30: Night on the Town

Evening had fallen upon the town of Opilla, a small stretch of civilisation in the vast, barren deserts that took up much of the southern reaches of the main populated continent on Tornya. Perhaps the only thing this town had going for it was its proximity to the Proving Grounds, thereby ensuring that soldiers and base personnel were often venturing into the town when they were not on duty at the base itself. Tonight was no exception to this rule, as Toron Kavellan and his disparate squad of 'Sky Riders' had found themselves inside Opilla's one and only drinking hall.

General Durren had ensured that the squad had the place to themselves. There were few townspeople in here, and there were most certainly no other military personnel present within the drinking hall for that matter. The interior was mainly wood-panelled walls and timber floorboards, the furniture cheap but sturdy and the quality of drink ranging from near tasteless to expensive and flavourful. A somewhat overworked male Calsharan with grey scaly skin and green eyes moved behind the bar counter, pouring drinks and sending orders through to the equally overworked kitchen staff.

Sky Riders in their standard black and grey uniforms were all around, roughly two-dozen that was the entirety of both squads. Most were male, with only about three females in the mix altogether. Some of the male members had invited females from the town to join them in the establishment, and Toron got the impression that some of these local women were more than used to mixing with soldiers from the nearby Proving Grounds. Some would happily join them, for a fee.

General Durren was seated to his left, turned about in his seat such that he could observe the raucous crowd around them. He sipped at his mug, downing some expensive liquor that for Toron, had tasted awful. The Captain himself stayed away from anything that might potentially inebriate him, and so stuck with water and the odd glass full of fruit juice. When it came to Calsharan beverages, those that were alcoholic were such that any human being would probably pass out after having a glass. Calsharan physiology had a high tolerance for such intoxicants, and so all the liquor they had was much, much stronger than anything that might have been found on a human world.

"Tomorrow, you head out," the General said, and he turned to face Toron. The Captain was seated quietly, back to the bar counter as he observed the team and all those they had dragged into this place with them. "The trip will take a day in hyperspace. I'd tell you to enjoy this night as much as you can, but I get the impression you're not that sort of person."

The grizzled General observed Toron with a curious gaze. Toron, who had said little since the General had brought them all here, gave the older male a light shrug. He sighted Norvak seated with a few of his friends on the squad, far off in the corner; they were playing some kind of game involving mugs full of booze, with the loser having to drink more and more as each round was played. They all seemed happy, perhaps even too happy for Toron. Tomorrow, they would be bundled onto a cruiser and flown to the system within which Jur's Anvil was located. There, they would launch their raid on the experimental shipyard. The odds of them all making it back alive were slim to none, and Toron figured that there was a good chance they would all die. The raid was a desperate attack to stall the development of more advanced fighter craft, the kind that would turn the tide of the civil war. The same kind that had killed Kavi Norrok and sent Toron spiralling into depression. That sense lingered even now, and it was part of the reason he stayed away from alcohol. Last thing he needed was something that could very well help him spiral further.

"I've had my share of whores, General," Toron admitted, eyeing a couple of the females in question who were lingering with a few of the Privates from the squad nearby. This included Private Karvka, who had gladly allowed one of the young women in their lavish, embroidered robes to sit across his lap.

"I'd like something with a little more meaning," Toron added, turning his attention back to Durren. "Like I had with Kavi."

"She's dead, Captain." General Durren spoke in a level tone. He meant nothing by the statement, it was simply an affirmation of the truth of the situation.

"That may be so, but she's still alive in my mind. I keep thinking that I'm going to see her walk into this place at any moment." He had loved that young pilot. She had been the only real good thing to come his way during his stint serving upon the Lance of Might.

"That's only normal, Captain," Durren said. A loud burst of laughter erupted from Norvak's group. One of the other Sky Riders had had a cup full of warm liquor poured over him. From what Toron could gather, it was simply part of their silly game.

"What about the Corporal?" Durren asked him, and he nodded in Norvak's general direction. "Are you two getting along now?"

"In a way," Toron said. "We're not friends, but we should be fine out there, on the mission."

"I sure hope that's the case, Captain. The team needs to be a well-oiled machine out there. Turn that aggression against the enemy. Maybe then you might all come back alive."

Toron met the ageing General's gaze and frowned. Behind him, a row of windows looked out upon an empty, darkened street. Few were out and about in the streets of Opilla, especially when the Sky Riders were on the town.

