Kaiser Kris
September 8th, 2008, 04:01 AM
Where were you in the war?
It was always the same question, asked to weary-eyed men and women in run-down taverns and seedy space stations across the galaxy. They had gone to war, most of them in their twenties, a few individuals even younger, in their late teens, as Marines, manning space stations or on starships. They came from hundreds of worlds and dozens of states, yet they had more in common with those that stayed behind on the home fronts. They were soldiers, warriors, brothers and sisters to each their comrades more than they were citizens or subjects of any power.
Two and a half billion of them served in the Great War, and three hundred million of them had died, along with about five hundred million civilians on various worlds. When the war was over, where did they go? They may have gone home, to mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children, or perhaps to promising careers in the civilian sector. About a third of them remained in peacetime militaries, many decorated with medals and promoted far past their current rank. But for many millions of them, there was nothing to go back to. Perhaps their homeworlds were on the front lines and were devastated, or perhaps they simply could not face civilian life after ten years of warfare.
For some of them, the flags they fought under were for countries that no longer existed. Many of the soldiers had no love for the successor states that followed, or any desire to forge one out of the areas which remained in chaos. So they took to the outer systems or to mercenary activities, or perhaps they signed up with massive criminal organizations, looking for a steady paycheque and the ability to escape a life they no longer recognized.
They were the Lost Generation, wandering the spaceways.
---
"Do you believe in God, Commander?"
"No, sir. I do not."
Admiral Maxmilian von Thrax, former commander of the Eighth Imperial Borussian Star Fleet, turned to regard Commander Iancu for a moment, just slightly disapproving. It seemed that ever since the War, disbelief had become an epidemic. Before the War, he remembered watching tens of thousands of men and women lustily declaring their allegiance to God, Emperor and Country. But now the Empire was a Republic, Thrax was a renegade and God, well, some days it seemed he was the last person who actually believed in Him.
"Hm. You're probably baptized and confirmed, though? Valakian Orthodox Church?" Von Thrax inquired, perhaps out of boredom, for the last few days had felt even more aimless than the rest of his postwar life. To be fighting in the service of the Imperial Fleet again, even as a mere ensign. The only thing that sustained him was a belief that he was doing his true duty, to enforce some order in a chaotic galaxy. If the Borussian Republic was unwilling to fight the pirates and insurgents, his fleet would. And should an opportunity to overthrow that already rotting democracy come- Von Thrax's modest fleet was waiting to play its part.
"... Evangelical Union Church of Borussia, sir. My father felt it would be socially advantageous." Commander Iancu replied.
"No wonder you're non-religious. The Evangelical Union was a disaster- destroying two perfectly good Christian denominations through doctrinal compromise and pork barrel politics. And now, our great Empire has fallen victim to the same processes. This Republic is a disgrace, Commander."
"Perhaps, Admiral, but almost everyone has suffered similar upheavals. There has been major social chaos and political upheaval throughout the galaxy."
"Seven Great Powers, and there's been regime change in four of them." Admiral von Thrax agreed, with a small sigh. "There are dark times ahead for all of us, I believe."
"That, sir, is something we can agree on."
"Hm." Von Thrax thought for a moment. Then he turned to Commander Iancu. "We need ammunition and maintenence. Set a course for Colmar-V. We'll stop there for forty-eight hours. Give the crew a little bit of R&R. Then we're going pirate-hunting again."
It was always the same question, asked to weary-eyed men and women in run-down taverns and seedy space stations across the galaxy. They had gone to war, most of them in their twenties, a few individuals even younger, in their late teens, as Marines, manning space stations or on starships. They came from hundreds of worlds and dozens of states, yet they had more in common with those that stayed behind on the home fronts. They were soldiers, warriors, brothers and sisters to each their comrades more than they were citizens or subjects of any power.
Two and a half billion of them served in the Great War, and three hundred million of them had died, along with about five hundred million civilians on various worlds. When the war was over, where did they go? They may have gone home, to mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, children, or perhaps to promising careers in the civilian sector. About a third of them remained in peacetime militaries, many decorated with medals and promoted far past their current rank. But for many millions of them, there was nothing to go back to. Perhaps their homeworlds were on the front lines and were devastated, or perhaps they simply could not face civilian life after ten years of warfare.
For some of them, the flags they fought under were for countries that no longer existed. Many of the soldiers had no love for the successor states that followed, or any desire to forge one out of the areas which remained in chaos. So they took to the outer systems or to mercenary activities, or perhaps they signed up with massive criminal organizations, looking for a steady paycheque and the ability to escape a life they no longer recognized.
They were the Lost Generation, wandering the spaceways.
---
"Do you believe in God, Commander?"
"No, sir. I do not."
Admiral Maxmilian von Thrax, former commander of the Eighth Imperial Borussian Star Fleet, turned to regard Commander Iancu for a moment, just slightly disapproving. It seemed that ever since the War, disbelief had become an epidemic. Before the War, he remembered watching tens of thousands of men and women lustily declaring their allegiance to God, Emperor and Country. But now the Empire was a Republic, Thrax was a renegade and God, well, some days it seemed he was the last person who actually believed in Him.
"Hm. You're probably baptized and confirmed, though? Valakian Orthodox Church?" Von Thrax inquired, perhaps out of boredom, for the last few days had felt even more aimless than the rest of his postwar life. To be fighting in the service of the Imperial Fleet again, even as a mere ensign. The only thing that sustained him was a belief that he was doing his true duty, to enforce some order in a chaotic galaxy. If the Borussian Republic was unwilling to fight the pirates and insurgents, his fleet would. And should an opportunity to overthrow that already rotting democracy come- Von Thrax's modest fleet was waiting to play its part.
"... Evangelical Union Church of Borussia, sir. My father felt it would be socially advantageous." Commander Iancu replied.
"No wonder you're non-religious. The Evangelical Union was a disaster- destroying two perfectly good Christian denominations through doctrinal compromise and pork barrel politics. And now, our great Empire has fallen victim to the same processes. This Republic is a disgrace, Commander."
"Perhaps, Admiral, but almost everyone has suffered similar upheavals. There has been major social chaos and political upheaval throughout the galaxy."
"Seven Great Powers, and there's been regime change in four of them." Admiral von Thrax agreed, with a small sigh. "There are dark times ahead for all of us, I believe."
"That, sir, is something we can agree on."
"Hm." Von Thrax thought for a moment. Then he turned to Commander Iancu. "We need ammunition and maintenence. Set a course for Colmar-V. We'll stop there for forty-eight hours. Give the crew a little bit of R&R. Then we're going pirate-hunting again."