It had been a long time coming, he thought as walked up the stairs to the BAF recruitment office, a very long time indeed. Turning his face skyward he took in a deep breath and steeled himself as he pushed open the doors and entered. Within the fairly small entry hall sat a little, middle-aged man occupying himself with the display of a fairly worn looking terminal. The door swung closed with an audible click and the man looked up from his work. "So, another 'un come for the honour, eh?" The recruitment officer's voice nasal and penetrating, it took an effort of will not to flinch. "What's it, then lad?", the officer continued, every syllable a nail dragged over the mental blackboard, "Speak up! I haven't got all bloody day!"
The newcomer straightened up and cleared his throat, his eyes locked on the officer's. "I'm here to join the armed forces, sir," he stated flatly, "I've come a long way for this and I'd prefer if we could dispose with the, uh, 'pleasantries'."
The officer's mouth made an odd, twisted shape like a slash in an old football and it took a moment for the newcomer to realise he was smiling. "Pleasantries, eh? Straight to the point, I like that. The Gallians certainly won't, and that makes me like it even more," the officer replied, snorting a little. "Well then, you'd best be giving me your name, age and a bloody good reason why the armed forces needs a wastrel like you, shouldn't you?" "Richard Timothy Skene," the newcomer declared, refusing to break eye contact with the abrasive little man,"I wish to join to reclaim the honour of my family name by defending Bretonia from whatever the universe may throw at it."
The recruitment officer began to cackle, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Honour, is it?," he asked, when the laughter subsided, "what would a wet-behind-the ears like you know about honour?"
Skene's eyes blazed as he placed his hands upon the desk and leaned closer to the officer. "My family fled during the Kusari incursions," he spat, "My father, an armed forces pilot, abandoned his post to take us with him. And, as a result, hundreds died as the Kusari slaughtered civilian vessels that he should have been defending. I have traveled for four years to get here, taking whatever work I could after I disowned my cowardly family."
The officer shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair and Skene straighened up. "That," he breathed, "is what I know of honour. Honour lost. Honour I will reclaim." "Well, Mr. Skene," the officer mumbled, trembling a little as he fumbled in a draw to retrieve a sheet of paper and a pen, both of which he handed to Skene, "you just fill in this - sections a through e, if you'd please - and we'll see if we can't find a space for you."
Taking the form, he finally seated himself and begad to answer the banal questionnaire, his mind fixed firmly on the thought of civilians he would - no, had to - protect.
