Chapter 1: The Signature
Thomas slowly rocked in a chair. He was only 17, yet he did so as if he were an old man. He stared forward at the wall and ceiling, absently studying the sight before him. The room was painted white, as were all of the rooms in the apartment. It was plain and uniform, an example of Mantle's manifesto.
He lived in government-provided housing. There was no rent – the program was paid for with taxes – but the result was rather plain. Everything in the house was quite cheap-looking, though reliable. The rocking chair, however, was a lone exception. It was passed down to his father by his grandfather, it being an example of the old days before the new government replaced the empire.
Thomas' absent train of thought was interrupted by the door's creaking as it opened. He looked over to see his mother coming into the room.
"Thomas, dear, the news is on. I thought you might want to hear it."
"Coming, Ma," Thomas responded. He climbed out of the chair and through the doorway to enter the living room. It was quite small, but it fit a small family. A large room was a luxury, and luxury had been rightly done away with.
The walls in the short hallway were lined with portraits. They were all photos, of course. Paintings were a thing of the past. Though most of them were of figures that the party approved of, there were a few exceptions. There was one of his father, for instance. There was also a landscape photo of the five of them in their old home, which the government had since demolished for more farmland.
Thomas' eyes then spotted another framed picture. This one was a landscape of himself and his girlfriend, Anya. He looked at it with a smile before proceeding.
Thomas sat down on the sofa in front of the radio, next to his mother and two younger brothers. A brief instrumental excerpt from the anthem played before an announcer spoke.
"Here is the nightly news update for today – April 9th. Our correspondents in the southern colonies report that the conflict continues between their settlers. In fact, the foreign fighters are stated to have formed into an organized militia to coordinate their terrorization of Mantle's settlements. Allegedly, these fighters have been observed using equipment that belongs to the Vale Royal Army."
They murmured about this fact. Was Vale endorsing this clear barbarism? It wouldn't be below them. His siblings said nothing about the matter, choosing instead to look around the room with a mild look of discomfort. They were disinterested in the news, and he noticed that they weren't wearing their party insignia. Thomas' brothers didn't believe in the party, nor in anything else. They were lucky to not get reported.
"To help our settlers better defend themselves from these unprovoked and deadly attacks," the newscaster continued, "Mantle's army reports that the 5th and 6th infantry regiments are currently underway to establish a defense in the colonies. Other measures such as increased conscription are being discussed, but those are merely hypothetical and might not be warranted as of yet.
"When interviewed, a government official expressed the administration's discomfort in such an action but stated that this new militia has forced their hand. The government has pledged to end this inexcusable campaign against Mantle's citizens, stating that their previous inaction on the matter will be counterbalanced by an immediate intervention enacted by the 5th and 6th regiments.
"The administration states their hopes that this conflict will not escalate into a war between Mantle and the other kingdoms, but they would never withdraw their settlers even if Vale were to demand that they do. Mantle will continue to pursue a peaceful solution unless the other kingdoms force them to engage in war. The Empire always warned her peers not to test her, and that carries over to the new government. Mantle never yields. Now for the weather."
"The weather bureau has issued another blizzard warning for the following provinces," another newscaster started, before Thomas' mother turned off the radio.
"I can't imagine what it must be like to be one of those settlers," he empathized. "They go and build their homes, and towns surrounding them, only to have them all torn down by a bunch of Valeans who want it for themselves."
"Much of the islands are open land, there's plenty to go around," Ma responded. "But the Valeans just want ours. Are they trying to start a war?"
"Well, if the government decides to change their mind and make the first move, I wouldn't blame them. The empire was reluctant to start a war, and look where that got them."
"Whatever comes, I just don't want to have to sacrifice anything," Ma admitted. "Rations, drafting, higher taxes – they all seem to be punishing common folk for the actions of the people up top."
"It's not a lot for them to ask for," Thomas countered. "We've already gotten rid of needless luxury, why shouldn't we continue to do that? If the army needs resources, give it to them. It's a fair trade, I'd say, since the government funds the public more than any other would."
Though they didn't notice, his siblings had gotten up and left the room. Thomas and his mother had gotten political again.
"But there are bigger sacrifices," Ma argued. "Money is money, and food is food. They're important, but they're just things. Objects can be replaced, but what about your life? What if you get drafted as the news said? You wouldn't be asked to go and fight and die. You'd just get told to by some stranger in a suit. Do you want that?" she asked, wiping away some tears from her eyes.
Thomas stopped to think. He already knew the answer, but tried to word it so that he didn't worry his mother. Thomas wouldn't call himself a zealot, but he could understand that some causes are worth dying for.
"Imagine if everyone thought that way. Nobody would risk their lives for anything. The revolution? It never happened. We live under the emperor, serving at his will. I can accept fighting to prevent something like that."
"But would others accept it? What about your friends, your family, me?"
"You just don't like risk of any kind," Thomas accused. "You grew up in the imperial age, ruled by idiots who only had their job because their parents did. They were scared of anything that was different to the norm, just like you are now."
"Are you saying that it isn't my duty as a mother to make sure you're safe, just because a war's being fought halfway across the world?" she yelled. "Do you want the entire family to go extinct as everyone gets drafted? First your father, then you, and then your brothers!"
Their exchange was interrupted by a knock at the door. Thomas stared at the door with a look of shock on his face. Had the neighbors heard the noise? It wasn't right for a family to argue like this, and Mrs. Wilson would be eager to get extra rations for reporting them.
Eager to escape the argument, Thomas' mother rose from the sofa and quickly approached the door, opening it with a squeak from the hinges.
In front of the door was a man in military uniform, appearing to be a junior officer in the army. He held a single sheet of paper on a clipboard, alongside a pen.
"Ma'am, is there a Comrade Thomas Meyer here?"
"Yes, sir. He's right over there," his mother said after a moment. Thomas then got up, slowly approaching the officer.
"Sir?" he asked cautiously, believing he already knew why the man was here.
"Congratulations, young man. You have been selected for service in the Mantle Revolutionary Army. Just sign here and you can have the highest privilege of serving your country."
Thomas looked around, now shaking. His mother looked like she was about to faint, but his expression didn't equal hers. After a moment or two, he mustered his courage and looked the man in the eye.
"Yes, sir," he obeyed with some hesitation. Even if he didn't want to join the army, Thomas had little choice in the matter. He might as well pretend to be willing. The officer handed him the pen and clipboard, and Thomas then signed his life away.