The wind howled around him, a starved animal trying desperately to break into the building and grip it with its cold embrace. Commander Lance Alarum could feel that cold, even through the insulating bubble that encased the terrace. Even the filtered air was cold up here, whereas at the lower levels of the Aranov Tower it had been stale and warm.
Lance shivered and for the first time that day he was grateful for the ceremonial uniform he wore. Mora was a city with a perfect climate but even that hadn't stopped him from cooking in his thick uniform as he sat on the dais with the sun beating down mercilessly while two dozen officers went on about him and his ship and the Consectorate. Yet now that he had left the square where his inauguration had taken place and arrived at the topmost level of the Tower, he was grateful for the clothes and the warmth they offered.
Seeing that he would be alone for a while, Lance sat on one of the red sofas and stared out of the bubble as night set in and the lights of Mora lit up. The bubble was as transparent as air and he could make out the city's skyscrapers and streets in sharp detail. Aranov's Tower was the tallest building in the entire city and he was at its very top: even with a dozen smaller skyscrapers blocking the view, he could see most of the city from here. The river, the streets, the parks further on. Some people would have been breathless at the sight of it, but Lance had always had more of a liking for the open country than packed cities. That, and the strategic part of his mind screamed at the sight.
"Too damn vulnerable," he murmured as he pictured a zerg invasion hitting the city, or protoss fleet obliterating it from orbit.
"Oh, indeed." a voice said from behind him. Lance bolted upright and turned around to face... but I never heard him enter.
Lord Domovoi Aranov stood before him, dressed in his customary blue and silver uniform, though he looked far more comfortable in it than Lance felt in his. The only thing that looked out of place on the leader of the Aranov Consectorate were his gloves: the black did not fit in well with the rest of the uniform. The commander knelt before the lord.
"Rise," Lord Aranov said, in a tone of voice that hinted at resigned annoyance. Lance had heard that the Lord of the Consectorate despised formality and courtesies but this was the first time he truly believed it. At his inauguration, Aranov had been nothing short of the perfect lord, praising everyone and bowing to no one. Lance rose.
"Sit," Lord Aranov commanded. Lance sat. Aranov took a seat opposite him. There was a long glass table between them and Aranov placed a small holograph display on it but made no move to turn it on.
"I must congratulate you, Commander Alarum," Lord Aranov said as he made himself comfortable on his seat.
"I believe you already did, my lord," Lance answered. There had been more congratulations earlier that day than he would need in an entire lifetime.
"On your promotion. Now I am congratulating you on your first command."
"On my first-" Lance's words caught in his throat. His first command? So soon? For a second he thought Aranov was joking, but then he remembered there was a 'Lord' before that Aranov. And those eyes did not look like they were joking.
"Sir," he said, choosing to keep his quiet. His lord studied him for a long while, eyes never wavering, barely blinking. Lance returned the stare as best as he could but soon found his eyes wondering. He looked at the table, then at the city. It was fully night now and the city was bright with traffic and apartment lights. Lord Aranov's gaze followed his.
"You are not entirely wrong in what you say. Mora is vulnerable, that is true, but vulnerability is the cost of prosperity. And it is not as defenseless as you may think. Its skyscrapers are as fortified as any battlecruiser and boast almost as much weaponry and some of them hide shield pylons. Its underground tunnels are vast and organized, its power grid decentralized and difficult to shut down.
"All a waste, really. If any of its defenses are ever put to the test, it will be because the war is already lost. Because-"
"I am the shield and wall," Lance blurted out. They were words from the officer's vow, the one he had sworn once when he was assigned to the Manta, and again earlier today, when he was made commander. He didn't know why he had said the words but they seemed to amuse Lord Aranov. A smile crept across the man's face.
"You and many others. There used to be a time when even the most common recruit said those words. Now it's only officers. Most of them just say them as part of the ceremony - empty words. A few others really mean them. But I've never heard someone say the Vow with as much doubt as you did today, commander Alarum. General Wray tells me you had difficulty confirming your promotion."
Lance bit his lip, trying to think of something to say. He had signed the form in the end and that had put an end to his doubts... for a day. Then they had returned, stronger than before, gnawing at him day and night. He had been raised to become a commander, yet he had never been so unsure of something his whole life. He shrugged. Aranov took that as a sign to continue.
