Williams if the two ended up together again.
His years in the Empire had made him accustomed to the many differing personalities of the Empire, and how to appeal to new audiences. Tired workers, confused or experienced travelers, the broken and disillusioned; these were all personality types he’d become familiar with, and he’d found ways to make each comfortable around him. By now, it was as simple as being himself, listening and appreciating their unique experiences.
The reportedly angry and hateful disposition of Breaker Company was going to be a new situation for him. Still, he’d kept a token of faith that it was only an outward appearance—that each of them was far more trusting and open with those they felt familiar with. Before long, he’d arrived a half hour early for Grazey’s appointed time.
“I’ll sign off on a transfer order with the clerk, but you’re on your own with making introductions in the morning.” instructed Sergeant Grazey. “You’ll get a new C.O. in Breaker, and it’ll be up to you to resolve any problems.”
She was leading Garrot to one of the frontal buildings of the compound, the Clerks’ Office—often a destination for brand new recruits. Garrot smiled and nodded to her, knowing it was taking the officer a certain degree of patience and sympathy to do any more than throw paperwork at him to handle himself.
“One thing I do very well is make friends, ma’am.” said Garrot. “Don’t worry, I'm sure they might take time to adjust, but I think I can make myself familiar to them.”
“Certainly hope so...” replied the First Sergeant, measuring dubiousness in her voice.
“Garrot!”
A call came from a nearby stairway. Bran was making his way down to meet them, sporting his complete new Sergeant’s coat.
“Bran! Good to see you!” called Garrot. “First day as an officer! How have you been?”
“Eh.” Bran replied, hesitantly. “I feel like I should be over the Umbra! But…has me thinking about whether I’m even satisfied with an officer’s life.”
Garrot quietly nodded in understanding. Bran’s first choice of career had been as a Queryman—a member of the Guild that investigated crimes and mysteries across the Egg. Though his penchant for mystery stories had romanticized the idea for him, the difficulties and impracticalities of the career path, mixed with the responsibilities of married life, had forced him to settle upon the Steel Legion for the foreseeable future. Perhaps advancing his military career came as an admission that his dream was dead.
“I’m sure there’s plenty of people that make career moves from the Legion to the Guild,” advised Garrot quietly. “Just…don’t quit on your first day. You can make a real impression.”
“Yeah, well…” moaned Bran. “I wish my first impression was better than letting a bomber get loose into the city.”
Garrot sulked. Part of the reason he’d let Bran seek out the Morabine Foundry bomber on his own had been to inspire his friend’s investigative mind. Maybe this time, his supportiveness had backfired.
“Forget my promotion,” concluded Bran. “Can you just tell me what the two of you are doing?”
Garrot glanced over at the First Sergeant. She was checking her pocket watch, and exuding impatience.
“Tell him, kid.” she muttered nonchalantly.
Garrot ruffled his hair, wondering how best to keep the explanation brief. He’d hoped to only be telling Bran once the papers were signed.
“I’m transferring over to Breaker Company. I-”
“Oh, come on. Garrot-!” started Bran.
“Just...listen, okay?” Garrot interjected. “Long patrol nights have been one thing. But this is what I've always wanted. To do something to show my gratitude to the Empire. To show them we’re not all these...horrible savages attacking our trains.”
“I really hope you’re not suggesting that J’halan terrorists are somehow your responsibility,” Bran said with a sobering stare. He rubbed at his temples. “First Sergeant, you can’t really be okay with this?”
“My advice, Sergeant, is don’t get involved,” replied Grazey.
“Even so, what if-…" Bran’s thought process trailed off as his eyes gazed out across the grounds. An idea was coming. Garrot raised a finger.
“Don’t,” he insisted.
“Wha-…"
“You’re thinking about coming along with me. Don’t. You’re a married man. This...is the sort of thing people like me exist for.”
“People like me?! Fuck’s sake, Garrot! That turn of phrase belongs to morons like Sergeant Williams!” yelled Bran in exasperation. “I know I’ve talked to you before about standing up for yourself, but that's to assholes in the street, not terrorists out for your blood! This...this isn’t your fight!”
“This shouldn’t be anyone’s fight! Bran, just...give me some credit. I’ve thought about this. Look, we’re keeping Grazey waiting. If you’re so concerned, you can come along and hear out who I’m getting for a C.O.”
Unable to convince his friend, Garrot moved on, and Grazey followed. Reluctantly, Bran eventually came trailing behind them. His silence remained as far as their arrival in the clerks’ office, as he observed Garrot putting pen to page on a neatly printed form letter, under the monotone clicking of nearby clerks at their typewriters.
