Okay, like, this is the first half of something I wrote by hand, and am currently working on converting to the computer. The hand-written version is only about six pages long, so I'm suprised that it's taking this long to type up. It starts up a few days after Cherenkov is picked up by Margulis.
It had only taken him three days to recover from the blackout. Sellers had expressed that he was impressed; most people took closer to three weeks to recover when it came to the way Commander Margulis did things. Margulis himself, however, was particularly put out by this turn of events, as he was used to having more time to get to 'study' his recruits than three days. He didn't like having all those black-box areas about Cherenkov, but he figured it was for the best. Political gears were finally beginning to turn again, which was interesting, but at the moment, he was afraid that he would begin to find Cherenkov...more interesting. If he were caught being distracted at such a critical time...well, there went his credibility.
Interesting, indeed. It wasn't his fault that those craven infidels always chose, unerringly, the most beautiful people to recycle. Cherenkov was no spring chicken, being on the upwards of 34 or so, but he still managed to look dashing and sophisticated without even being awake. He belonged on a Federation starcruiser, with that well-groomed golden crown of his, and those daring blue eyes. An arian posterchild, if ever there was one. Cherenkov's energy defied his age, and made Margulis feel like he was much more than eight years older than him. On the platform in front of the Personality Reconditioning Center on Ariadne, surrounded by all those bodies, with all that blood over his hands and face, Commander Margulis thought he looked like an angel.
"Ahem..."
He was probably the only person who thought that way, though.
Pellegri had this annoying habit of being able to see right through him, and he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing his impatience as they waited out in front of Sellers' office. It had been nearly three hours since they'd brought Cherenkov to check him over, so Margulis' patience was beginning to fade. He'd also been standing in the same spot for those three hours. With his arms crossed, of course, trying to stare through the door. He didn't quite trust Sellers with his prize.
"Maybe if you started pacing, your feet wouldn't hurt so much."
He gave her a sidelong look without turning his head just as the doors opened.
"Margulis, I don't know where you found this one, but he's definately one of the most unique variants I've ever studied," Sellers said, floating out into the hallway with Cherenkov behind him. He stopped his hover-chair in front of Margulis and gave him a stern look. "He's highly damaged psychologically, however, and physically weakened a bit. He needs to be taken very good care of if he's to be of any use to you. Train him yourself and keep a close eye on him if you can help it. ...Pellegri, what are you smiling for?"
Pellegri always smiled at the most inappropriate times. Margulis thought he was beginning to hate her. "Nothing, sir," she said amiably.
"Very well. I leave this to the both of you. Have a safe journey home."
As the doors to Sellers' lab closed behind him, Cherenkov turned to Commander Margulis. "What now, sir?"
Margulis paused, and he turned and started walking down the corridor to the hangar. "This way." Cherenkov fell in line behind him, and Pellegri took the rear. Margulis didn't bother to look behind him when he spoke. "Do you know how to pilot a shuttle?"
"Yes sir. Everyone in my unit during the Zoar Incident was well-trained."
"Very good. You may have the pleasure of flying us back to Pleroma."
"Yes sir."
Margulis had no idea of the trends in the Federation Military's Super Soldier programs; if they went about creating super soldiers in the same way they went about creating Realians, he guessed that everyone in Cherenkov's unit looked vaguely similar, if not identical. A whole troop of Andrew Cherenkov. He would have loved to have seen it. Like a pack of rampaging unicorns. Young. Blonde. Deadly.
"Andrew, was your unit composed entirely of other Super Soldiers like you?" Pellegri asked.
"Yes. We didn't look all the same like Realians, though. A lot of people donated their DNA to the Super Soldier program, so we looked different...just like everybody else, I guess..." Cherenkov explained.
There went Margulis' pack of unicorns.
Pellegri grinned as the Commander quickened his pace out of frustration.
The flight back to the Asteroid Base was pleasantly dull, and once back on Pleroma, Margulis began instructing Cherenkov in the basics. Menial things like how to operate the ops consoles, load the standard-issue guns and dining ettiquete; things that probably would have been best off left to drill sargent. Cherenkov found himself getting uncomfortable looks from the other soldiers at this overt display of favouritism. Margulis was more than aware of it, though. He wanted to see if Cherenkov would be able to defend himself against his other stray dogs. He stood to lose a few men, but there was nothing on the mission roster from Sellers yet, and therefore Margulis was bored out of his skull and wanted to see some more carnage, especially if he got the chance to break Cherenkov in. Besides, most of them were just good little scared Ormus brats whose fathers pushed into the military to make them grow up.
At 2000 hours, he escorted Cherenkov to his quarters. He was a good study, but Margulis had gotten a bit maddened by Cherenkov's "yes sir" every five seconds. This was why he wasn't a drill sargent. But Margulis knew if he asked him to stop calling him "sir," the dogs would see it as a sign of weakness and turn on HIM. After the tour of his quarters, Margulis stopped Cherenkov outside his door. "Tomorrow I'm going to be placing you in the hands of Lieutenant Vanderkaum. Get a good night's sleep. I'll be on hand if any problems crop up, but if you ask for my help directly, I won't give it to you, since you need to learn to function on this base on your own."
Cherenkov took off his helmet and looked at the floor. "I can't guarantee anything. I was born for combat, not ops speciality."
"I'll put you on the list as soon as any combat situations crop up," Commander Margulis said, grinning a bit as he saw Cherenkov's eyes light up. Margulis took Cherenkov's helmet from him for a moment to study it. "I apologise for Pellegri asking that question about your unit earlier. It was impolite of her to bring that up."
"It's not a big deal. I keep thinking that they were lucky to die in that conflict, but I also think I survived for a reason, and that means that I probably have something more to do before I expire. Something important," Cherenkov replied, still looking at the floor. "That's one of the few things that kept me going through...well, you know."
The Commander's prerogative to remain stone-faced was beginning to crack. He would have liked to decimate the population of Ariadne for attempting to destroy Cherenkov's uniqueness. He looked on the younger man as a piece of art; a stained glass window that had been taken to with a baseball bat. He felt a rant coming on inside of him. "Yes. Providence is a strange thing sometimes. U-TIC doesn't know how lucky they are to have you with us, Cherenkov," he said, handing him his helmet back.
Without thinking of it, Cherenkov's hands brushed against the Commander's for a second when he took his helmet back. If he had been looking his superior in the eye, he would have seen Margulis' face explode in a split-second expression of alarm. How DARE he? Not five days knowing him, and Cherenkov had managed to work him up and pierce his guard. His heart beat in his chest as if he'd been running a mile. Angry at himself for caving, he glowered and exhaled furiously, shaking his head as Cherenkov looked up at him in surprise, not knowing what he'd done. Margulis all but shattered the lock on the door to his quarters with his fist, and Cherenkov barely had time to jump out of the way before being crushed by the door.
Margulis stormed out of the corridor, shoving soldiers out of the way as he went until he got to the lift. When the doors closed, he allowed himself to breathe. He hadn't felt this way in a very long time. If ever, probably. If this kept up, his composure would crack, he'd embarrass himself in front of his men, and it would be the end of him for U-TIC. And that was NOT going to happen.