"It is not your capability that worries you. You are the best cadet we have had in... a very, very long time. You proved your worth on the Manta and countless battle exercises before that. You did not learn to command: you knew how to do so from the very beginning. The Academy was just a way to refine your talent. You yourself might not think so, but deep down you know that I'm right. You are capable.
"And even if you aren't, what of it? Worse commanders have come before you, worse men. Once upon a time they would have remained commanders, leeching off of the Consectorate and ravaging its forces from the inside out. No more. If an officer fails me, I make sure he doesn't continue doing so for long, one way or another.
"But that's beside the point.Something is worrying you, and it's not doubt regarding your skill. Care to guess what it is?"
Lance stared. Aranov was wrong. Every night for the past year, and even before that, the thoughts gnawed at his mind as he drifted of to sleep: Am I really good enough? What if I fail? Do I rise too fast?. Even daylight and human company brought no respite from the anxiety. His worries were there, at first in the eyes of his teachers and fellow students, then in those of his superiors and subordinates: envy, disdain, hatred, mistrust. They said he was a prodigy and yet most everyone didn't seem to believe it, so why should he?
And yet Lord Aranov's words rang true. It was no accident that he had risen so quickly in the Academy. At the very beginning he had been set apart from his older colleagues, spying their mistakes and punishing them, at first in the simulations and then in the mock battles. He was better than them, but it took a long time for them to accept that, and even then their respect was bitter and grudging. Was that what he feared?
"I don't doubt my... capability. But that won't be true of my crew and other captains. How can I command those who look at their commander and see a kid?" he said.
Aranov just shrugged. "Gaining the trust and respect of one's crew is as much a part of command as strategy and tactics. It is a challenge, but not a reason to doubt your decision."
Lance bit his lip. Lord Aranov talked as if he knew exactly what was troubling him, even though Lance himself didn't. In that case, I'll let him tell me, he thought. He shrugged.
"It's because you're not sure if command is what you want," the lord said.
"What I want?" Lance was taken aback. From the beginning he had been taught that his wants did not come into it. First it was his father, telling him that the family was relying on him, then it was the professors and officers telling him the Consectorate was relying on him. You leave the wanting to the civilians and soldiers. Officers are made of tougher stuff, he remembered one of them saying. Or had that been all of them? "What I want does not factor into it. Into this." he answered. Lord Aranov laughed. A real laugh, the likes of which he hadn't heard in a while.
"What you want is the only thing that factors into it. Tell me, Commander Alarum, have you ever been to school?"
Lance narrowed his eyes. Was the man joking?
"I spent my entire life in school, my lord," he answered. Aranov waved a dismissive hand.
"In institutions. In the Academy. I'm talking about a real school, with other kids your age. Dumber kids, but actual kids, not the people you've spent your life besting. So? Have you ever been to school?"
"No, my lord."
"Have you ever walked the lower levels of the city, bought your own food, driven your own car, thought about the next bill or meal instead of the next invasion? Has your noble ass ever sat on a public shuttle?"
Lance was smart enough to know Lord Aranov was getting at something important, and more than smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The Lord of the Consectorate went on.
"Most of my officers do their jobs for the money or the reputation. They want to retire rich, or famous enough that their wealth doesn't matter. Others do it out of blind loyalty, and that's only slightly better. They give their years to the Consectorate, not their lives, see the military as a career rather than service. They call themselves soldiers but they're civilians at heart, working instead of serving and never giving up the other life. They do it because they want something out of it, and that is wrong."
"And what is right?"
Lord Aranov rose and gestured in a circle at the city that could be seen all around them.
"That is right. You are the wall and shield, you said. Those words mean something. They make you a protector. The point of the military is to protect, to serve. As a commander, you fight so others can get something out of it, not you. As a soldier you must live to serve, and to do that you must give up the civilian life.
"This is more than true for you: you have never tasted what it's like to live the common life and if you forego the opportunity to do so now, you never will, mark my words. So it really does come down to what you want. Do you want the life of the soldier? Of serving and protecting, killing and dying, fighting or waiting to fight? Because I assure you, that is all you will get out of it.
