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Chapter 8 - Of Heros and Men - Part 2
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I had intended to follow the Captain's suggestion and get some rest following the all-hands meeting. However, before I even reached the elevator, Chief Gros approached me from amongst the crowd; “With me, kid.” And that was that.
I figured he maybe wanted a quick word about tomorrow, but I soon find myself in the carpeted corridor of the officer’s quarters. I must have a reasonably quizzical expression, but Gros simply walks on, opening the fourth door, the one with no nameplate and steps right in. Hesitantly, I follow, the strange sensation of a light gravity coming over me just as it had in the Captain's room.
The place I enter is a surprise; it's the same size as the other rooms, five by three at a guess, wood-panelled and with dull orange lightning courtesy of the suppressor field on the ceiling. But this is no bedroom – It's a bar. Along the wall length-ways are shelves lined with alcohol of all kinds, in front of that is a proper bar counter, with taps that dispense beer like an authentic pub. Four stools are in front of the bar. Chief Gros has already taken one, so closing the door behind me, I take the one next to him.
“Ummm, sir?”
Gros sighs and rolls his eyes in that usual manner, “What, you think I didn't get my own room on this ship? The best mechanic in the whole organisation? Pah, I was just too used to sleeping in the barracks, so I turned this place into a bar instead.”
It's a preposterous thing to do, but it feels rather in character for the old man, “Your own personal bar? That's pretty cool.”
“Personal? Tch, the others come by from time to time. Heck, I can see from here which cask Templar is after stealing,” he grumbles.
“Master Templar?”
Gros doesn't reply immediately, instead using a tap to fill two glasses, handing me one; “Right, Templar. He gives this chat to the pilots, the Captain to the bridge crew, Vitka to those with odd jobs and me, well, I get to give this chat by far the most often...”
“Chat about what. Oh, and I'm not really old enoug--” I say, a bit confused by the conversation's pace and trying to turn down the alcohol.
Drinking age is kind of tricky in our culture. Most of the old provinces of Abhaile had their own legal age, and Remembrance isn't actually a state, so technically, it has none at all. Where my family comes from, Fal-Dara, has the age set to eighteen, the oldest of all the provinces.
Gros frowns, before placing the glass right in front of me, looking thoroughly disappointed by me; “The one-month chat, you idiot. You and Birgit have both been here a month now – And past that, did you seriously forget your own birthday? You are eighteen now, today.”
I blink, then quickly mentally check the date, then blush profusely. Trying to cover my embarrassment, I grab the glass and chug down about half, regretting it instantly. I drank once before; we all had a party of sorts during the last week of training. That had been a rather foul-tasting beer. This is a soft cider, by my ignorant preferences it’s much better, but the shock of a new taste sends me for a bit of a loop as the cool, sweet flavour coats my throat.
Gros finally stops frowning long enough to laugh at my display; “Heh, you're a funny kid, Kris. Normally this chat is what you'd expect, 'Thanks for your service, if ya wanna quit, no one will blame you, now’s ye're chance yada, yada'. Course, right now, we can't exactly drop you off anywhere until after this mission is done and you might be dead by then.
The idea is to get it out of the way. You get asked at one month and one year – never at any other time. The Captain won't include this in any speech; there is to be no hesitation in battle, no dissent in the ranks – deserting will get you blamed and rightfully loathed. Well, it hardly matters right now. When we get back, I'll give you an extra chance to quit. 'tis only fair.”
I look dumbly at Gros, downing the rest of the cider in protest, “Well, my answer is no either way, now or then. I want to be here. Supporting Master Templar is my goal, after all.”
“Ya, I about figured you’d say something stupid like that. Your work ethic is good, and you honestly have a fair amount of talent. Just a shame about your attitude,” the Chief Mechanic replies, pulling me another glass, “Anyway, for now, happy birthday, kid.”
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I feel a little patronised by this whole thing but sip away at the glass offered. A silence settles between us, the soft hum of the suppressor field above filling the air. Having finished my second glass and maybe feeling ever so slightly tipsy, I ask a question I really shouldn't; “You're one to talk about attitudes. I mean, yours is lousy, boss. You barely ever refer to Master Templar properly, always scowling or growling at him, no respect.”
