Chapter 8 - Shields and Medals

  Jim sat nervously in front of a small stage that the bunker had set up in the Styx in the big empty room that had become the de facto auditorium for the base. The civilians and lesser military personnel would often use it for socials and promenades and such. This was, however, the first time Jim had ever been inside it. It was cozy. The stage had a podium with the IA logo and some flags behind it. At the back of the small stage, the Commander, Standish, the Magister, Tim and a couple other distinguished base personnel were sitting in full formal uniforms.

Jim, however, had his full attention trained at the gigantic man at the podium. Taller than a mountain and built just as one, the dark-complected man, an obvious Culture Kid, roared and boomed in a brassy bass voice. He had a smooth shaven head with several silver piercings hooped along his ears, and a giant ruby seated in a golden stud adhered to his forehead between his eyebrows. “Today, I see in front of me soldiers. Men. Women. Today is the first day of your lives. Your time in the service will take you to far away lands and you will meet dangerous people. These experiences you are about to have will shape your life forever. Some of you may rarely ever see outside these walls. Some of you may never again set foot in these hallowed halls. Whatever happens, the world is your home now.”

Jim was barely aware of anything around him, he was so lost in his words. His dad was sitting next to him and had his hand on Jim's knee. There were the two recruits who Jim had signed on with, and a few scientists, support staff, and petty officers who had finished stints at bigger bases and took reassignment here. Some had their families with them, but most were alone. Most were disinterested in the whole ordeal as well, but Jim was entranced.

“And, by the power vested in me, as General at Arms, I ask all inductees to stand and receive their rank and their new designation as members of the Fraternal Order of the Knights of Steel.” The man began to clap, and the base dignitaries and families followed suit as each member walked up to the stage. Jim was at the back of the queue. As the inductees crossed one by one, the dark man would offer a hand after reading their name, placing their Medallion of Rank around their neck. A turn to the audience would pause and resume clapping, proud family members occasionally snapping pictures and videographs for scrapbooking. Finally, Jim's name was boomed out. Carol gave him a neutral gaze, but Jim could see her fighting back an immense wave of emotion. Standish, contrarily, could not hide his pride. His brilliant white teeth sparkled against his smooth brown skin and made his white-blue eyes pop more vividly than he'd ever seen before.

“And lastly, today we have the special privilege of inducting a very special member of the Knights. Not only do we get to welcome Flight Lieutenant James Ross into the Order, our newest Core pilot, but I am also honored to present him with the hallowed Shield of the Crown commendation for exemplary performance during his initiation process,” Jim stood in front of the man as he lay the blue and white striped ribbon around his neck, the angular gold medallion resembling a bursting sun sitting squarely beneath the the mound of ascot tucked into his blue cardigan, recessed by the black button pinning it to his shirt-collar. His tight tan trousers were tucked into shiny, form-fitting. knee-high, black boots. Gunny Garrel was merciless when it came to dress presentation. If you didn't tuft your ascot just so, or your boots didn't have just the right amount of luster, you would be forced to wear your dress uniform every day to mess, and if you got a single bit of food, you'd do the entire base's laundry for a week. The medal shown dazzlingly on his chest, twinkling and bursting as the artificial light caught the various facets. Jim felt good knowing his uniform was now complete.

After laying the Flight Lieutenant's medallion over his head, the man presented a black velvet box to the audience and Jim in a sweeping arc, and then opened it to reveal a beautifully ornate silver shield with gold-inlaid filigree and fantastic intricately-engraved scrollwork. He removed it and snapped the box shut with a deft flick of his wrist, returning it to the podium. He then pointed his focus to Jim, and with hands the size of dinner plates, gingerly pinned the medal to the oversized shawl of Jim's sweater, the substantial weight pulling slightly at the neckline. He then returned his attention to the crowd and clapped his hands together before spreading them wide, “Let us all welcome our newest members!” His booming voice incited a standing ovation as he offered his hand to Jim. Quite unexpectedly, his hand felt soft, almost pillow-like, but his grip was fiercly stiff, as if a crowbar could not pry his mighty claw open. As he shook his hand, Jim trained his gaze to the gallery. He saw his dad weeping, clapping furiously, pride welling uncontrollably out of him. He saw wives and brothers and mothers all beaming with equal amounts of enthusiasm. Jim had never realized how special this moment really was until now. And yet, he could not feel as much joy as he wished. Molly was nowhere to be seen in the blur of faces, her red hair and green eyes unmissable in the menagerie were they there.