“Just tell me you’ve at least *visited* the Breaker Company barracks? Gotten a sense of what the hell you’re getting yourself into?” inquired Bran, who was becoming increasingly irate at this development.
“Nope,” replied Garrot nonchalantly.
He was sitting at one of the cubby desks in the large receiving room, scribbling out brief fields in the form he’d been handed. He spoke to Bran with his eyes firmly on the paper.
“Nor do they get the chance to shake hands with the townspeople they’re going out to protect.”
Bran grimaced. “Garrot, I get how you see this as a very brave effort you’re putting forward, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. It feels stupid. At worst, you’re going to hurt your squad’s effectiveness as a sudden newcomer—especially if a deployment is coming soon.”
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“I’ve tried telling him the same thing, Sternen. It’s a wasted effort,” said Grazey.
Garrot had finished with his signature, and stood up so that Grazey could apply her own. “Who knows? Maybe then they’ll just assign me something simple like scouting.”
“Idiot,” spat Bran. “Scouting is one of the most dangerous jobs in the...” He trailed off, as he realized he’d passed the limits of their attention.
Grazey stepped forward with Garrot to introduce him to the clerk. “Evening, Barmet. Kid’s got a company transfer request.
The clerk glanced up past her fashionably professional iceware glasses. “Name?”
“Garrot. G-A-R-”
“Last name first, private.” snapped Grazey.
“Sorry! Ma’am- Uh, Hathorne. H-A-T-H-O-R-N-E.”
“Company?” The clerk produced a large binder and began flipping through pages.
“Chaser Company, transferring to Breaker.”
The clerk raised an eyebrow.
“Chaser...into Breaker. Sure you didn’t get that the wrong way around...?”
“No, ma'am!”
She smiled, impressed. “...Into the fire! Wow. You’re a brave guy.”
“Hah. I don’t know about that...” mused Garrot.
“You can call it ‘stupid’ if you’d like.” added Bran. "Both of us already have.”
The clerk ignored the comment, as she appeared to be fixated on a page of the binder. The three of them turned away to ease feelings of impatience and exhaustion from a long day. Finally, the clerk signaled out to them.
“Excuse me? Private, could you spell your name again for me?”
“Sure. H-A-T-H-O-R-N-E, G-A-R-R-O-T.”
She traced her hand down the long series of names as Garrot repeated the spelling. Her brow twitched quizzically.
“Hath....Hath-….Um...I’m sorry, I’m not finding anything.”
“Not finding anything...” inquired Bran. “meaning what?”
The clerk shut the binder, apparently fed up with having already spent several minutes reexamining the same page. “Meaning, so far as I can prove with the documents on hand, this man has never been a part of the Steel Legion infantry.”
“What?” Garrot was perplexed.
“Your documents are bunk,” spat Bran. “He’s gotten salary, rank, and everything for YEARS.”
“You mind checking the other company ledgers?” offered Grazey. “It’s not impossible he was mis-filed.”
The clerk slapped the cover of the binder she’d been examining. “This is a copy of the universal Fort Ortmeyer infantry roster. It’s updated weekly. If he were a specialist, signed on somewhere else, or if he’d only been recruited in the last week, he might be missing, but I understand that’s not the case.”
Garrot waved his hands dismissively. “Look...Ma’am, maybe there’s a mistake here, but it doesn’t matter. There’s remarkable in my service record, so could I just…start over? Pretend I’m an unremarkable enlistee picked off the street?”
The clerk scratched the back of her head, tempted by the option. Perhaps without an officer staring her down, she might have tempted the thought. Bran, meanwhile, shifted uneasily, addressing Garrot with a cold stare.
“Garrot, we’re not letting them erase two years of service just because the secretaries here toss every other amber-skinned person in the trash.”
“Hey!! That has nothing to do with this!!” the clerk yelled indignantly, having overheard the hushed comment. “I have plenty of J’halan friends-!...Look, in the five years I’ve been here, we have never had an issue like this! I’m serious—these things get double checked! I just…I can’t figure out how he’d be nowhere…!”
“Bran...stop. I’ve told you before not to-” Garrot trailed off, rubbing at his forehead.
Sergeant Grazey, realizing they were beginning to attract attention with the dispute, lowered her tone to the clerk. “Young lady, is there anything you can think of here? Can we just make a note to fix this later? We’re just trying to get the kid into Breaker Company.”
Before the clerk could work out a reply, a deep voice from a nearby hallway called out, though it sounded like its owner was doing his best to lower his pitch.
“Breaker Company needs to practice killing cavemen. We take one on, we risk having some accidents.”
Garrot could hear the low growl of disapproval from Bran’s throat, as he recognized Williams’ voice. Their former Sergeant had entered the clerks’ office while they’d been busy looking over the form.