Gros's expression goes hard, his eyes narrow, and his balding head turns towards me angrily; “Respect? I just so happen to have been with that man longer than any of you whelps, and I don't see any reason to play along with his whole 'white-knight' routine. I remember the real man.”
That stirs me more than it should, “Whas' that supposed to mean? Templar is a hero, the only true hero I've ever met!”
“Oh right, your whole hero complex, by Aardig, I'd almost forgotten,” he growls back, his breath smells I realise now, and I wonder if he'd already been drinking before inviting me here. The image of him forever with his flask suddenly sets off warning alarms in my mind... His eyes give a dangerous look, and his messy face and slightly overweight build suddenly seem very intimidating in an ugly way.
“You want to know about your hero, do ya? Do you want to hear a real story about him? Templar ain't no hero. He's a violent monster; he has more blood on his hands than you can even imagine! He’s not the exception. He is this organisation in a nutshell!”
I shake my head, slamming my glass hard against the counter, “Y-you liar! Templar is a Holy Knight. He protects people, fights our enemies, takes in stray vivers even!”
That's right, this is just like those books I used to read, where the noble paladin was betrayed by his jealous comrades – before they faced him in battle, they threw out lies and accusations – this is just like that!
“‘Holy Knight’! ‘Holy Knight’!! Pah, you stupid child! His name was a joke, an irony. You… All of you are so damn ignorant. You don’t know anything, yet you’re settling in like it’s time to charge off and fight the good fight.
You heard him yesterday, and I bet Shane or Johnny has videos of him too – The ‘Lightening Bolt’– A preposterous name. You’ve heard the desperation our enemy has. They fucked up with TSU-s, the Grand Weapon, their big plan to end thirteen years of constant warring, an utter failure. When you stop and think about it, our enemy is no better than us; they haven’t been able to stop, to rebuild their own home planet. Forced to invest everything in tech and soldiers, in bigger weapons, stupid weapons, seventy Casnels even.
That’s where we're at; neither side will lay down arms. How can we when our own Abhialen home is a shambling mess? When we hide on the Isle of Rememberence, a place thought uninhabitable fifteen years ago. It can’t be stopped. Both sides are as bad as the other.
TSU-s will be replaced by the Seekers. Or maybe this time, they’ll just send the home fleet at us! Imagine five hundred warships, ten thousand fighter craft, and mixed in, seventy Casnels. We won’t stand a chance.
Maybe it would be better if TSU won, give it ten or twenty years and maybe both planets might finally be able to start recovering. Or, maybe things would get worse for our people, and that maybe will mean we never stop fighting. Fighting that isn’t helping anyone, fighting that no longer has any goals or justice. That TSU pilot was an egotistical bastard, but he wasn’t wrong. We are wrong. They’re wrong.
Everyone is in the wrong, including you and including god damn Templar!”
I wince at this uncalled-for tirade, but that can’t be true. If that was true, if both sides really were as bad as one another, then surely someone would have risen up, some extraordinary person, a–
“A hero?” Gros says, as if reading my thoughts, “A hero, hero, hero, hero! That’s all you ever think about! Haven’t you got it yet? Heroes like that don’t exist. What are you, a child? A twelve year old daydreaming about their comic books?
Heroes don’t exist, and Templar! Templar is certainly not your ‘hero’. Templar isn’t trying to do anything good. He seeks only redemption, an effort in vain. His redemption will never come, and he sure as hell won’t ever graduate to ‘hero’. If you’re stupid enough to follow him while thinking otherwise, you're living a delusion that can only get you destroyed someday.”
“I-I don't believe you...”
“Heh, then who will you believe? Templar can't tell you himself. No one else alive has known him better or for as long as me. You want the truth? Then let me give it to ya.”
I don't reply. I should, I should walk out, leave my half-drunk superior to his own devices: Get some sleep before the big day tomorrow. It's just lies. Jealous accusations, this whole conversation has spun rapidly out of control as is.
But a part of me feels there might be some truth; a morbid sense of curiosity stays my tongue.
Gros takes my silence as consent and begins to tell a story, stopping only to drink even more from time to time – A story that will change my view of the world for good.
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