Born of Ash and Iron — Chapter 3
COMMODORE VOLM’S READY-ROOM
/ / SO8.iv_o-sply · Somari Eight / /
Volm sat back in the overstuffed chair that had once served as the Commonwealth Captain’s chair. Before taking command of the Hound, Volm had spent the last five years sitting on metal-reinforced cement chairs.
Despite the relative luxury his newfound command afforded him, the burning dread consumed his emotions following the communication he had just received. Each message took twenty-eight minutes to reach Somari Prime, then another twenty-eight minutes for the reply.
Volm scratched at the inflamed, dry skin along the temple ridge of his head. His atopic dermatitis was atypical among Declanians. Their mottled grey-blue skin was naturally dry, but Volm would get outbreaks that would get inflamed, itchy, and sometimes scaly.
While imprisoned on Somari Prime, he made a body paste out of lye rendered from street rats. It was yet another atrocity inflicted on the prisoners by the Rhyno Confederation. Somehow, the other penal colonies on Irari A were so willing to forgive and join up with the new Rhyno Commonwealth, as if the destruction of the Confederation hadn’t been their just reward.
The sentry outside his ready room unlocked the air-tight hatch. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain; Engineer Max is here for you.”
Volm smiled at the man guarding his door. “Let him in.” Volm couldn’t decide if he liked all of this naval theater or not. Most of the men and women on the ship had drawn lots to serve, and there was no naval tradition amongst the former inmates.
“Captain,” Max said, crossing the cabin and sitting immediately without invitation.
Volm gave a tight, pressed grin. Perhaps he did enjoy some of the naval theater that other officers displayed. “What can I do for you, Max?” Volm asked, wondering what the right balance was between over-the-top naval etiquette and unruly barbarism.
Max held out a flat shard of metal. At around sixty millimetres long and twenty high, it was flat, and one short edge came to a sharp deltoid point starting twenty millimeters back. “This one is titanium,” he said, handing the curious object to Volm.
“What am I looking at?” He asked, pressing one of the points into his finger. He pushed hard enough for it to hurt, but not draw blood.
“Imagine that flying at eight thousand meters per second,” Max replied, trying to guide his captain to the answer.
Setting the metal shard on his desk, Volm stroked his chin again. “So these are your ballistic bullets?”
“Well,” Max said, spreading his hands, “Technically, that term is redundant, as all bullets are ballistic.”
Rolling his eyes and giving a sigh, Volm picked the metal up again. “Thank you for the Rhyneese lesson. I wasn’t a language major.”
Max laughed, “But weren’t you jailed for your way with words?”
Volm considered the younger man for a moment. Volm wasn’t sure what race he was; his white-tan skin was smooth except for a thin layer of body hair on his exposed arms. His face and head were devoid of cranial ridges, and golden yellow facial hair bracketed his eyes, nose, and mouth with a messy mop of hair atop his skull.
Max shifted nervously under Volm’s intense gaze. Finally, Volm nodded. “I don’t know how you know,” he said. It sounded like more of a threat than he intended, “but yes, I wrote the Porter Manifesto.”
Volm looked down at his hands, which were gripped tightly together, trying to hold the memories at bay. He gave a side-glance to the metal shard, gazing intensely at it to break eye contact with Max. “Not that it did the unions any good.”
“I’m sorry to mention it, sir,” Max replied, giving his first real hint of respect and discipline.
“What about you?” Volm asked, bringing his eyes back to the Engineer before him. He had meant to stop himself from prying. He learned long ago that everyone was innocent and nobody deserved to be incarcerated, so he stopped asking.
“Oh,” Max said, shaking his head as if he was about to tell a fairy tale nobody would believe. “I’m from somewhere very far away, I think.” He grimaced at the thought. “Nobody here knows her name. Our people are still a collection of warring nations that have just started our first colony in our own solar system.”
Volm’s eyes squinted, lighting glinting off the milky pupils, “If you come from an unexploited world, you should keep that to yourself.”
Max raised one of his eyebrows at Volm. “Why?”
