Author Note: This chapter is tentative. I had a lot of ideas swimming in my head, but wasn't quite sure how to put them down. At the same time however, i was worried about losing the ideas, so I figured, whatever was there, I'd put them down and sort it out later.
Chapter 2: No Name
"They'll come at you sideways…"
The Alliance Secondary Base Camp of Libertine on Miranda was nearly a square mile, which was considerable since it was only a recon outpost position. Surrounded on all sides by a two foot thick and ten foot high castcrete wall and dotted with gun-emplaced battlements all over the base's outer ramparts, it was moderately defended despite the several high-value targets that called the base home.
At the base's Northern Corner was a small hanger that housed three Vaser gunships. Adjacent to the hanger was the armory which carried everything from small arms, to rocket-propelled grenades and served as the general weapons stockpile for the marine battalions that moved in and out of the base. The command post was in the middle, complete with its very own laser fence and four anti-aircraft/ordinance batteries mounted on every corner.
"Feels good to be home," Book commented, as he and Myers breached the small hill overlooking the base. He smiled fleetingly, as he gazed down the open fields of tall grass and flowerbeds at the rising fortress of mankind's intrusion into nature. Arrogant, was the word he used for it.
"If you can call this home," Myers muttered. Book didn't say anything, shouldering his weapon instead and beginning his descent down the grassy hill.
Upon reaching the outer walls, the holographic security strip flickered on, running around towards the opposite corners of the East walls face, surveying the surroundings. The security strips were set off by motion sensors, most of the time picking up rabbits, various rodents, but Brigadier General Welsh Sax was infamous for being thorough and for his base, he spared no expense creating a military facility befitting of his station.
"Present identification," a speaker built into the gateway crackled. Book reached into uniform jacket. Pulling out his I-Dent card, he slid it into the reader at elbow level on the gateway's left side. The system beeped cheerfully and the gateway sucked into the wall with a mechanical hiss.
It was bustling inside of the base. Libertine played host to six full marine battalions, one gunship squadron, a dozen moderately ranked officers, and one Operative who generally didn't interact with anyone save when presenting information during briefings. Today however, the Operative was standing at the gateway, his hands crossed behind his back, and emptiness etched into his features.
"Which one of you is Lieutenant Colonel Derrial Book," the Operative asked. He had an odd face. His lips were thin lines and barely moved when he spoke. He was a little on the stocky side, with narrow shoulders and almost feminine hips. He wore no uniform, no insignias, just a plain military jacket, dark blue military pants, and a black glove over his right hand. A sword harness was pulled around under his armpits and across his back, and his sword handle could be seen poking out over of his right shoulder, the word "SIX" carefully acid etched into the titanium pommel.
"I am," Book said, saluting.
"We," the Operative said with a nod of his head, "do not deal with formalities. This will be the first and last time I use your rank Derrial Book. Now if you'll please, come with me."
The Operative turned, with Book, albeit reluctantly, following in the man's footsteps. The Operative stopped and turned his head slightly to the side so his chin was nearly touching his left shoulder.
"Not you Major," he hissed, before continuing to walk towards his personal quarters. Myers looked at Book almost pleadingly, but Book shook his head, giving Myers the "you'd best stay away cause this guy plays ball hard" look. He hoped his friend understood.
"See you at mess," Myers said quietly, saluting. Book shivered at the formality, but returned the salute. He gave Myers' back one last look as his Second turned and headed towards the showers. Book sighed, following the Operative towards are magnificent building that couldn't better reciprocate its surroundings.
It was almost like a town house, painted light beige with Victorian roof trimming and broad double-paned bulletproof glass windows. The wood frame around the doorway was carved with angel wing textures that twisted towards two hovering lamps suspended by Gravity-lines. It was an abrupt contrast, the desensitized architecture of the military base playing contrast to the almost adorable Earth-that-was cottage.
The door was slightly ajar and Book let himself in, taking stock of his surroundings as he was trained to do. It was bright, and every single corner was filled with a brilliance that defied physics. Book wouldn't have been surprised if the room had no shadows.
"This way Derrial Book," the voice of the Operative snapped through an office that was on the far end of the hallway and to the right. Book slung his weapon over his shoulder and walked down the hall, the heavy thud of his boots deadening into the soundproof wood walls.
Not believing it was possible to be more surprised, stepping into the Operatives office proved to Book that there were clearly some people with too much time, and too much money to spend on it. The entire office was holographic. Shimmering trees that rose into the false ceiling cast their shadows of light across the forest floor so real that Book could've sworn he could hear the snapping of tree branches as he walked. The trickle of a distant river could be heard amidst the calls and songs of birds.
"Sir, permission to speak freely," Book asked, standing rigid in time-honored military tradition.
"I am not an officer. I have no rank, no name, nothing. But for the sake of conversation Book," the Operative turned and offered what Book could only assume was a smile, "you may call me Ben. Know that Ben is not my real name, however, for now it will suffice."
"Permission to speak, Ben."
"Granted."
"Is there a reason you have brought me here sir?"
"Forgive my theatrics, but I am going to answer your question, with a question. What do you believe in Derrial Book?"
"If you're asking about my Faith, I am Christian by birth, and atheist by choice."
"You believe your destiny is your own?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you did. We are defined by our beliefs Derrial Book."
"Why do-."
"I keep saying your name you wonder," the Operative gestured for Book to follow him, indicating with one of his slender but strong fingers a small clearing in the fake forest, "because very soon, you may not have one."
"Sir?"
"Ben," the Operative snapped, "Details Derrial Book. We mustn't forget the details."
"Sir, I don't want to-."
"You scored 2680 out 2700 on your Standardized Aptitude Test. You have an IQ of 145. Physically, you rank in the top 3 in strength, speed, stamina, and reflexes. You have a 98.411 overall accuracy rating in sniping, small arms, mid-ranged armaments, and truly impressive close combat capabilities. You do not belong in the regulars," Ben punctuated his every word with a hard accent for emphasis.
"You seem to know a lot about me."
"I am trained to know a lot about you. You are a strong-willed individual, with a personality built upon the foundations of friendship. You firmly believe that friendship is what makes us men. You are Atheist but still hopeful, that there is something guiding you, but the world I am asking you to join Derrial Book, will not afford you such things. We will take your hope and destroy it; we will take your friendship and teach you how to use it against your enemies," Ben said, "know that if you accept, the world around you will no longer be the world of light. We live in shadows, mistrust, and deception. But more so, we live in a world of belief."
Better words, for all, better worlds, Book thought to himself.
"For a better world. For all better worlds Derrial Book," Ben spread out his hands, "a world without war, without violence, without anger. A world where no man need fear his neighbor."
"A world without sin," Book breathed.
"Yes. A world without sin. But to do this, we will need to become sin," Ben said softly.
"So what are you asking me?"
"Are you willing to become sin?"
Book looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood: the blood of innocents, the blood of the guilty, and his own blood coursing under the blanket of others to the slow beat of his heart. How long had it been? How long had it been since that day?
"Yes," Book whispered, "I will become sin."
In the shortest sentence, the smallest word, and the longest breath Book had ever experienced, hope died.