Guild Wars

Augustus climbed out of the armored vehicle and hugged each member of his family in turn, promising them that he would come back alive. Then he waved goodbye and watched as the Mengsk Family's convoy gradually disappeared into the distance.

Only after the convoy had dwindled to a string of black dots on the horizon did Augustus drag his luggage, secured with a genetic identification lock, toward the bronze gates of the Recruitment Center.

"Sir, I take it you're here to join the glorious Federal Marine Corps," one of the Confederate Marines said, looking at Augustus with a formulaic smile.

"We fight for the Confederacy!" another soldier chimed in.

"Yes. I've passed all the tests and qualifications, and today is my first day reporting for duty. Could you tell me where I can find the recruiter?"

Augustus frowned. The bronze gates of the Recruitment Center stood open. Its grand entrance hall was decorated like an opera house, yet completely empty.

Years of war had dragged the Terran Confederacy into a quagmire. The economy was stagnating, citizens' living standards were plummeting, and enlistment had hit an all-time low—especially on Korhal, where people had long yearned for independence and deeply despised the Confederate government.

People generally believed that only hopeless social outcasts, homeless vagrants, and criminals joined the Federal Marine Corps.

"From now on, we're comrades," the Marine said. "Turn left after you enter. The fourth room. The officer's waiting for you."

Augustus nodded and was about to leave when the two Marines looked past him at a young man hurrying over. "Sir, I take it you're here to join the glorious Federal Marine Corps."

"We fight for the Confederacy!"

Augustus found it strange. The two men hadn't just said exactly the same thing; their tone was identical too. The odd feeling lingered, as if they were NPCs in a Game, programmed to say the same lines over and over.

Augustus hoped it was only his imagination.

Following the soldier's directions, Augustus passed through the entrance and hall and entered a long corridor. He found his recruiter in Recruitment Office 404.

The recruiter, dressed in a dark blue uniform and wearing a gold Medal of Valor on his chest, was a young officer. The insignia on his chest showed that he was a lieutenant. He had a pair of piercing blue eyes, neat blond hair, and a scar at the corner of one eye that was easy to miss.

The Confederate officer had been watching Augustus ever since he entered the room. After taking the dossier, its cover adorned with the Confederate emblem, the lieutenant flipped through it and put it away. "The second son of the famous Senator Angus Mengsk, a top student at Sterling Academy. On Korhal, that's practically a pass into government, major interstellar corporations, and megacorporations."

"To be honest, you're the first noble I've seen enlist. Korhal isn't like Tarsonis. Few nobles here follow the old tradition of sending their children into the military."

"What made you give up such a bright future to become an ordinary Marine?" He looked at Augustus as he asked.

"To protect all of humanity," Augustus said with a shrug.

"Mr. Augustus Mengsk, I promise you won't regret joining the Federal Marine Corps. For a long time, we've traveled through the vast Sea of Stars, exploring one mysterious, unknown world after another. We fight alien beasts, Kel-Morians, and Umojans, protecting the people of the Outer Colonies and their precious private property." The officer nodded, apparently satisfied with Augustus's answer.

"It's a romantic and honorable profession."

"Unfortunately, when you're killing people, it's neither honorable nor romantic," Augustus said after a pause.

The officer smiled and didn't argue, but his expression soon grew serious. He cleared his throat. "Listen, kid. The Federal Marine Corps follows three principles: strength, pride, and discipline. We fight to protect the interests of all Terrans. Usually, Marines accompany the colonial Fleets, but after those shameless Kel-Morians tore up the trade agreement, we had no choice but to fight their so-called 'army,' cobbled together from miners and farmers."

"We will win this just war."

Augustus gave an awkward but polite smile. He knew how the war had started. Although the Kel-Morians had fired the first shot, the Terrans weren't exactly innocent victims forced to take up arms in self-defense.

In truth, the conflict had been ignited by the Terran Confederacy's heavy-handed tactics. The Confederate Congress had ordered the Marines to seize crystal deposits discovered by Kel-Morian prospectors, as well as private mines far from their homeworld. Large numbers of Kel-Morian mine owners and prospectors were to be hauled before courts on Confederate planets, tried under Confederate law, and then imprisoned on trumped-up charges.

Afterward, those mineral deposits were handed over to the ancient Old Families and the newly risen nobility in the Confederate Congress.

"All right. Head to the top-floor landing pad. You'll be transported aboard the latest APOD-33 transports. They're equipped with warp engines, so you'll reach the planet where the recruit training camp is located in just a few days."

The lieutenant checked his watch. "Departure is at two p.m. sharp. Your ship is number 089 of that model. The ground crew and mechanics call her the Peace Dove. Find it yourself. No one's going to point you the way."

When Augustus entered the waiting hall, only a few dozen recruits sat scattered among hundreds of seats. They hadn't changed into uniforms yet, and their clothes came in every style imaginable. Their only common feature was their youthful, energetic faces.

As he walked, Augustus discreetly observed their clothes and expressions. After all, these people might well become his comrades.

Most of them were hunched over all-in-one personal terminals that looked like mobile phones, passing the tedious wait for their ships with virtual games, e-novels, and virtual pop idols.

Augustus even recognized a classmate from middle school, but he didn't go over to greet him.

At a glance, he could tell that some of the others came from the bottom of society. They were failures in life, or the children of such people. Their clothes were made of the cheapest industrial fibers, and not one of them had a single electronic device. Most looked dejected, with vacant eyes.

"Soldiers, fall in immediately and proceed to the boarding platform through Gate Four," a gruff male voice suddenly rang out across the hall, just as Augustus was about to find somewhere to sit.

"Follow the signs on the platform to your ships. Don't wander around! Otherwise, the guards will blow the heads off you hairless jackasses!"

"Wasn't it supposed to be two o'clock?" The hall erupted into confusion. Someone rolled up his sleeve and checked his mechanical watch again and again in disbelief. Shoes scraped and scuffed against the waiting hall's tiled floor, filling it with an unpleasant squeaking sound.

Augustus hurried through the passageway toward the landing platform. As soon as he stepped out, the roar of ship engines, the howling wind, and the smell of machine oil baking in the sun hit him all at once.

As he hurried toward his ship, Augustus caught sight of many ancient ships on the verge of being scrapped, along with several battered Galaxy Jumpers.

His memories told him that the Terran Confederacy was still using transport ships decades out of date to ferry soldiers. As long as those ships didn't crash in flight or shed any critical parts, they would never be retired.

His father, Angus, had often spoken of the corruption of the Terran Confederacy's Council on Tarsonis. The Old Families that controlled the entire Confederacy through the Council owned enough wealth to fill the Andoria Trench on Korhal, yet they continued to greedily exploit the people.

Fortunately, Augustus didn't have to worry about his ship falling apart the moment it entered the subspace corridor. As his recruiter had said, the ships transporting the recruits were brand new and gleaming. At least they looked far safer than piles of scrap metal.

They'd sent out the signed contract, so everyone could read without worry.