“Bless me, Gods. Install your force in me. Grant me power, deserving the burden of a crown.
And strike down those undeserving of it.”
Davon opens his eyes to the harsh cold pouring into the Dreadnought once he finishes the prayer.
Gerry is standing next to him, already at attention as the Sergeant steps forward.
He stands steadily bundled in warm snow gear, while the cadets shiver in their fatigues. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Zamizer, the coldest barely habitable piece of frozen shit in the universe! I’m Sergeant Kraes, and for the next few months, it’s my job to turn you lot of limp dicked stuck-up, lil orphan fucks into the best ass-kicking, killing machines humanity has ever seen! That is, if you can survive the run to the barracks.”
Sergeant Kraes steps aside and points to a little black dot resting on the white horizon.
“First one to make it there gets to cozy up by the fireplace, make it there in an hour, and I might feel nice enough to toss in a piece of my famous grilled Gilma-fish!”
The Sergeant goes silent. He trudges through the snow over to his Grogrung, also adorned in weather protection. He sits atop the saddle and grabs the reins, huffing, “What the fuck are you pussies standing around for! Start running!”
The swarm of cadets floods out of the ship, rushing onto the snow.
Davon’s boots plunge ankle deep into the sea of white. The man in front of him trips. The woman beside him does as well. Slowly, a cluster of bodies desperate to push forward grows atop the snow.
Davon pushes on.
He pulls himself over the mounds of his fellow cadets and the snow that swallows him the instant he places his foot down.
Amidst all this, he realizes that he has lost track of Gerry.
His head spins.
He scans his surroundings for his friend, but all he spots through the chaotic snowfall is simply more snow and more cadets.
Davon tightens his knuckles, pumping them with red-hot blood to warm his fists while he uses them to sift the snow.
Slowly but surely, he clears himself a path that his boots won’t sink into. It isn’t long until he becomes more efficient at this. Striking until he has a path to walk. He isn’t quite at the front of the line, but he’s made good progress, that is, until a woman tumbles into him.
She knocks him down and runs across his body. She skips her boot atop his skull before kicking down the next cadet in line. She leaps and somersaults in the air as if there wasn’t any air at all. Just as Davon attempts to rise from the snow that threatens to consume him, another boot taps his skull.
“Sorry about that, man, but we’re all just trying to get across, y’know?” Even in the freezing cold, the voice on top of him is enough to make rage boil in Davon. The boot leaves his face only for another one to land on him, and then another, and then another, and another, and another, and another, and another.
The other cadets are too busy talking amongst themselves and chowing down on slop to even notice Davon crawl into the barracks, stained with the soles of their boots.
It is up to Davon alone to tend to his wounds and find a bed for himself. He lies in it hungry and exhausted, listening to the incessant chatter of his fellow cadets, until “All of you meat shut the fuck up! All you cadets do is talk and talk and blabber on like a whore begging to stay the night! It’s fucking exhausting!” Sergeant Kraes’s vulgar shouts silence the Barracks.
Davon steps out of bed, stumbling to see everyone standing at attention like the good little soldiers they are.
Just as Davon locks his beaten body into position to join the rest of the flock, he spots a smaller figure next to Kraes that makes his jaw nearly drop to the floor.
Kraes places a hand on Gerry’s shoulder, explaining that “Cadet Atheneum here, in all his divine wisdom, slipped into the crowd the exact fucking instant I mentioned the action of running to this here spot and then ran out right before I sped off like the merciless asshole I am! Then the cunning bastard here grips one of the legs of my Grogrung and goes whee whee all the fucking way home with me! Truly some impressive shit!”
Gerry presses his somewhat damaged glasses against his temples with his index finger, defiantly accepting the praise. “It was nothing, Sergeant, really just basic logic. Besides, I really wanted that delicious Gilma-fish.” He calmly gloats, keeping his tone flat and logical.
Kraes cracks an unexpected smile at the statement. His face is visibly unaccustomed to any emotion besides annoyance and rage.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal, boy. Now I promised the higher brass I wouldn’t play favorites, so Cadet Atheneum here won’t be getting any sort of special treatment. No, all I can fucking do is hope and pray the rest of you maggots can show as much initiative as he has!”
Kraes removes his hand from Gerry’s shoulder and pats him on the back.
The impact of his hand knocks Gerry forward slightly, leading him to adjust his glasses again.
Kraes laughs, “Give the boy a round of applause, Ladies and Gentlemen!” The cadets follow the order, filling the room with applause. Davon, however, can only laugh.
Who would have thought Gerry, of all people, would do something that stupid?
“The next few years are gonna be tough, so just stick with me, alright? And definitely don’t try something like that ever again.”
“Why not?”