After the clapping had subsided and Jim was hustled off stage, the big man in tow, the Commander took stand at the podium. She offered a speech dismissing everyone, informing them that there would be refreshments in the cafe across from the auditorium, and that the base staff and dignitaries would be around, and that the recruits and their families should stop by and say hello if they had time. Jim took his seat next to his father, who put his hand on his knee and squeezed hard as he listened to the Commander. He made brief eye contact with Standish, who winked at him, and the Commander herself, who gave Jim a flash of smile. When she finished, everyone stood and slowly shuffled their way to the door, offering congratulations and back-slaps as they filed into the cafe across the way.

“I wish your mother was around to see this. She would have been so proud. I know I am,” Jim turned to his father as they both stood and hugged him, hard. He felt his ascot pin push into his throat, and his shirt coming untucked, but he didn't care. His father rarely was so emotional and Jim wasn't about to let the moment pass. Thankfully, his father was hugging him back equally as hard.

“I love you, dad,” Jim choked out, hot streams of water running down his cheeks, moistening his dad's blazer.

“I love you, too, Jim. Congratulations,” Jim's dad, too, couldn't help but moisten Jim's sweater He broke the embrace a short bit after, and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. “Let's get over to the next room. I want to meet your Commander and that white-eyed bloke that you talk about so much.” Jim's dad wrapped his thick, hard-worked arm over his shoulder and they walked abreast out of the auditorium at the back of the crowd, in content silence as the traffic jam eventually brought them into the cafe.

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The tables and chairs that usually lined the cafe had all been stacked against the back wall, a table full of goodies and punch bowls had been run along front, butted against the ordering counter. The room was full and buzzing with idle chatter, the occasional guffaw bursting over the din. Standish had positioned himself in a chair that had been lined against the wall opposite the door. Carol was behind the till with the large man from the podium, chatting over a cup of punch, his hands waving like crane arms as he gesticulated in animated conversation. Jim made a gesture to his father that he was going to go and chat with Standish, and his dad indicated that he was going to go hit the refreshments table.

“Congratulations!” Standish clucked from his repose. He held up a glass full of punch and toasted it in his general direction. Judging from the instability of his motions, Jim posited that Standish may have infused his cup with more than just the punch. He was deeply reclined into the chair, legs splayed wide, his fedora tipped low over his eyes, only able to make contact with Jim after raising his head, deep bags heavy and dark underneath his lids. He looked worn, as if he hadn't been able to sleep for days. Jim had completely missed his ill state on the walk, his pride overshadowing his ragged visage. Standish in full dress uniform was a bit jarring as well, as his image had become synonymous with his typical pre-Collapse suits. The blood-red center-button peacoat, snow-white riding trousers, and frilled, medal-laden gold sash looked almost alien. Stodgy and uncomfortable in contrast to the way his well-tailored suits hugged his impeccably-proportioned physique. His white-trimmed red beret sat on the chair next to him, the majestic Elite Forces medal emblazoning it glinted gold in the false, crisp, white light of the cafe as it pinned the long and regal green peacock feather to its front, limply dangling across a line of seats. “I can't stand that thing,” Standish said with a slight slur as he tilted his fedora to the beret. “I look like a total ass with that feather swishing around like it owns the place.”

“You do look a bit off without a suit,” Jim sat down next in the seat next to Standish not occupied by his cap as he corrected himself to make room for him. “I didn't notice it earlier, but you look like hell.”

“I've been off-site for the last couple of days. Dyman asked me to make a trip into the Wilds for some recon. Dicey shit out there, man. Dicey shit.” Standish took a long pull form his glass and then blearily eyed the bottom of the cup, surprised to find it empty.

Jim was a bit taken aback by Standish's candor. If it weren't for the crisp blue-white discs he called eyes, Jim would have been sure he wasn't even talking to the same man. “What's in the Wilds?”

Jim's inquisition wrenched a body-shaking chuckle out of Standish as his head lolled back limply. He unbuttoned the top portion of his coat and pulled a silver flask from his inside breast pocket. He unscrewed the top and took a long belt before shaking it next to his ear, visibly dissatisfied with its empty-sounding state. “Some dangerous shit, man. Now that you're in, I don't have to mince words with you. Shit is getting really real on the outside. Dyman has us doing raids almost every night, now.”

Jim looked perplexed. “Raids?” Jim felt extremely sheltered and apprehensive.

“The Outsiders, man. They're pushing their boundaries closer to the Domes. Assholes are ruthless, man. They've been little more than pests for the last few years, but they're starting to use some serious terrorist bullshit to make a mess. PR Team is having a hell of a time keeping the news quiet.”

Jim couldn't move. He knew he was staring at Standish slack-jawed, but Standish was a bit too drunk to care, it would seem. “Outsiders?”