"Or do you want the life of the civilian that I described for you earlier? You don't know, of course, because you've never tasted either. But I will be honest. The civilians have it ten times easier than we do, and they get to make use of that, too. What will it be then?"
He is letting me bail out, Lance realized, shocked. He looked into Domovoi Aranov's stern face and for the first time he saw a man instead of the distant lord seen on the holos.
"That can't be right. If it comes down to what we want, everyone would choose to be a civilian... or a bad soldier."
Aranov grinned.
"Why else do you think we have a thousand of those for every good commander? But what you say is true, in a way. Why choose the hard way if we want life to be easy? And my only answer to that is that we don't always know what we want. I myself didn't know for a while. But then this happened." Lord Aranov took hold of one of his gloves and pulled it off, revealing a scarred and burnt hand beneath. Lance kept down a gasp.
Everyone knew that Domovoi Aranov burnt his hands saving a woman from a fire, but the general opinion was that the damage had since then been fixed. No one wanted burned hands. And yet the lord of the Consectorate had them: their skin was wrinkled and reddish, anything but lordly to look upon.
"I burnt my hands to save a life and since then I knew that that was all I ever wanted to do with my life. Saving lives, I mean, not burning my hands. That is what told me what I want. You might have a similar experience, though what it tells you may not be the same."
Lance thought of a certain ship and a certain boy who had saved its crew from a pirate raid. A fond smile came to his face and he opened his mouth to speak but Aranov silenced him.
"I don't need to know. I can see the conviction in your eyes. Don't get too happy. It'll be gone by tomorrow. You won't really know until you've actually done it time and time again and even then you'll doubt yourself. But don't worry. This'll do for now. Onto business then."
Aranov donned the glove again, and with it he donned his title. The man whom Lance had briefly seen was gone, replaced by the lord of the Consectorate again. Domovoi touched the holographics display he had brought with him and it lit up to show a star system.
"This is the Naran system." Lord Aranov said and zoomed in on one planet - Ekson. "As you see, a relatively even amount of Outsiders and Coalition forces are currently present."
Lance was about to correct Aranov's false statement when he realized it was not so false - It might be six on five with planetery defence cannons on the side of the six, but the Outsider Flagships sheer firepower and the lack of weapons on the Tirion ship evened it up.
"A number of Outsider ships have been noticed moving around Coalition territory, spotted around Fyrd, but their destination was unknown. They could be heading for Naran, or Naran itself may just be a distraction and they could be targetting something more important, like Tennos or Magraia. We simply lack the information necessary to prepare well. We've decided to assemble a capable quick response fleet, and you're the one in charge of it.
"The Auruleans and Quantum Legion have sent a ship each, which are already in orbit, but if you want to replace them with other ships feel free to. In addition to the new ship you will be commanding and the two I already mentioned, you'll be allowed to bring one more ship with you. I can make a Patrol or one of our Standard ships available to you. Go over any reports and other documents you need to educate yourself about your enemy and the situation, then decide on what forces you will want to bring and let General Wray know.
"And don't forget to read up on your potential allies. The Magrathean-Tirion Collective in charge of the Naran situation highly values its independence from us, so as Lord of the Aranov Consectorate I am telling you that you should respect that independence. As one of the main Coalition Strategists, I am telling you to do whatever necessary."
"Yes, sir." Lance said and rose to go, feeling that he had been dismissed.
"Oh, and one more thing, Commander." Lord Aranov said as Lance turned around to leave.
"Yes, my lord?" Lance asked, turning back.
"There has been a change concerning the name of your ship."
"A change, my lord?" Lance was confused. Why change the name of a ship?
"Yes. It is brand new and has yet to lift off so I saw no problem in changing its name. Your own lord father petitioned the change and I agreed. After all, your family invested a lot of money in its construction."
Somewhere in the back of Lance's head, a thousand alarm bells began to ring at once. He felt his throat tighten and his stomach churn.
"Ah. What is the new name, if I may... what is my ship called now?" he managed to ask, though he dreaded the reply. Knowing his father...