Davon turns his head over to Gerry. His limp forearm drapes over his closed eyes like a blindfold while he lies in bed. “Because you could have been killed,” Davon answers with an amount of unrestrained concern that makes Gerry’s skin crawl with frustration. Still, he keeps calm and keeps his eyes covered.
“Pretty sure, you were the one who was almost killed today.”
“Hey, I can take it.” Davon sits up, verbally defending himself, “I’ve always been the stronger one, Gerry, so let me take the hits.”
Gerry tosses his arm off his eyes to look at the hazy blur that is Davon.
“Y’know what? I’m too tired for this. Get hit all you want, but I’m gonna do whatever I can to get ahead, Davon, with or without you.”
“Gods, do you two ever shut up! We’re all trying to sleep here, and you two are bickering like you’re in a loveless marriage!” The acrobatic woman who struck Davon down earlier announces her complaint for the whole barracks to hear.
Davon’s thankful that the red on his face is hidden by the dark and the cold as he whispers back, “Hey, we’re just friends, and you’re the one who’s shouting here.”
“Point still stands that all of you should shut up and go to sleep.” Another voice chimes in from the end of the barracks, this one belonging to the man who first apologized for trampling on Davon.
The woman shouts back at him, “Cram it, Orson, you’re only undermining the dominance I’ve already established!”
“And the only thing you’re doing is being loud, Shanna.”
“Now you two are the ones who sound like a couple.” Davon laughs.
“No way, Orson’s a crook and a womanizer!”
“And you’re insane!”
“I’m not! I just take great pleasure in my service to the glorious Division of humanity!”
“If that’s the case, then you blabbermouths shouldn’t mind serving the Division by going the fuck to sleep!” Sergeant Kraes's voice sends shockwaves through the barracks.
The awakened cadets look to Gerry, holding the door to the Sergeant’s office open.
The faint shimmer of candlelight illuminates both his and Kraes’s tired faces. “You all have a big day ahead of you tomorrow,” The Sergeant yawns before returning to his office. “Thanks for calling me out here, Cadet Atheneum.”
Gerry nods in acceptance of the compliment as he closes the door behind Sergeant Kraes.
That’s twice now, Davon thinks. Twice that Gerry’s done something that gets him complimented by the Sergeant.
He never did this with any of our teachers back at the center. He usually just does what people tell him.
What I tell him.
So what is he trying to do here? Davon’s thoughts halt as he realizes he isn’t the only one having them.
“What a kiss-ass.” The cadet opposite him mutters before drifting into sleep.
With that comment, Davon stops questioning Gerry and returns to defending him.
I’ll prove them wrong.
He exchanges smiles with Gerry as he returns to bed.
I know you can only have good intentions.
He watches as Gerry pulls the wool blanket over his soft skin, covering his trim body.
You’ve been with me for so long, so I know you, Gerry, better than anyone ever will.
Davon stares at Gerry while he sleeps, and Shanna watches.
She watches Davon for a long time.
Throughout all those long years of youth and war, she...
Watches him train.
Watches him fight.
Watches him look after Gerry.
Watches him battle against the Republic on the front lines.
Davon notices this and can’t help but feel like sometimes everyone is watching him.
What are they watching for?
“Proud citizens of the Division, twenty-four years ago today, I made the announcement that our planet would no longer live under the oppressive reigns of corrupt democracy and self-indulgent capitalism and that we would seize the means of production and impose a true equality by any means necessary! Sadly, the Republic did not honor our independence, and humanity has yet again been forced into war with itself, but given our recent victories and planetary occupations, the triumph of our glorious Division of humanity is assured!”
The hungry mass of the coliseum audience explodes into a frenzy of cheers and chants the exact second Emperor Magnus Ohavim takes a breath from his speech.
Magnus does more than just welcome the praise; he indulges in it, bathes in it.
He gives a wide grin that sends those watching carefully into a further surge, tipping them over the edge of emotion.
“That’s right,” Magnus mutters into the voice amplifier atop the podium, allowing that amazing moment of attention to pass so that he may continue to receive more praise once he finishes doing the thing that he forgot about amid all the gleeful seeing eyes and cheers of happiness that exist all for him.
“It has been in these past years of victory that it has occurred to me that I have committed a great, great mistake. An atrocity, really. You see, I have not yet highlighted those who are responsible for these accomplishments, those in question, of course, being our proud soldiers on the front lines of the galaxy! Now I have set up a program to highlight just a few of those soldiers who have caught my eye. This specialized unit graduated from bootcamp this year and has served my Division, our Division, very, very well. So, people of the Division, allow for me to introduce your Warbound!”
The Emperor turns away from the podium, letting a dramatic silence linger before he swings his hands in a gesture that commands the stagehands to pull the curtain down behind him to reveal the mural of three freshly painted figures depicted ready for battle in front of their own dreadnought.