"You and I both know that's not going to happen, sir," Toron said. There was little point denying the fact. Durren gave him a single nod in acknowledgment.

"It's a suicide mission," Toron added. "I knew this going in. How many of them know it? Or how many of them don't think it's as dangerous as we say it is?"

"They know, Captain. Deep down, they would know. Which is why tonight is important. And I would hardly want the team leader to miss out on any of the fun." The General nodded to a place across the hall. Toron followed his gesture, seeing Lieutenant Varsla seated at a table with Private Pelinos in the space across from them. Unlike most of the others, who spoke loudly, cajoled about with the women they had dragged in and otherwise drunk as much as they possibly could, both Varsla and Pelinos kept to themselves in a quiet corner of the establishment. They were engrossed in their quiet conversation, seemingly oblivious to the raucous activity going on around them.

"An officer fraternising with an enlisted soldier is against regulation, sir," Toron said, and he turned back to the General.

"But tonight, we forget about those rules and regulations," the General added. "You'd do well to forget all your woes as well, Captain." He motioned for the bartender then. "My friend here wants some of your strongest…"

"No, I don't." Toron looked to the bartender and shook his head. "I like to keep my wits about me, even now."

"Are you sure, Captain?" The General sounded genuinely worried. "If you knew that this was your last night alive, would you not want to indulge a little? Even an old General such as myself needs to unwind now and again."

"It's okay, sir. I have no need to drink myself stupid." He glanced at Varsla again and saw that Pelinos had reached across the table to take the Lieutenant's hand within one of her own. The Lieutenant looked a little surprised, but he quickly reciprocated the gesture by intertwining his fingers within Pelinos' own.

"Neither does the Lieutenant, as it would appear," Toron added. The two of them fell quiet for the moment, the noise of the others surrounding them, the laughter amongst it all providing some warmth to an otherwise cold night. To see the squad so happy at least provided some small measure of it to Toron himself. All he could think about here was the mission and what it entailed, and all those unforeseen variables that would often rear their unwelcome heads whilst out in the field. Nothing was for certain during the chaos of battle, not amongst the blood and sweat and screams of the dying. He could hear it all again, see it as vividly as the drinking hall around him. Suddenly, the laughter had become screams. Someone across the hall slammed the table before them with a fist to prove a point, and the noise made Toron jump in his seat as if he had heard a gunshot.

"Captain?" The General's voice cut through his reverie suddenly and Toron, remembering where he was, quickly relaxed into his seat. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sir," Toron replied. He spoke a little more sharply than he had intended, and the response only caused the General to narrow his weathered features.

"I know that look, Captain. I've seen it many times before." He paused for a moment, mulling over what next to add. "It's Vargania, isn't it?"

"Sir?" Toron perked up, unsure of where the General was going with this.

"I heard it was rough. I wasn't there, obviously, but I know a few people who were. The first battle of the first civil war we've had for more than one-thousand years. You were a part of history there, whether you like it or not."

"I can't imagine them writing about me in some history book…"

"They probably will, Captain. You did well and your actions helped turn the tide of the battle. Things could have been a lot worse." The General was doing his best at effecting a reassuring voice, even if the gravelly nature of it somewhat undercut his good intentions.

"People see you as a hero. The man who turned the tide at Vargania. The man who showed that the home world military was not invincible."

"What happened on Vargania should never have happened in the first place."

"We have a High Protector who gained that position through conspiracy, by having his predecessor killed. What happened on Vargania was inevitable." General Durren took another gulp from his mug, before he set it down upon the bar countertop next to him. "You helped to expose that information."

"And what little that has done," Toron countered, emitting a derisive huff. "People still support the High Protector. They support his war of expansion. It seems no matter how many sons and daughters of the Union die, people still want to follow the man." Tarva Garall was the youngest High Protector the Calsharan Systems Union had ever had in its long history. His aunt, Supreme Commander Rila Cassalis, had assisted him in taking out the previous one along with many of his high-ranking supporters. And, in almost typical despot fashion, Tarva Garall had turned against his aunt, labelling her a traitor and forcing her to go on the run. No one seemed to know where she had gone; she had been missing for months now and rumours abounded about her fate. Some were convinced she was building up her own rebel force to overthrow Garall, although even Toron thought that unlikely. She certainly was nowhere to be found amongst the side of the Alliance of Free Systems, so she was not supporting their war effort. As detestable as she was, her military expertise would have made for a valuable asset in the war against the Union.