“Evening, Sir- Oh! Sorry, I mean asshole,” started Bran. “My mistake. I forgot we’re the same rank now, no more mandatory politeness.”
“Tenure matters, fag,” sneered Williams. “Watch your mouth. And your pet still has to call me Sir, either way.”
“You erased him, didn’t you?” accused Bran.
“Excuse me?”
Bran stepped fully into Williams’ personal space, sneering at him.
“Is this how you show your new company you’re a big man? Turn away a man whose skin looks scary to you?”
“Enough." blared Grazey. “Sergeant Williams did not ‘erase’ anyone. So put your failure of a Queryman’s brain off of it, Sternen. If you pre-schoolers are going to antagonize each other over this, I’ll leave it to you to figure it out. I’m not overriding a Breaker officer on a transfer order. And kid...” she briefly grasped Garrot’s shoulder, and lowered her volume. “He’s a poster child for what you’ll be dealing with in Breaker. So, buyer beware.”
Grazey stormed out the door, headed back to her office. Garrot sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and gave Bran a familiar, disappointed glance—one that said ‘I told you not to fight my battles for me.’ He stepped forward to Sergeant Williams, who raised his chin with a smile and loosed his hand from his hip. His posture was inviting, as though hoping for Garrot to attack him.
“Sergeant?” nodded Garrot, saluting. “Am I to understand that Breaker Company officers would have input on whether applicants are accepted?”
“That’s right,” boasted Williams.
Bran’s eyelid twinged in doubt.
“Wow. With them for a whole day, that’s some tenure.”
“And besides, we don’t take mutts from off the street,” boasted Williams, ignoring Bran. “It sounds to me like you were never even Steel Legion to begin with...? What, you steal the uniform like you steal everything else?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” blared Bran. “You’ve got the memory of a herd boar now? He's been in your squad for months! Both of us can vouch that!”
“Can you?” dared Williams. “Because frankly, I think most people would agree that cavemen all look the same.”
Garrot let the harm from the comment show plainly on his face, and paused before replying. “Sergeant...all the time we’ve been assigned to you, it felt like you never liked me very much. Why is that?”
Williams gave off a defensive sneer, unsure how to react; not unlike that of a mugger who had just been politely told that taking someone else’s property was against the law, and that an upstanding citizen should really know these things.
Williams made several half gestures before choosing his reply.
“You’re a thief. Impostor. The clerk said so herself.”
The clerk, eagerly avoiding the conflict, had turned her head away from the conversation and was whispering consultations with another, bespectacled officer behind the desk to try to figure out what to do next.
Bran unconsciously clenched his fist. Garrot could hear him quietly counting to himself—meaning he likely only had until nine to calm the disagreement. Exhaling, Garrot kept his earnest gaze fixated on Williams.
“I don’t think that’s why, Sergeant. I think that you just took what you overheard, and used it to validate your feelings towards me. But I still don’t understand where it’s coming from. I want to work with you—to help your Company. So, what can I do to gain your trust?”
This time Williams was truly taken aback. He appeared to start testing out one or two comebacks in his mind, before falling silent and beginning to lose the staring contest he and Garrot were in.
“May I interject…?” came a call from the bespectacled officer peering over the clerk’s binder.
“None of your concern, old man!!” shouted Williams, the fragility of his ego faltering.
“...Old man??” replied the officer, astounded.
Williams paid the officer a glance, finally breaking eye contact. His eyelids spread open, and his steely stare transformed to a pearly gaze of shock. “L-Lieutenant-General!!”
Garrot and Bran both turned to see that the officer behind the desk was, in fact, Lieutenant Kendall, who had finished quietly poring over Garrot’s transfer request form. The three opposite him all raised salutes. The Lieutenant let out a bemused sigh as he raised the small gate to exit the clerks’ desk block.
“I thought I’d get another eight or ten years before I'd be 'Old Man’!...It really is the glasses, isn’t it?” he called back sarcastically. “Well, I apologize for my eyesight...!”
To punctuate the joke at Williams’ expense, the Lieutenant picked up a cane he’d left leaning against the wall, and sauntered over to them, putting only as little weight on the cane as he needed.
Williams stammered out an apology. “S-sir!! I’m sorry, I didn’t see-…"
“Didn’t see.”, echoed Ken comically. “So…which of us is ‘old man’ again, hm?...In all seriousness, Sergeant Williams, I hope you won’t be this choosy with your colleagues when we assemble the team for that assignment we talked about.”
“Of course not…sir,” confirmed Williams.
“You’re dismissed, Sergeant. Now…let’s figure out this paperwork scuffle.”