“Oh come on, man. Don't tell me you don't know what's going on. Shit, I thought you would at least have some idea. Here's hoping Dyman didn't overestimate you.” He raised his flask to Jim in mock-toast again, and then threw it hard to the tables against the back wall, a disgusting animal scowl temporarily consuming his face. “Things are not all roses and paradise here in Utopia, Brother,” Standish put a nasty inflection on the “brother,” as if mocking his now-confirmed position in the Fraternity. “There are a lot of people who couldn't hack it here in the Capital and were given the boot. Ever wonder what happens to people when they do something really fucked up?” Standish gave Jim squinted eyes and cocked his head down.

“I always thought they were just put in prison or turned over to the labor camps,” Jim didn't know if he was prepared for Standish saying he was wrong.

“Yeah, most of the time. But the really bad guys get marooned. Put outside the Dome and left to fend for themselves. We've been doing it since the caves and bunkers. Barbaric as fuck but times change slow, and all that,” Standish turned his nose up in disgust with a depressed sniff. “Well, those bad eggs started roughing it and formed up villages. Now there are tribes of nomads out there trying to 'fight the injustice' and all that crusader-type bullshit. And you can guess how much they've forgiven the Alliance,” Standish let out a chuckle that rocked his whole body again. “Few of them have been smuggling shit out of the Domes and are establishing some secret ways inside. They've been increasing their activities recently as well, causing a fucking ton of mayhem on the outskirts of the city. Suicide bombers and guerrillas with energy weapons decimating entire farm colonies and scorching the Earth in their path. The IA has been sending us out with the Cores to hunt them down and keep them at bey. It's been a hell of a run the last few days. We had a group of them on the ropes. Nasty fuckers. Raped a five year-old girl and shot her head off with a scatter-gun right in front of her mother before they fire-bombed the barn with her inside. Mom was laid up in the infirmary for a few days before she kicked the bucket. Millenia of medical research still can't re-animate a corpse,” Standish slammed a tightly-balled fist onto his hat, the loud thump causing a few near-by people to glance sidelong at the spectacle. Standish craned his neck in a stretching gesture and sighed heavily as he closed his eyes for a second.

“Sorry. Anyway, we had them pinned them against a canyon. Never sits well watching a hundred or more people throw themselves off the cliffs instead of getting squashed by a Core or captured and sent to the secret 'labor camps' the government calls it's torture facilities. Don't care what they did. Never sits well, man.” Standish leaned forward in his chair, arms in his lap, shoulders slumped down, head hanging low. “Oi,” Standish said with a flick of his hat, eyes barely looking up to survey the crush of people, “I think your dad is calling for you.”

Jim shook his head and pulled himself together. He looked up to his father, who was summoning him over to Carol and the big man with a broad arm gesture. “I-I'll see you later,” Jim stuttered out as he blankly and silently forded the crowd to his father, occasionally throwing his glance back at Standish to see if he had shifted. He hadn't. The light might have been playing tricks on him, but He could've sworn he might've seen his body spasm a few times as Standish brought a hand to his face.

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Jim must have been unable to hide his feelings very well. “You look like you've just seen a ghost, Jim. Are you alright? What'd you and Standish talk about?” Jim's dad asked as he put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close.

Jim shook his head and jumbled his thoughts back to place. “Oh nothing, sorry, yeah, I'm fine. Standish just wasn't feeling very well and I'm still just a bit shocked to not see him in his suit is all,” He forced a broad smile and an easy laugh. With a bit of focus, he could feel the pretending start to ease him for real.

“Good. Carol here was just introducing me. Have you met Tyler before?” Jim's dad seemed sufficiently happy with his response as he extended a presentational hand to the giant in front of them.

“We have not. This is the first time I've had the supreme pleasure of meeting your son Jim here beyond diplomatics. Tyler Dyman, as I'm sure you've already guessed,” he said, pearl-white teeth sparkling behind the perfect politician's smile. He presented his gargantuan, ring-laden hand to him again, and gave him the same vice-firm pillow-soft handshake.

When Dyman released his hand, Jim struck immediately to attention and proffered his most precise of salutes, “General Dyman, sir. It's a pleasure and an honor to meet you.” Jim looked straight ahead. Dyman was so tall that Jim, no short person himself, and taller than most everyone on the base save for Standish and Tomah, was staring point-blank at the Medallion that lay at the center-point of his torso. The lance in the center of the sunburst had twelve platinum bands engraved in it, in comparison to Jim's four, and Carol's nine. As Dyman's rank was honorary because he was not a commissioned officer, he was allowed to wear a suit. A fantastically-tailored grey affair at that, similar to the ones Standish usually wore. It clung to his behemoth top-heavy hourglass of a frame, making Jim question how his slightest movements didn't cause it to burst at the seems and how his steps didn't cause the ground beneath him to tremor slightly.