"This war was inevitable," Durren said. "And I suspect even Visala herself knew as much. No system can go on for one thousand years without developing its own problems. Corruption, for one. A gradually overbearing and intrusive form of governance from the home world over the colonies. Eventually, something was going to give way. We can only hope to defeat the tyrant and create a newer, better society when he's gone."

"A newer, better society?" Toron frowned. "What kind of society? All I want is to see Garall and his associates out of power and put before a tribunal. They seized power illegitimately. Someone else, someone legitimate, can take the position of High Protector."

"It's not just Garall, Captain," Durren countered. He shook his head slowly. "The home world government has been corrupted over a long period. Simply removing the likes of Garall won't fix it. The system, I think, needs to change."

"Radical talk, General."

"Maybe I'm a radical, then?" He shrugged his broad shoulders. Talk such as that would have been dangerous, not too long ago. Now that a civil war was occurring, it hardly mattered what one said about the Union hierarchy. High Protector Garall was perhaps the most hated figure across the Free Systems Alliance. Toron had lost his parents to that tyrant's political persecution and manoeuvring. His political secret police, the Union Political Directorate, had infiltrated various branches of the colony governments. Weeding them out had been one of the first points of order for the Alliance, and so far the three major colonies that formed the bulk of the Alliance had done well in that regard.

Toron had played his own small part in that, having eliminated one such agent on Vargania. Of course, that agent had also been a woman he had developed feelings for, one he had gunned down in cold blood. That was after she had killed scores of people with a bomb she had set in Vargania's central government building. Despite the crimes committed, Toron still saw himself gunning her down again and again in his dreams. He wondered what his mother would think of such an action, if she were still around.

"Visala warned about pure democracy, the idea that everyone has a vote no matter their station in society. It is, or so she stated in her journals, 'tyranny of the majority'." Durren sounded knowledgeable on the subject, whereas Toron had seldom done much reading into political systems. It had never been a real interest for him, he had been far more concerned with his military career. He had wanted to do his father proud, yet even that seemed pointless now. His father was dead, convicted of crimes he had not committed and tortured into confessing. They had executed him in a public square under Garall's new regime, whereas the only 'crime' his father had committed was that of supporting Garall's rivals.

"Where the fifty-one percent determine what the remaining forty-nine percent must endure," Durren added. "If one does not have a stake in society, why should they have a vote? That is why one must prove they care for the society they live within, whether it be through military service or a high-risk occupation. Those who prove themselves true citizens may have their say, or so Visala detailed in the Articles of Foundation. My nephew, for instance, he is an asteroid miner. Very dangerous work, in some ways more so than being in the army." Durren took another sip from his mug. Toron had been listening, trying to hear through the racket of all the other Sky Riders enjoying themselves around him.

He noticed then that Pelinos and Varsla were leaving the premises, hand in hand. Toron was not sure if he should be glad for the Lieutenant, or even a little bit jealous.

"And even then, it's only those offices below the colonial level that are publicly voted on," Durren continued. "High Protectors are chosen by elected officials. Really, I suspect our founders, Visala and her cohorts, intended the role to be more of a ceremonial figurehead than an outright leader."

"Garall has other ideas, General," Toron said, returning his attention to his commanding officer. "Whatever you think of the system, I only want to see Garall gone. Him and everyone else like him. And from the sound of it, Visala made a sensible political system."

"Things have to change," the General said. "Someone like Garall cannot be permitted to take power, not again."

"That won't matter much if we don't win this war," Toron remarked. "I keep hearing that we're losing, but then other people tell me that we're winning. Which is it?" When it came to all-out war, information from the frontlines was often muddied and confused. Much in the same way as the actual battles themselves, Toron figured. As such, determining a clear victor took a bit of careful examination.

"You carry out this mission successfully, Captain, and we'll be winning for sure." The General sounded confident, although Toron suspected that he was simply saying this to reassure him. An attempt to make his role in affairs seem all the more important, or so Toron assumed.

"If you say so, General," Toron replied, remaining unconvinced. All around him, the Sky Riders celebrated what could have been their last night to themselves. Tomorrow, they would be on a ship headed for Jur's Anvil. And by evening that day, they would be flying headlong into a hostile and heavily defended tract of space. The thought was enough to make Toron feel a little queasy, in all honesty. He realised then that his left hand was shaking, and so he clenched it around the empty glass at the counter beside him and held it there. If General Durren had noticed the involuntary spasms, he made no sign of it. He simply kept on drinking, in much the same way everybody else inside the hall was doing.