Atonement

[Vogel]

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"By concentrating on what is good in people, by appealing to their idealism and their sense of justice, and by asking them to put their faith in the future, socialists put themselves at a severe disadvantage."

Sub-lieutenant Beletsky idly flipped through windows on a datapad, feet atop the console which controlled local security systems on this deck of Star City. He had little to fear from accusations of "idleness"; if the computer detected something, it would tell him, and that would be that. Not that it ever detected much, since nobody dared lift a finger after the recent fighting resulting from the civil war.

"<Weapons discharge, Maintenance Section Theta.>"

He looked over the rim of his datapad and furrowed his brow.

"<Alert! Biosign report, Target Two One One, feed loss.>"

Impossible.

A glitch. Surely a glitch? Coalition nanobots and implants always had their quirks. It was just a mistake.

Setting the pad aside, Beletsky slapped his hands to the console and began entering commands. First on the agenda: who was tracking target Two One One? The computer instantly brought up a short dossier of a Captain Pyotr Karpol, currently assigned to oversee maintenance affairs on this deck.

The reported location was Hallway Eight, Maintenance Section Theta.

Incredible.

Suicide, perhaps? Or a simple mistake? Perhaps the good Captain left his firearm's safety off at an inopportune time? Oh, how wonderful it would be if that was the case.

But it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. It didn't take the security camera view of a bloodied, faceless corpse to establish that. No gun at its side; so much for convenience.

No matter. A deck security team had already been dispatched to the area at the automated report of a weapons discharge. They'd clear up whoever it was with the nasty temper in short order.

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They'd be here soon, he knew. What were they going to do, clean up the mess and call it a day? They might have, if he had been a Commissar.

What a system.

Just a system. A mind-numbing system of cold, calculated violence, intermixed with sheer malice and depravity. His removal from that system was probably, on the whole, beneficial.

Except he'd been placed in just another system with the same methods.

The team came through an entrance about twenty feet down the next hallway and immediately assumed a defensive position, hands on their holstered firearms.

"Halt!"

"Privet, Tovarischi," Petrovin said in a calm voice, "What seems to be the matter?"

"We... ah..." the young, blonde guard stuttered as he looked at the man's disheveled outfit, complete with epaulettes.

"Da?"

"Comrade Captain?" the guard asked, befuddled.

"Tovarisch Captain, if you will," Petrovin corrected, with the briefest smirk, "If you're going to serve in the Coalition I suggest you follow its worthy traditions."

"Of course, uh... Toe-var-ish Captain!" the guard said in a loud voice, snapping to attention. The two men behind him followed suit, clearly preferring their fearless leader to take any falls required.

Konstantin smiled, a shallow, superficial smile, and began walking towards them.

"I assume you're wondering about the weapons discharge?"

"Y-yes, I mean Da Comrade, I mean-"

"Check if you will, there's nothing to be concerned about. If you three will excuse me..."

Konstantin walked right past them and through the doorway they had just entered. None of the guards seemed compelled to ask any further questions.

Instead, they continued to their assigned destination.

"Did you see his uniform?" one of them nearly whispered.

"Like he was a guerilla fighter on Jiang Xi or something..."

"That's not standard at all, something's-"

"Don't even start, you know where questions lead."

"Well yeah, but..."

The trio rounded the next corner and stopped cold, inches from what was left of a face.

"What in the name of-"

Their leader twisted around, ripping the pistol out of his holster.

"Stop him!" he cried, shoving his way back through his compatriots.

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