Chapter 1: Long Time No See
"Strike them at the center, and they will crumble. Strike them at the outside, and they will strengthen," echoed the words, of the Grand Commissar, spoken over 200 years ago.
Private Barsola Frieend, looked overhead at the bright, blue sky. The reflection of the sun's far-reaching rays, reflected off his magnolia-colored eyes. To Barsola the world seemed boring, especially, when supposedly motivational speeches, like the first grand commissar's were repeated futilely. But then again so was everyone else, it seemed as if on Victor XXVII, you could never find action.
Barsola turned his head, in a 45-degree turn, gazing at the rusted lemon russ, that sat in front of him. In some way, some part of his mind, he felt remorse, for seeing the salvaging of this truly ravaged battle tank. He knew that if the Adeptus Mechanicus, really had some sort of machine god, and something like machine spirits, then this creation, really had it's being torn apart. Barsola, walked away, from the once-magnificent weapon, in his gray battle fatigues, the trademark uniform of the, Victor 451st Recon regiment. His eye's continued their usual bored stare at the luminous sky, and it's lazy, yellow sun. Some day he wished he could travel off this boring but peaceful planet, and seek adventure, on a real world; actual fighting maybe even. But for now he'd have to stay with this. His young eyes, then turned on the seemingly minuscule sun that hovered so frequently around the planet. Only 2 years ago he had been in school; studying a subject, science - as they used to call it when, ancient Terra was still young - but now just another sub-topic in the category of Xeno. If he was right Victor XXVII's sun was just in it's middle age, that would mean a good life for the planet, a long prosperous one probably with it's lack of adventure, and a long life for him too.
"You know, you shouldn't be staring at the sun like that!" Exclaimed a happy, but familiar voice, as a hand, grasped Barsola's shoulder, tightly.
Surprised, Barsola, fell, but was caught by the ambusher, easily as if a child.
"Saved ya' there." Spoke the voice once again.
Barsola turned to the hearty voice, and saw a figure, in the same gray type fatigues, wearing an all-to-happy grin.
"Nicholai Fitickus. Long time no see!" Exclaimed, an overly happy Barsola, while grasping the broad-shouldered man's hand.
"And you too. By the way, you know you could go blind from looking at that sun too much. Or did you already forget school, as it seems you already forgot how to shave." Answered Nicholai more happy than ever.
With that last remark Barsola, forgot, that with his day-dreaming continuously, he had forgotten to shave, the ridiculous half-beard, that covered his pale face. Noticing the recent discovery, Nicholai switched subjects.
"Well how's it been on a backwater, no-adventure, lackluster, thrill-starved planet like Victor XXVII?"Nicholai, acted like he savored every word, that came, from his liquor, smelling mouth.
"..." Victor didn't answer, still thinking about his unshaved beard.
"Eh?" continued Nicholai when his friend, didn't answer.
Barsola looked embarrassed that he had not answered Nicholai's question, and, quickly answered hurriedly, as if coming out of a trance.
"Same as usual."
"Eh, thought so." Answered Nicholai, to Barsola's response, in the same quickness.
"Well anyway..."The subject changed.
Commissar Brengar looked across the dark, nothingness void, that surrounded, him, and his flagship. He pondered for awhile from the bridge, continuing to stare and the vast, atmosphere around his ship, called space.Then he turned his usually frowning face, at the bright aurora, that surrounded Victor XXVII, oh that great peaceful, planet he knew as home, and headquarters, he always, wished he could live on it's brilliant surface again, but, duty always came first. He wondered if it really was 3 years, he'd been on this carrier, the, Bartholomew's Hand, because every moment seemed the same to him, after all his life was a boring one. Today he knew would probably the same as any the previous, or the first, drifting, and scouting, and guarding, those three damnable things, that just increased the boringness. His mind began to ponder a new subject; he didn't understand how anyone could continue to say life was so sweet, when you were always bored to hell, on Victor XXVII.
He turned his head again to the serf that sat, controlling the console, to his left. He studied the man for a moment, his forest, green shirt, definitely showed his rank, but not how he felt. It was a weird thing to be thinking about, but then, when the commissar was bored, so was his mind.
Noticing the commissar's awkward glance at him, ensign Mik looked up, kind of expecting a harsh reprimanding for some unknown protocol, he wouldn't know he had broken.
"Yes, commissar Brengar, is there something I can do for you, sir?" Asked the ensign.
Surprised that the ensign had noticed his ever-thinking stare, the commissar answered quickly, with an all-to-fake excuse.
"Well ensign, I was looking at the readout's passed your shoulder. Am I not allowed to do that?" Commanded Brengar in a mocking way.
"Of course you're allowed sir, I-I just thought you might have a question, sir."
"Well if that's so, I'd like to know have you received, any signatures, or signals, coming in the surrounding perimeter."
Literally the ensign's jaw dropped, how could such a man ask the same question day after day, when he a native, of this lonely system, knew nothing ever happened here anymore, well actually not ever. Quickly ensign Mik resumed his duty, and spoke the answer automatically, like a newly-built automaton.
"None whatsoever sir."
The ensign was tempted to shout at the old man.He shouldn't ask such obvious questions, but changed his thoughts to the thoughts of a not likely court martial, but a more likely demotion.