Republic world of Krigertenkere
The shrill chirp of an incoming call interrupts Sinn'Are'Sen's thoughts as he waits for a buss.
“Hello, Sinn'Are'Sen speaking.”
“Sinn? I haven't heard from you since...”
“Hello Mom. You can blame that one on RPC procedure. I'd like to meet you for...” Sinn checks the time “dinner If I could. We have a fair bit to catch up on.”
“That's an understatement and a half. I'm still in the same place, but I don't really know any good places nearby for eating out on my wages.”
“That's fine, I'll hit up the market and we can cook noodles like we used to do.”
“That's right, you graduated earlier today! I'd lost track to be honest...”
“My bus coming soon, so I need to go. Whole wheat pasta, a small can each of diced and crushed tomatoes, garlic, onion, basil. Salad for a side... Anything else I'm forgetting?”
“The cheese of course! I've got half a baguette for garlic bread. Wait, You eat salad now?”
“It was either salad or extra 'vitamin' pills. I took the salad.”
“Iceberg then, plus a dressing.”
“Can do. See you in an hour unless the buses still run late.”
“It's still just the 577 line out this way.”
“An hour and a half then. I'll message you when I know just how late they are running. Clear.”
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Sinn found his first home made meal in just over fifteen years - simple linguine with home-made red sauce, garlic bread and salad on the side - to be immensely satisfying.
“How is it being a psion?”
“Liberating is some ways, utterly stupefying and stifling in others. I managed to get both my stellar navigation and stellar pilot licensees but, per regulations, I can't actually command any other Republic citizens which means that I can't ever command a ship. Ass-backwards.”
“There's a lot of regulations like that?”
“Literal tomes of them. Complete with parchment pages and centimeter thick layers of dust on the covers. Two thirds of which are classified so that psion trainees can't even read them before their senior year.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Welcome to the Bureaucracies. I can't get any upgrades done to this place, despite it being Scout Command issued due to, and I quote, 'not living in it long enough to warrant'.”
Sinn winced, “ouch. And I'm going to have to pick one to work for for the next ten years. Got any recommendations?”
“Scout Command, obviously, but take a week and check with the 'recruiters', they may have a better offering.”
“I've got sixteen hours to make a decision.”
“That's bullshit!”
“That's the RPC. They do arrange for 'invitations to apply' but that's about all. Got two that I don't like the look of at all. High risk, no reward, no chance of promotion.”
“Sounds like a secretary somewhere wants you dead. Nothing to be done about it except survive.”
“How early is the RSC recruiter's office open?”
“They never close. I work the graveyard shift there when I'm planet bound by mandatory rotations. Just paper-shuffling to 'keep busy'. Nice and quiet.”
“Mind If I hitch a ride down with you?”
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Republic world of Krigertenkere
Republic Scout Command Recruiting Office
Sinn'Are'Sen sits at attention in the interview chair. The recruiter sitting across the desk gave the required pitch in a voice just this side of droning punctuated by frequent yawns. Sinn found this understandable given the early morning hour with the sun just peaking over the horizon.
“... In summary, if you sign up, you will be tasked with vital missions that are essential to the continued smooth functionality of the Republic. Do you have any questions?”
Sinn shakes his head, “only one that I believe you can answer: where do I sign on the dotted line?”
The recruiter slid a sheaf of paperwork across the desk. “Initials where the yellow tabs indicate, signature at the orange tabs, preferred role if any at the the purple tab. Welcome to the RSC.”
Sinn picked up a pen and flipped to the first tab, “I'll also need a copy of the Command transfer notification form.”
The recruiter tapped their communicator and the printer ground to life. “Do you need the disciplinary record declaration form as well?”
Sinn flipped to the next tab without even looking up, “not required. I'm just a Command school graduate taking up their first Republic position.”
The recruiter nods in comprehension and clips the new sheaf of paperwork together, “Which command, and why come to the Scout command instead of going into the Command the trained you?”
Sin signs a page with a flourish and flips to the purple tab. “The RPC requires a stint in at least one other Command before they consider bringing you back into their ranks. They offered Army and Coast Guard positions but I never really liked getting shot at in training.”
The recruiter taps on their communicator in a distracted manner, “I'm searching now, but you may know off-hand if there are any regulations that will follow you from the RPC into Scout Command service?”
“Per RPC graduate regulations section 1705 paragraph 4, I am 'not permitted to command a Republic citizen in the normal course of my assigned duties.' I'd have to check that section again for the specifics to be honest.” Sinn gestures at the preferred role section “You might be able to help me out ticking one or more of these. I'd prefer to become an officer over an rank-and-file sailor but...”
The recruiter nods and taps their communicator, “Second Wave Scout is the role you want then. Fair warning: It involves a high volume of solo operations with only a ship AI for company. Most second-wave scouts spend a lot of time in cryosleep to pass the time and mitigate boredom. ”
Sinn nods, ticks the appropriate box, and swaps over to the Command transfer notification form. “Not an issue for me. I've never had an issue with being alone with my own thoughts or with cryosleep. Here, all signed. Communicator link is in the usual spot so you can send me a copy for my records.”
The recruiter feeds the forms into a scanner “always, along with Scout Command archives in triplicate - local branch, main branch, and the backup department - plus one for RPC archives in this instance. Not my first time doing this.”