The poster replicas of this mural will soon litter the walls of every church and youth center, as well as the bedrooms of countless adoring fans. It will even find its way to the planets occupied by the Division to remind their populations of the heroes who liberated them.
Shreds of confetti are thrown by the stagehands in the rafters as the audience roars again.
“FUCK YEAH!” Orson screams along with the crowd as he runs out on stage. Leaping into the air in an unkempt, unbuttoned uniform.
He lands next to the Emperor and gives him a brief, unexpected hug before continuing to bounce around the stage as Shanna and Davon make their entrance.
“Someone’s a bit overly enthusiastic,” Davon whispers to Shanna. She mutters under her breath, “They all are, just try not to think about it.”
She makes no effort to hide her next comment: “If you’re not enjoying it, just think of something else, it’s the same as being on the battlefield.”
Shanna steps away, distancing herself from Davon as she dances in the air, much to the delight of the crowd.
Everyone is watching Davon now.
A countless number of eyes await his next action.
They expect a display as glamorous and charismatic as the previous two.
Yesterday, Davon watched the life drain from the eyes of Republic soldiers as his daggers pierced their flesh.
Somehow, those eyes whose lives he held in his hands expected less of him than these ones now do.
Think of something else? Davon ponders Shanna’s advice.
He can’t help but wonder if that is what she does in times of battle.
Davon has never done anything like that.
He has been living in the moment his whole life.
He has come to enjoy the present. To be thankful to the Gods for it, and to be thankful for Gerry.
Davon’s thoughts are consumed by Gerry as he prances around the stage like a clown. He knows that Gerry is waiting for him when this is over. He will keep moving for him, keep fighting for him, and even if he doesn’t know how much he loves him, he’ll do everything within his power to keep him.
“Power. That’s what you’re hungry for, isn’t it?”
“Power, my lord?”
Magnus turns away from Davon.
He walks along the balcony to view the bustling street and construction crew below.
“When this Plaza is finished, it won’t just look over the city of Rome, it’ll be visible from the surrounding cities and spaceport as well. Perhaps you’ll even be able to see it from space, at least that’s what I’ll tell the public.” Magnus rests his hands on the railing.
He spreads his fingers across the strong metal lodged into hard concrete.
Davon approaches the Emperor with a sense of confused understanding.
“Did it feel good when all those people down there were applauding you?”
Davon’s skin crawls at the reminder of the claps that became an uncomfortable drumbeat of artificial adoration. The cheers and cries aren’t the same as they are on the battlefield, where he knows that his daggers are what drives such a response out of others.
Davon has become a man who values authenticity, and he is sure to tell Magnus such. “To be completely honest, my lord, if someone were to praise me, I’d prefer to look them in the eyes and know why they do such a thing.”
The emperor huffs, “I can appreciate that, but when you reach my position, it becomes difficult to see anyone as an equal, but that isn’t what you meant, is it? No, you want to know that you’re responsible for what’s in front of you. You want true power, not this false influence.”
Magnus turns around, holding himself with an authoritative elegance that seems fitting of a ruler.
He looks Davon in the eyes, “You studied religion and ancient cultures as a boy, correct?”
“Correct, lord.” Davon nods, wondering what the Emperor could possibly be getting at and why he was brought to this private meeting.
“Every religion needs its preachers, and while the government I’m building didn’t typically allow such bold expression in the previous eons, my propaganda machine strongly requires people to fight for something larger than themselves. Political motives, Idol celebrities, and delusions of grand social equality will only get us so far, Davon.”
Davon crosses his arms, addressing the Emperor’s defiant speech and posture with a certain defiance of his own that he prays hides his ignorance. “What exactly are you saying, lord?”
“Davon, I believe that I am destined for something greater than myself. There are forces in this universe that act beyond any mortal understanding, and I have longed to harness them. To discover them. Each war in human history brings with it a great period of innovation and spiritual renewal. What do you think is going to happen after this war, Davon? The exact same thing. The fact of the matter is that I have no interest in politics. I didn’t even know what communism was until one of my fellow planetary representatives gave me some old book on the subject. It was a dusty old thing. Made my nose itch. The only thing it was valuable for was in helping me form my plan to splinter from the Republic.”
“You’re implying-”
Magnus cuts off Davon’s intrusion with an unbridled enthusiasm. “I am implying nothing, Davon. The only reason I am here is because of my vision for my future, sorry, I meant for humanity’s future. We need to rise above ourselves. Rise above all the plebeians down there who mindlessly cheer for us and seize our own power. We need to evolve. I need your help, Davon. Yours and yours alone. We are kindred souls, you and I. I know because I can see it in your eyes that you want the same thing I do.”
“And what is that? What do I want?” Davon asks, hiding the fact that he has begun to tremble under the weight of Magnus’s madness.
“Something you can’t have.”