"Why, it is named after your own family, commander," Lord Aranov tapped at the display and it shifted to show a battlecruiser, the words "Alarum" painted along its hull. Lance's heart sank.
Gaining the respect and loyalty of the crew as a noble far too young to be a commander would be hard. But doing it with a ship named after his family would be impossible: nothing would make his future men think he hadn't bought his way into the military. His father was too arrogant to see it that way, but Lance was not.
"My lord, I think it best if-" he started, but then he saw the look on Lord Aranov's face: cold, distant, studying him intently. He knows. Of course he knows. He's Lord Aranov.
Lance got the feeling that the name was more Aranov's idea than his father's. What was it the lord had said? Gaining the trust and respect of one's crew is as much a part of command as strategy and tactics.
Despite himself, Lance Alarum found himself smiling.
"I am glad not everyone takes me for a faultless prodigy," he said, turned around and left.
SoA
Lance Alarum is inaugurated as commander of the Alarum and has a chat with Lord Domovoi Aranov.
The Coalitions new Rapid Response Fleet, led by Lance Alarum, leaves towards a point halfway between the Dinari, Naran and Magrathea systems. 3 ICs travel time. (2 Hexes away from Naran, 3 from Dinari and Magrathea)
The Fleet consists of: One Quantum Legion ship, One Aurulean Special Operations ship, One Aranov Patrol and the Alarum.
Lance Alarum stared at the scanner on the table in front of him, his mind far removed from the room and the matter at hand. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the device. Such a small thing, to tell him who he was, to bind him...
The clearing of a throat interrupted his thoughts and his attention shifted from the scanner to the man sitting on the other side of the table. Wray was his name. General Wray.
"Your signature is required for the promotion to come into effect, major," the General said, not for the first time that day.
Lance nodded, smiled, then frowned. His attention wandered away from the man and the table, and he found himself looking around the room. Not that there was much to see. Grey, bland walls, a single shut screen, a spare chair. It was clearly not meant to be used for as long as he had been in it. And yet he did not care. He kept his quiet, letting the silence fall over them, like a mantle.
It lasted for a full five minutes before it was broken by the steady drumming of General Wray's fingers on the table. Lance looked up at the man's stern faced and stared into his eyes. The drumming stoped. General Wray stared back, his face a blank mask, betraying none of the irritation others would surely show after this much of a wait.
Lance had to admire the man's patience: it was the only thing driving him crazier than the choice he faced. They had been in the room for almost an hour now, waiting for him to sign the form, to confirm his promotion to commander - the youngest ever - but he hadn't shown the slightest sign of doing so. It would take less than a minute: all he had to do was slip his finger into the scanner and it would be done: fingerprint, DNA, blood and it was over, confirmed. Others in his position would have done it in the blink of an eye: the rank of commander came with great honor, and an even greater paycheck.
But Lance and General Wray had been there for far longer than a minute. Both of them knew that something needed to be discussed but neither of them seemed eager to start, preferring the silence.
So be it, Lance thought, I'd rather confess than complain and that means speaking second, even if I'm saying the exact same thing.
Another five minutes went by, their eyes never parting, barely blinking. At last, when Lance felt like he would rather scream than keep staring at General Wray's dim blue eyes, the silence was broken by a rhythmic digital beeping. Wray's eyes tore away from his and he looked down at the personal computer strapped to his arm.
"It would seem I am sorely needed elsewhere, major. An urgent matter, I am told. No doubt the zerg are invading." the bearest hint of a smile played on the general's lips, yet Lance knew he wasn't joking, not entirely. He was wasting his time and a general's time was important. Allegedly. Lance shifted uncomfortably in his seat but did not reply.
"Major Alarum, I have the feeling you are not entirely willing to accept your promotion," the general said. Their eyes locked again. For a few seconds. Then Lance sighed and looked down at the table.
"I believe you are right, sir," he answered after a while.
"Why?" Wray shot right back, his voice laced with surprise.
You know why, Lance thought. "A few reasons," he said instead. He hated the way the general was playing dumb with him, dragging the information out of him. Hell, he hated the reason he was here. The Command for promoting him, the Academy for teaching him, his goddamn pa- He stopped there, aware that emotion was showing on his face. Wray watched him, his face blank, waiting for a response.