“Oh at ease, Lieutenant Ross,” Dyman made a dismissive gesture as if to indicate that he was both accepting and flattered. “I was just talking to Carol and your father here about your career in gaming, rather. Quite the masterful tactician that came to place. Not only mechanically gifted and a genius with the minutae of the game's knowledge base, but also extremely deft at executing highly-coordinated tactics in grace. Your dad was saying that you forced one of the developers to hot-patch a game mid-tournament because your tactic broke the game and left you undefeated for an unprecedented thirteen rounds.”

“Yeah,” Jim blushed and bashfully averted his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact after the compliment. “But I was only like eight at the time. It was the developer's fault for leaving such a glaring hole in the game. I only learned about it because some kid at Gymnasium pointed it out to me in a public match and I noticed that no one in the professional scene was taking advantage of it. It turns out I guess there was a bit of a gentleman's agreement not to use the loophole that I wasn't aware of.”
“Only eight? You left that bit out, Mr. Ross! That's great, truly and indeed. You needn't gloss or be so modest, Jim. Such brilliance is what earned you that coveted medal,” Dyman extended a tremendous arm and pointed at the Shield on his collar, the gigantic emerald nested in the ornate gold ring adoring his index finger lending a feel of yet more immensity to the digit.

“It's nothing, really. Just operating at the margins. I played to win, gentleman's agreement be damned,” Jim twisted his head to left, still ill at ease with the compliments.

“And that's what we need on the team, Jim. Someone willing to call the tough shots and find the most optimal and efficient way to execute a mission,” The commander nodded to Jim as he shot his head around to address her. She too waved off his salute with a matronly smile. She swished the peacock feather out of her face with a deft and obviously well-practiced head flick as she turned to address Jim's father. “As we were saying, with the upcoming military campaign's timetable accelerated because of the instability out west, it was a bit of a do-or-die moment with Jim's graduation that caused us to terminate his gaming career a bit prematurely.”

“And it's been a tragic loss for the scene,” Jim's dad said nodding, pausing to take a sip from the cup of punch he had in the hand not around Jim's shoulder. “But my boy has grander responsibilities than silly games and sports. His country needs him,” Jim's dad smiled and shook his shoulder, causing Jim to shift uncomfortably under the ever-increasing scrutiny.

“Dale!” someone shouted from behind their group. A tall, aristocratic man was waving over the crush of people. His snow white, short-cropped hair was slicked back and his facial hair was elegantly manicured into a medium-length Van Dyke. He had on very modern clothes, a green silk-like piece of single machine-printed fabric with extremely ornate filigree, gemstones encrusting the leaf-like ends of the golden spirals. He was tall and slender with an ageless but paternal face.

“Terrance?” Jim's dad, Dale, was looking in disbelief. “Is that Terry O'Callaghan?” Dale took his arm from around Jim and pointed to the man who was fast approaching.

“Molly's dad, you mean? It looks like him. I don't really know anyone else with that beard.” Jim turned full-body to look at him as he approached. It was unmistakably Molly's father. “What is he doing down here?” Jim mumbled loudly, his brow scrunched deeply with confusion.

“Oh, that would be my doing,” Dyman said as he squeeze his immense form between them all to greet Mr. O'Callaghan. “Terry! Pleasure seeing you. Excited you're here, and for not eschewing,” Dyman intercepted Molly's dad with his most stately of handshakes. “ He turned, placing his hand on Mr. O'Callaghan's back and bringing him into the conversation group. “I've known Terry since he was a broodling.”

“My great-grandfather was one of the initial investors in New Roman. An O'Callaghan has sat on their board since the company was founded. Dale! It's good to see you down here, I'm glad the factory gave you the time off,” he reached out and shook Jim's father's hand. “And Jim! I haven't seen you since the funeral, you look so great, I'm so proud of you! I got to see the ceremony on closed-circuit from my data pad while I was on the tram,” he reached out and offered Jim a hug.

Jim accepted. Molly's dad hugged him tight, pressing his pins and medals deep into his skin, but he didn't care. Molly's dad was a wonderful man, if a bit short-tempered with his daughter, and Jim revered him with only the utmost respect. “It's really good to see you as well, Mr. O'Callaghan. I am indeed doing much better, thanks in no small part to your daughter. She has been a guiding light through my darkest hours.”

“Oh Jim, I really do like you,” Molly's dad said with a wink. He placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and gave him a warm paternal smile. “I don't think Molly and I would ever have come around if it weren't for you. I'm glad my Mol' could return the favor.”