Garrot privately sulked at having their exchange bested by seniority, rather than calm heads. Williams’ face still bore a mountain of unresolved tension to Garrot. He wordlessly bowed out of the conversation, but not without flashing Garrot an accusing stare - ‘how dare you humiliate me'.
The Lieutenant turned to face Garrot.
“Hathorne? If this is your name I’m reading on the request, it sounds like you’re a great deal more ambitious than I thought. When Mr. Sternen accepted his promotion, he mentioned that he believed you’re officer material.”
”Th-thank you sir,” said Garrot, still unused to handling authority.
“Could I ask, sir, what happened to your leg?” asked Bran. “I didn’t see you using a cane yesterday.”
“Please, don’t bring too much attention to it...” sighed Ken. “I need to walk it off as soon as possible; the Second Scion can’t inspire much confidence with me limping around next to him.”
He felt at his calf with a tender touch.
“Training accident. Entirely my fault. Would you believe it was a woman that did this, though?”
“We’ve got some hard-hitters in the ranks, sir,” chided Bran resolutely. “Wouldn’t recruit a lady that couldn’t deal a pole strike like that.”
“But enough about the ‘Old Man’ and his cane,” joked the Lieutenant, eager to move the conversation onward. He glanced at Garrot’s form. “While I’d like to ask Ms. Barmet here to just scribble your name in somewhere and be done with it, for waste’s sake… Lady Phaeriga has been asking us to tighten our paperwork. Probably come burn down one of the command buildings if there’s a single Legion recruit she doesn’t know about. Though…I suppose the same can’t be said for milord’s side project...”
Garrot craned his ear. The Lieutenant was muttering to himself, formulating some idea. At last, he snapped his finger in satisfaction.
“...Hathorne. You’re here with this form eager to prove yourself to the Steel Legion, yes? You may yet be wasted in Chaser’s patrol positions, but I dare suggest there may be a more suited position than Breaker Company. Now, you speak the imperial tongue superbly—But of course you’re very fluent in J’halan, aren’t you...?”
“Um...’J’halan’?” asked Garrot. “Do you mean Elman...?”
The two men looked at each other quizzically. Bran broke the silence.
“Uh, sir—there's no such language. They just speak Elman.”
The Lieutenant slapped his forehead. “Yes-yes! Hah...I just meant the...J’halan dialects of-...ahem!” He blinked away the embarrassment of his cultural ignorance. “My lord and I have been looking for a military translator on short notice—and you could be perfect for the role.”
“A translator?” Garrot felt the weight of responsibility overblow his evening’s meager ambitions. “Sir, I...don’t know if I’m qualified for that.”
He had practiced hard to learn the language of his new home, it was true. But he could only envision himself in an embassy meeting hall, repeating phrases between diplomatic leaders at such a slow pace that they start antagonizing him—or worse, that he would somehow twist a simple comment into an offense that would prompt the next war of the Western Frostscape.
The Lieutenant gave a despondent grimace. “Frankly, my friend, you are the first and perhaps only candidate we’ve had for this position. I sent Williams here hoping we’d find some record of past translators, but it appears we may not even be logging such expertise, at least among the infantry. Actually, I can’t say too much here, but for the candidate to be J’halan themselves is beyond perfect. We wouldn’t even have to worry about fixing up your records then.”
Bran clapped Garrot suddenly on the back. “Buddy. You wanted to be useful? You wanted to make a difference? Just say yes. This sounds a hell of a lot less dangerous than signing on with the Breakers—oh, and, y’know, that whole fighting the Dark Spawn on the front lines and likely dying in a ditch thing.”
“I...well, all right" said Garrot, relenting. “I can’t very well say no when both of you are egging me on.”
“I believe that’s a yes!” declared the Lieutenant. He crumpled the form he’d been holding, and tossed it to a bin, then nodded to Bran. “Sergeant Sternen? I hope you’ve been finding your new quarters agreeable. Your associate is now in capable hands—I wish you a good night, and congratulations on your promotion.”
Ken nodded at Bran, and clasped his free hand onto Garrot’s back as he headed towards the front door of the office. “Now, I know it’s already getting late, but we might very much like to get an early start on this—if you could come with me, the General and I can give you the synopsis.”
General?
Garrot considered that he must have misheard. But they had seen Lord Klaus entering the capital recently…
Bran watched as Garrot slid into the passenger seat of Ken’s motorsled, and they eased off along the open campus of the fort. The Lieutenant’s proposition had been a sudden sense of relief. Maybe now he could part ways from his friend for the next year without constantly worrying something was going on with him. But something had bothered him about the Lieutenant’s choice of words.
He eyed the sled tracks that snaked off ahead of him in the direction of the command building, and decided it wasn’t all that late for a nice brisk walk.