"I am nineteen," Lance said bluntly.
Wray made a show of looking down at his computer and tapping at it.
"I know," he answered. Lance almost growled. But then he saw an opening.
"And so will my crew. And anyone I work with," he said.
"Is that a problem?"
"I am not sure. What do you think, general?" That got him. His mouth closed and he stared at him, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, he started slowly.
"I... don't see why it would be."
"Truly? Would you serve and obey a teenager, general?"
"If he or she was a capable commander, I would, yes."
"And if you did not know?"
"I would attempt to find out."
"And if you found out he -or she- was an incapable commander?" Lance expected another irritating reply, but for once the general seemed to take him seriously. He sighed and steepled his fingers.
"Major Alarum, our military academies are the best in the Coalition. Anyone who graduates from them, especially from the Zagrov Academy of War, is more likely to be a zerg than incapable."
Lance snorted. "In the end, yes. After years of experience. But I don't have that."
The general again made a show of checking his computer.
"You must be mistaken. It clearly states here that you spent eight months aboard the Manta."
"That was a glorified cargo ship. Two guns don't make a battlecruiser."
"Making what you did to those outlaws even more remarkable."
Lance had to bite back his response to that. The general was right there. It was hard to ignore how he had defeated twenty would-be raiders with nothing more than four marines and a few crates at his disposal. And wits, another part of him said. Don't forget the wits.
"One battle doesn't win a war. Nor does one victory make a commander," he said defiantly. General Wray finally sighed at that. He parted his hands and rested them on the table.
"Mr. Alarum," he began, "do you think that the three hundred billion we invest annually into our military training institutions is wasted? Do you think we use it all on parties and ceremonies? Do you think you spent four years in our best academy not being prepared?"
Lance was about to reply but the general silenced him with a quick motion of his right hand.
"No, you listen, major. What do you think we are? The incompetent morons you see in holos? The zerg invasion ended four years ago, not four decades ago. We haven't become soft, not yet. Because the zerg are still out there, waiting. We don't know what they're waiting for but we know they'll come again. And it's up to us to face them. And guess what? We can't do it alone. We need every soldier, every ship and every brilliant commander we can get our hands on. Not just us, all of humanity. The protoss too, damn them. So now here's your choice: either you sign this bloody form and take the responsibility that would be forced on you if it were up to me, or quit and get out of my sight. But whatever you choose, please quit wasting my time."
Lance stared at the general... and signed.
That was a week ago...
SoA: Lance Alarum is promoted to commander... two weeks ago. Intro post. Srry it took so long
Born to the noble house of Alarum, Lance was expected (and forced) to pursue a career in the Consectorate's military, much like his older brother, Alexander, and sister, Natasha. However, he was not expected to power through his schooling and join the prestigous Zagrov Academy of War at a pace that made his brother - and most every other cadet - look like a toddler learning how to walk.
At age 14, he was the youngest ever person to enroll in the academy. At age 18, the youngest ever to graduate. And at age 19, following eight months of service, he is the youngest ever commander in the history of the Consectorate's military.
While the more envious of his peers (and superiors) like to attribute his success to nothing more than the wealth and influence of his family, anyone who knows him is aware of the truth: Lance Alarum was born to command, and while he still lacks the experience needed to do so effectively, it is only a matter of time before his near-unprecedented talent can be put to full use.
However, few are able to look past Lance's brilliance and see the unprepared adult within: he is a person with a mind, and like any other mind, he is able to doubt, admire, hate...
Name: Cassandra
Last Name: Argel
Identification: M-094
Age: 25
Codename: Emily
Pacification method: Partial brainwash.
Status: Assigned to Aranov "Alarum" battlecruiser as second-in-command (NOTE: First official assignment). Commander: Lance Alarum.
Implants: WLO-3
MRA
OSL-9
Details (60 points):
Snipe(25 energy+5 energy/sec): Snipes a single target for 50 damage. Can choose to charge ability, spending an additional 5 energy per sec and gaining an additional 15 damage per second. Maxmimum 200 damage and 75 energy cos after 10 second charge up.
