A Blurb from the book…

     After my things were stored, the corporal took me to the mess hall for some supper. Can’t say it was an impressive meal but it also was not terrible and I was hungry. The apple pie dessert, I admit, was particularly favourable. We engaged in some idle chit-chat about where the food comes from and how it gets processed, details that didn’t interest me too much as it’s just farming and storage in aether conditioned coolers. Dougherty also went on about the formation and emergence of the Militia from the Clergy. Most commoners saw it as an inevitable outcome on the outside.

     He went on to say that the Clergy approached the Queen and her governing officials, easily convincing them the justification to become the new official church and they quickly constructed a new foundation of faith and religious justice. They publicly explained the Phantom Menace was a result of mankind’s fall from grace and the Clergy was the answer to bring the human race back into the fold of the church. Fight spirits with religion, right? People started buying in almost immediately. Suddenly it all made sense when confronted with proof of the afterlife. An easy clean sweep for the church to take power if you ask me. In a world where science and spiritualism remained separate, now had to be merged into something new. The Delegates were damfinoed from the start. I, however, always believed there was a connection. I tried to prove that spiritualism truly exists and we can make a scientific study of it. Seemed obvious to me really but religion took it in the wrong direction.

     We enjoyed an after dinner tea in silence while Dougherty went through some of his forms. I entertained my thoughts on tomorrow’s meeting while the corporal remained focused on his paperwork. Poor fellow, instead of working to get promoted he did Allister’s job while the skirt got the fancy title. I wondered how much he thought of himself if he actually enjoyed his secretarial duties. After a while, he drained his cup which must have went cold, mine had been empty for some time. He placed his cup back down on the saucer, gathered up his papers and looked at me.

     “I could use something a bit stronger, how about you, Mr. Derigo?”

     My eyebrows jumped up, “Well I’m not much of a drinker Corporal but I could sure enjoy a less military atmosphere. There’s a pub on base?”

     “Oh absolutely! The Brass Canteen. Nothing relaxes the troops more than a drink and a stool to forget your troubles upon. The Militia limits the consumption amount per soldier though – to some degree.”

     “Of course they do.” I wasn’t wasting another minute and neither was he. We left the mess hall after depositing our dishes in the bins by the kitchen and stepped outside into brisker air. The sun sunk out of sight while we dined  and there wasn’t much of a moon to speak of. The stars could barely be seen beyond the countless aether lamps spread over the grounds. We strolled towards a particularly bright structure that, judging by the music erupting from within, must be the pub. Perhaps a stiff ale in a quiet corner to finish the day.

     The first thing that caught my eye about the establishment was the sign on the outside of the building. It was the most interesting I’ve seen to date and the most original. I had to make a mental note to speak with its creator. It wasn’t the typical wood or metal sign that littered everywhere else. This seemed to be made of light. The closer we approached the more I was able to clarify my suspicions. Indeed, they encased a gaseous mixture inside tubes of glass then shaped the glass into words. Quite remarkable, I must admit. How they were able to maintain a sufficient temperature to bend glass and form it into letters, how they pumped the gas into it and keep the pressure consistent then to keep the light smooth and continuous but there it was before me, ‘The Brass Canteen’ in bright yellow and green and a shaped metal model of a canteen hanging above the large bay door. It struck me then that this building must have been a repurposed airship hangar. Airships… also something I needed to investigate.

     Dougherty opened the regular door framed within the bay door and let me enter first. I was partly expecting more pale green to reflect the military decor but I was surprised by the thought that went into the establishment’s overall aesthetic. It didn’t take up the entire hangar but the space it occupied was fitted with tables and booths, the seats of which were of rich, red velvet. The bar was a square of counters surrounding a large pillar of bottles holding a vast array of liquors and a couple of massive barrels of ale on one end. Everything was made of wood to give the impression of a medieval tavern, complete with metal goblets and wood or clay tankards. Perhaps the design was to provide an air of fantasy for the soldiers to forget the cold, metal reality for a while. The bar maids all wore similar gowns, simple in design with an apron in the front to help complete the look and they even had the low, open front to fill out the cleavage. The ceiling of the hangar was high, painted dark and dotted with smaller lights and on the back of the big doors was painted to depict an old cottage in the woods beside a stream and surrounded by trees. The more steps I took, the more I was able to forget I was on Militia grounds at all – decorating goals achieved. As did the many patrons here for they laughed and drank and acted not in accordance of having structure and decorum in mind in the least.

     Dougherty led me to a table which seemed like a very specific table the way he insisted. We sat and as I continued to take in the sights his eyes were already set on a target and then I understood. A server girl placed some mugs on a table and glanced over with a smile. The corporal waved and I could count every tooth in his head, except for the missing molar on the top left, second from the back.

     She came directly over, “The usual, Dougal?” she asked.

     “Yes ma’am. Same as always, Eva.”

     “Dougal?” I asked, couldn’t help it, “Your name is Dougal Dougherty?”

     The corporal’s smile faded. “Yes. Named after my grandfather, accomplished great things in his time. Something wrong?”

     “No, just confirming. You didn’t make that point earlier.” I believed my tone might have set them off a bit.

     “And what will you be having, Sir? We do have a nice honey mead, might sweeten you up a bit.” Eva asked me with far less smile.

     “Don’t be hasty Lass, I meant nothing by it.” Smarmy little one…

     “Douglas here is the kindest man on base.” She smiled at him again.

     “I have no doubt. A tall ale will suffice.”

     Eva turned for the bar to get our order with another glare at me. Then I immediately heard what I was sure should have been footsteps according to their pace but they sounded much heavier, as though someone was smashing metal on wood.

     “Oi lads!” came an exceptionally boisterous voice. “There wouldn’ be any problems here would there? Couldn’ help but over ‘ear as I was standing at me spot by the bar there, this gent wouldn’ be insulting our Eva, would ‘e, Duggy?”

     I had no intention of insulting anyone nor had I any intention of anything but a cool ale and some peaceful downtime but it didn’t seem to be going that way. “I assure you there was no insult given, just a question about the corporal’s first name and a simple order of a tall ale.”

     The words left me just then. No, they were obliterated from my mind altogether as I turned in my chair and looked upon my accuser. There was some left over bits that were still man but the rest had been replaced with brass, gears, hoses and glowing bits of stuff under glass that I could not readily recognize at a short glance. This body was more automaton than man and I could tell he once was a large, dark-skinned man with his round face under his dark and bushy friendly mutton chops and massive remaining hand. I could not help myself but to look him over. He left arm was gone, as was his right leg, hip and a fair chunk of his abdomen. Also replaced was his left leg from the knee down, the two smaller fingers on his right hand, and his back must have housed the power source and possibly the heater for the steam combustion chamber from the bulging under his clothes. Someone had the gumption to make the machine parts of him even bigger than his body and it made him look monstrous. I wondered what he did when he encountered a door he could not pass through. I was confident his deep blue eyes spoke of kindness  but at that time they intimidated me greatly. The shear size of him was just down-right threatening.