“The Rhyno Confederation was overthrown by the Rew Confederation,” Volm explained. He moistened his dried lips. “They are a fraction the size of their predecessor and have left a power vacuum that every warlord, thug, and regional governor will attempt to exploit.” Volm pointed at Max, “If they learn about a world that’s easy pickings, then they have a supply of slaves and materials.”
“Oh,” Max replied glumly. “Which I suppose they’d torture me to learn about.”
“Probably,” Volm replied, scratching at his chin. “You look pretty fleshy and easy to hurt, so you probably wouldn’t last long.”
“That’s not very reassuring–” Max interrupted, then paused.
Dropping his two hands heavily on the desk, Volm pushed himself out of his seat. Max rose to match.
“Well, my friend from a strange world,” Volm said, and he reached down and picked the small shard of metal up again, “I am intrigued to see how well this vicious little metal spike you've made works.”
“Thank you, sir,” Max replied, saluting. Volm placed the shard back into Max’s light-skinned hand. Max held it up to Volm, “I’ll start working with my team to produce as many as possible.”
OFFICE OF EVA TALISMITE,
PRESIDENT-ELECT OF THE TWO WORLDS REPUBLIC
/ / SO1_p-cptl · Somari Prime / /
Eva Talismite brushed her long top fur back, which had fallen into her view. She needed to get her semi-annual shearing, but she'd been busy with all the recent hustle following the capture of the Confederate diplomatic corps. As the President-Elect of the Two Worlds Republic1, she would need to find time to keep herself presentable. Not that it would matter if the Commonwealth successfully invaded.
“-so in truth, there is little more we can do until this so-called Captain Volm returns with our ships.” Senator Delfreson commented, finishing the thought he’d begun following the viewing of Commodore Volm’s response.
The acting High Admiral dropped a heavy hand on the table and snarled, “He’s a Commodore.”
The slam startled Talismite’s chief-of-staff, Wittel, who had been taking notes of their conversation. Delfreson and the High Admiral rose to their feet abruptly, shaking the table and knocking their drinks onto the surface. They exchanged low, guttural rumbling from their throats, fanged teeth slightly peeking from their mouths. Wittel ran a cloth rag over the surface to wipe away the spilled drinks. Eva rolled her eyes at their blustering display.
“Enough,” Eva scolded the two men. “Admiral Moss is correct, Mister Delfreson.” She looked over the long wooden table previously belonging to the Commandant of the penal colony. Eva stood up from her seat calmly and tugged her dress jacket down.
“Now that we have Commodore Volm’s report, we have confirmed his status as commander of the remaining flotilla and the temporary assignments he’s issued.”
Delfreson threw his shaggy arms into the sky and cursed. “We are a stone’s throw away from being invaded, and you all are playing semantics with naval culture. We should have ordered him back NOW!”
“Sir,” Eva said, letting her voice fill with the angry ferocity she was feeling. “What we build now becomes the tradition we build our republic upon.”
“Eva,” Delfreson replied, his tone softening, but dripping with condescension. “If we don’t get those railguns crewed, it won’t matter what traditions we try to build.”
“So what is it?” Eva asked, snapping back with such vitriol that she surprised the assembled staff. “Are you pro-navy, or not?” She growled at the Panteran sitting across from her.
The election campaign between Delfreson and Eva had been an ugly one, fraught with accusations and rampant character assassinations, and now? Now, they were forced to counsel with one another while defending their frail, fledgling republic from a growing list of enemies.
Eva scowled, looking at Delfreson from the corners of her eyes. “Out of one side of your mouth, you spout warhawk rhetoric and want to arm first-strike weapons.” She sighed, pointing her words directly at Delfreson, “and from the other? You don’t respect the naval corps' attempt at building structure and unity.”
Pressing his hands over his eyes and pulling at his fur, Delfreson growled angrily, “None of this matters until we blow Irari A out of the sky.” He slammed a fist into the table, “You want to play dress-up and masquerade as a government, WIN THE WAR FIRST!” His voice echoed on the stone walls. The collective stood in silence, Eva glaring at Delfreson, who was waiting for a response to his animated outburst. Getting nothing, he growled and stormed out of the room.
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