Reactivation
17 Mar 2021Leon Falkner
Marker DepotCarthage
March 17, 3307
Each step on the stairway of the Imperial Cutter was immaculate. Each one was precision tooled, subtly lit, and almost entirely unnecessary. A standard ladder would have sufficed, and some of the smaller ships just have a door that you can jump through onto the deck. Leon smirked at the thought of any Imperial dignitary jumping down a gangway.
As he descended to the landing deck, Leon took stock of the station around him. The immaculate white of the Gutamaya ship was strikingly out of place among the industrial vats and storage containers. He saw the deck crews hop to action, bringing fuel lines and quick repair kits over and across the enormous hull of his ship. Standing stock still among the scrum was a white-coated man with the Imperial eagle on their chest.
“Commander,” the man said. He held out a datapad and a small, plastic box. Leon took the pad and package and the man saluted, turned on a heel and dematerialized into the action of the hangar bay.
Leon opened the datapad first. It was a letter and documentation, confirming that he has been brought back from the Reserve to Active Duty within Lavingy’s Legion. Leon skimmed through the text, raising an eyebrow. Something wasn’t right. He scrolled back up again, combing through the impeccable Imperial legalese.
“... henceforth to report to the Office of Civic Office and Relations for support for the upcoming- what in the?” Leon bit out the words. He had more calls to make than he thought. With the calls coming in of more people needing to be evacuated from stations and this new ACT program, they were putting him and his new ship back on logistics support? That couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake. Leon bounded, carefully in the low-gravity of the hangar, to the hangar bay entrance. He needed to speak with someone, now.
In his rush, the package had been utterly forgotten. As he reached the door, Leon fumbled it, and the grey-white box slowly drifted end over end to the ground. Swearing, he reached down and stopped. His blood ran cold.
“TO CMDR L. FALKNER, MARKER DEPOT STATION, C.O. GOV. PECK, OCOR. LAVINGY’S LEGION
FEDERAL EXPRESS MAIL. TO BE OPENED BY THE STATED RECIPIENT ONLY UNDER PENALTY OF FEDERAL PROSECUTION” Read the package in bold, red block capitals. Underneath, printed in a stylish red ink in what must have been an actual fountain point pen was:
“Inspected and approved safe for delivery by Imperial Internal Affairs”
Wordless, Leon tore open the flaps and removed the ever-present styro-plastic packaging. Inside was a medal, bluish-grey steel and a plaque. Turning it over, the words were silver-embossed over the federation circles and stars and read the following:
“FOR YOUR WORK IN SERVING THE CITIZENS OF THE FEDERATION, YOU ARE HEREBY PRESENTED WITH THIS MEDAL AND THE HONORARY RANK OF
REAR ADMIRAL OF THE FEDERAL NAVAL AUXILIARY
PRESENTED FOR ACTIONS FOLLOWING THE NMLA TERRORIST ATTACKS, MARCH 3307”
Beneath the plaque, was a folded piece of parchment. It had the Imperial Eagle and “528” behind it as a watermark. Unfolding it, the note was succinct, precise and unsigned.
“Please see me in my office at your earliest convenience, Commander Falkner.”
Leon held the plaque, the letter and the medal in one hand. The medal was heavy, must have been real steel, or duraluminum, most likely old ship hulls. The Fed was nostalgic like that, always loved the symbolism of it. Rear Admiral was a rank attained by many Pilots Federation Commanders, but this was something his father would’ve killed to see. Commended for actions for saving lives, not taking them.
Those people in Sol were alive because of him. People that might be coming for him someday. He hadn’t thought about what he had been doing, and now he was going to get a dressing down of Imperial proportions. Leon sighed, letting the whole assortment fall in the low-g back into the box and closing the tabs again.
He made his way to the elevator, scanning his ID into a panel on the side. As the doors slid closed and the lift engaged, the sensation of weight began to return and the box felt heavier than it had before. Leon felt the weight on his shoulders increase.
He remembered an old saying, something about the devil you knew versus the devil you didn’t. He’d been dragged in front of desks before. When he crashed that company cargo ship on landing, he thought his boss would’ve popped a blood vessel. When his dad found out he’d been sneaking out onto shuttles to go planet side, he thought he’d be grounded until he was ninety. Now, he figured with a grim sense of humor, he would get to see what the Imperial flavor of the ‘you fucked up’ speech would be.
The elevators opened with a chime and a gentle hiss. Leon stepped onto the carpeted floor and very clean and efficient space of the Legion office. An attendant looked up as he arrived.
“You are expected Commander, please proceed to the door at the end of the hall.” the attendant said, gesturing behind himself.
‘You are expected.’ Something about that made Leon begin to sweat. Like the proverbial student being marched before the headmaster, Leon walked down the hall to meet whatever his fate may be.