Politics is what it was.
Hazard had long since let himself slouch into the chair with his elbow propped up on the backrest while he listened to the Major go on about the team he was putting together. Civilian liberties never felt better when the brass started to wax politics. The project was working under the title "Nickel Plated Fist", and from what Hazard had gathered the pay was good, the guns were big, and there were things the government wanted dead. Fair enough. Then the man started going into things that were less fathomable, such as building a solid image around fourteen or so men to be recruited, public relations committees dedicated for further integration of worldwide militarism, deals with R&D firms, personalized armors and vehicles, and then protocols for joint efforts towards establishing conditions for effective engagements. It all sounded very familiar to Hazard, which might have caused him to inadvertently let his discontent show on his face.
In the end it always came down to politics.
Lewis said only minutes before that Vegas was no longer going to rely on figureheads, but the goal was obviously one of putting together another similar to Valkyrie Squad. Right now, it seemed that they wanted a good story to tell.
"When did all of this start?" Lewis had found a good moment to grab Hazard's attention, "Let's see, we've got a nice little record compiled right here. Documentation starts upon your admission to the North Point Military Academy at the age of fifteen, 4946, entered military service in 4948 and completed the citizen requirement of two years in 4950, right after the S&D operation Broken Wing . . . injured in the line of duty, blah blah blah . . . yeah, then you reenlisted a year later to serve four active years in the Starcraft Troopers over your next fifty years of existence." All the while he was thumbing through a graphic panel folder contained Hazard's full operational record and Lewis' uninterested and curt summation was be an expected reaction to the sheer numerical statistics included with limited first-hand specifics. "After that, there's not much to talk about, is there?"
Captain Blake nonchalantly replied to the statement, "There's always Pan-Tang."
Lewis sat back with a grumble. "Yeah, there's always always that and further ATI training for outpost duties in the territories of Tau Ceti, 1194YBP , HG44574, yadda yadda . . . all the fucking planets the millions of troopers circle on a monthly basis. With every goddamn action taken by VSCT battalions recorded as numbers rating. . .fucking-" he had to look back at the screen to even believe he read it, " 'adherence to protocols', 'execution of appropriate maneuvers'. No surprise that not one Trooper received any medals for recognition of valorous action at Sulzdrad, Tiancong, and Nocturne City. Not when valor is rated somewhere between zero and a hundred."
"The Troopers don't have that kind of a rewards system; they're all expected to act as a single unit after Pan-Tang," said Captain Blake
"Ha ha! Well, shit." Santelli felt like thrashing Hazard some more. "I'd say the scope of it is somewhat impressive, but you know the devil is in the details, and let's face it, colonial patrol in the VSCT does not have a lot of that."
Impassive as ever, Hazard swung his chair about to look at the old man, waiting for the punchline.
Santilli crossed his arms, smug satisfaction written on his crusty and wrinkled face. "So, let's just say your résumé is for shit."
And there it was.
Hazard was fully aware that he was only getting express consideration because he had once been with Valkyrie Squad and the only one left who was physically independent and capable, mentally stable, and not dead. The last one was especially important because five of them were already disqualified, and while Santilli was alive, he was not kicking. Santelli's acerbic attitude could be explained with the resentment he felt for getting cut out of a deal he would have been extolled for accepting years earlier.
It was clear that the Major was taking his "Nickel Plated Fist" idea seriously, and while there must have been plenty of soldiers with credentials better than Hazard's, the man definitely drawing the line at commissioning inept goofs. Old Man Roller, as Lewis had called the old man, could have fitted himself into powered android armor to give himself an edge, or received cybernetic prostheses, even limb amputation and regrowth methods as part of life-extension programs could have be used at his behest to stand him up again. However, Santelli wanted to ride into simulated glory on his wheelchair with a rocket launcher set on his shoulder in a fashion that spoke to his humor for anachronism. It had become the most widespread quasi-joke in history, one that was only likely to amuse the citizens on Vegas. The 110 year old douchebag rides into battle again.
"That doesn't matter, Lewis," Major Gormann replied, "Haze Hazard has proven his worth for a place in this team through dedication to his country in war and peace, going beyond the minimum requirements of Vegas citizens, and serving four years in the VSCT by voluntary induction."
Hazard had sat there and listened to this man prattle on about his team like it was a big deal, likening it to a spiel a two-bit movie producer trying to hook a big fish actor to star in his low budget, no talent, money laundering scheme. Perhaps that was a gross exaggeration, but Hazard was sick of dealing with being yanked around by a lead.
"So what's your answer kid?" Lewis asked Hazard, more interested in getting this meeting over with.
Hazard exhaled as he thought on it for a moment. By all intents and purposes, this should have been a delectable offer to Hazard, who was essentially a nobody at this point with not much of a career choice left to himself. However, he just couldn't muster up enough willpower to care anymore. Another battle beyond the stars? Another fifty years? More bullets flying overhead, punching into his vest? More hellish alien war cries, screams of pain, deathly moans? All of it to be endured by himself alongside men and women who were not his brothers and sisters like those of the 45th. Maybe they would have told him it was a mistake to let this go, but he was finished.
Hazard just shook his head.
"So what is that, just a straight up no?" Lewis asked, chuckling slightly at Hazard's simple answer. Hazard shrugged before nodding in a way that said "pretty much". Lewis looked on amused.
"Yeah, that's the ticket, Hazard" Santelli said, with more pep than before, "Say 'fuck you' to the bastardization of the Valkyrie Squad memory.
Hazard finally rolled his eyes, having heard enough of the old man's croaking, standing up in a fluid motion for the door without a word.
"Would you reconsider your decision if I told you we had a Scirinian on the team?" the Major spoke from behind him. Hazard stopped, hand hovering centimeters away from the door handle. He turned back and looked at the Major with curiosity in his gaze. The Scirinian race?
"Oh we didn't tell you that did we?" Lewis said as with mock realization. "Why don't you sit back down, we weren't entirely finished."
Slowly, Hazard made for his seat again, somewhat eager to hear about the   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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