“Speaking of which, where is Molly? I haven't heard from her in quite some time. I've been starting to worry. I was really hoping she could have been here to see me at the presentation,” Jim broke eye contact and looked at Mr. O'Callaghan's brown designer shoes.

“I really wish I could have been in the auditorium with you, but I did get to see it, Jim,” an unmistakeable mousy voice cooed over his left shoulder. The notes sent a jolt through Jim's spine and he swung around as fast as he could. Before he could even register what was happening next, his face was buried in a sea of thick, short, red curls, arms wrapped around his neck and waist threatening to break his ribs. When the exquisite and familiar mélange of scents hit his nose, Jim burried his face into her shoulder and squeezed with all his might. “I'm sorry, Jim,” she whispered softly into his ear.

“I'm not going to let go,” Jim said in a strained voice, fighting back the swell of emotions and tears.

“Is that a promise?” the mousy voice cooed into his ear over her own punctuated sobs.

“Ah, young love,” Dyman said, arms open wide. He clapped his hands together, his 10 rings forming a gold-set rainbow in front of him. “It was quite a close call, pulling her from above. Had to pull a few strings, is all, and now our organization has, on loan, this dove.”

Jim pulled back and made eye contact with Dyman's piercing khaki irises, arms still wrapped around her. “You did this?”

“I had planned on taking the internship down south,” Molly started. “When daddy told Dyman about it over lunch after a board meeting, Dyman insisted that he could beat the offer. He talked to Professor Daniels, and when I heard what they were going to be doing down here, I accepted on the spot. They put me in lock-down immediately, which is why I wasn't able to write to you. I was stuck under a communication ban for weeks so they could do background checks on just about anyone I've ever even shared a room with.” She pulled the arm off Jim's shoulder from around his neck and held up her index finger, “DNA access cleared,” a coy, fiendish smile creasing her milky cheeks.

“Molly is going to take a gap-year from school and do a research expedition down here dissecting ancient text,” Terry interjected. Jim turned his focus to him, Terry's penetrating blue eyes warm with mischief. “The Ritz has one of the most complete collections of original ancient texts in the world. Every couple of years Professor Daniels leads a group of academics down here to pore over the books. Usually it's only upperclassmen and post-certification researchers, but Ty pulled a few strings and got her involved last-minute. A day later and she would've missed the ceremony!”

“I have yet to discuss this with father and dame, but I am thinking I shall have her nest in your quarters, at least that's my aim,” Dyman began, a deviousness hinted in his eyes, but not in his smile. “You have a spare room, and texts you claim are the favorite genre of our little bloom, and I felt like you wouldn't mind, if it's all the same,” he craned his head side-to-side to address the fathers, both Jim's and Molly's, as if polling for their approval.

“I think Dale and I have no protestations,” Terry grinned wide. The teeth behind his incisors were both gold-capped and gem-studded. Jim adored Mr. O'Callaghan's smile. It always had a way of putting him at ease.

“None from me. I think shacking up will do a world of good for them,” Dale jabbed his elbow into his son's rib, causing Jim to blush uncontrollably and drop his head. He peered sheepishly at Molly who had a wide, excited smile filling her face. He addressed the Commander with inquisitive eyes.

“Not my place to have an opinion on this one, Jim,” she said, a rare, genuine smile creasing her hardened face. “If she impacts your performance I'll pull her out in a second, but as long as you can keep your home life out of your work, I think your father's declaration is both sound and accurate.”

“Is this really happening?” Jim said as he turned to face Molly straight-on. Molly nodded her head, her locks bobbing back and forth, spilling onto her face. Jim reached a hand up and brushed them away from her cheek. “I love you.” Ebullience bursted from within him.

“I love you, too, roomy,” she said, as she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him deeply.

After a short, knowing laugh washed through the group, Dyman placed his hands on his hips, pulling everyone's attention to his monstrous frame. “Well, I'm glad everything turned out so well. Sadly, however, I cannot dwell. I must move on, as duty calls. Enjoy the festivities and all that befalls!” He dipped his head in a bow, hands steepled infront of him, and then turned on his heel, gesturing to Standish in the corner to follow him. Standish took note and ungracefully swiped the hat off the seat next to him as he rose shakily and shambled to Dyman's side. Once the two were walking abreast on their way out, Standish straightened himself and any sense of inebriation was non-existent, at least visually. He turned his head to Jim as he filed out the door behind Dyman, flicked the bottom brim of his fedora up with his index finger, and the faint disappearance and reappearance of a saucerous white-blue circle indicated a wink before he disappeared out into the hallway.