Range: 12
A bulky but maneuverable battlecruiser recently "donated" to the Aranov Consectorate by the Alarum family. The shiny behemoth has been placed under Lance Alarum's command, though its crew was brought in from other areas of the military and is not completely new.
0
I apologize for the extremely long delay. This post has been coming together very slowly.
0
Mora, Planet zagrov, Dinari System
The wind howled around him, a starved animal trying desperately to break into the building and grip it with its cold embrace. Commander Lance Alarum could feel that cold, even through the insulating bubble that encased the terrace. Even the filtered air was cold up here, whereas at the lower levels of the Aranov Tower it had been stale and warm.
Lance shivered and for the first time that day he was grateful for the ceremonial uniform he wore. Mora was a city with a perfect climate but even that hadn't stopped him from cooking in his thick uniform as he sat on the dais with the sun beating down mercilessly while two dozen officers went on about him and his ship and the Consectorate. Yet now that he had left the square where his inauguration had taken place and arrived at the topmost level of the Tower, he was grateful for the clothes and the warmth they offered.
Seeing that he would be alone for a while, Lance sat on one of the red sofas and stared out of the bubble as night set in and the lights of Mora lit up. The bubble was as transparent as air and he could make out the city's skyscrapers and streets in sharp detail. Aranov's Tower was the tallest building in the entire city and he was at its very top: even with a dozen smaller skyscrapers blocking the view, he could see most of the city from here. The river, the streets, the parks further on. Some people would have been breathless at the sight of it, but Lance had always had more of a liking for the open country than packed cities. That, and the strategic part of his mind screamed at the sight.
"Too damn vulnerable," he murmured as he pictured a zerg invasion hitting the city, or protoss fleet obliterating it from orbit.
"Oh, indeed." a voice said from behind him. Lance bolted upright and turned around to face... but I never heard him enter.
Lord Domovoi Aranov stood before him, dressed in his customary blue and silver uniform, though he looked far more comfortable in it than Lance felt in his. The only thing that looked out of place on the leader of the Aranov Consectorate were his gloves: the black did not fit in well with the rest of the uniform. The commander knelt before the lord.
"Rise," Lord Aranov said, in a tone of voice that hinted at resigned annoyance. Lance had heard that the Lord of the Consectorate despised formality and courtesies but this was the first time he truly believed it. At his inauguration, Aranov had been nothing short of the perfect lord, praising everyone and bowing to no one. Lance rose.
"Sit," Lord Aranov commanded. Lance sat. Aranov took a seat opposite him. There was a long glass table between them and Aranov placed a small holograph display on it but made no move to turn it on.
"I must congratulate you, Commander Alarum," Lord Aranov said as he made himself comfortable on his seat.
"I believe you already did, my lord," Lance answered. There had been more congratulations earlier that day than he would need in an entire lifetime.
"On your promotion. Now I am congratulating you on your first command."
"On my first-" Lance's words caught in his throat. His first command? So soon? For a second he thought Aranov was joking, but then he remembered there was a 'Lord' before that Aranov. And those eyes did not look like they were joking.
"Sir," he said, choosing to keep his quiet. His lord studied him for a long while, eyes never wavering, barely blinking. Lance returned the stare as best as he could but soon found his eyes wondering. He looked at the table, then at the city. It was fully night now and the city was bright with traffic and apartment lights. Lord Aranov's gaze followed his.
"You are not entirely wrong in what you say. Mora is vulnerable, that is true, but vulnerability is the cost of prosperity. And it is not as defenseless as you may think. Its skyscrapers are as fortified as any battlecruiser and boast almost as much weaponry and some of them hide shield pylons. Its underground tunnels are vast and organized, its power grid decentralized and difficult to shut down.
"All a waste, really. If any of its defenses are ever put to the test, it will be because the war is already lost. Because-"
"I am the shield and wall," Lance blurted out. They were words from the officer's vow, the one he had sworn once when he was assigned to the Manta, and again earlier today, when he was made commander. He didn't know why he had said the words but they seemed to amuse Lord Aranov. A smile crept across the man's face.
"You and many others. There used to be a time when even the most common recruit said those words. Now it's only officers. Most of them just say them as part of the ceremony - empty words. A few others really mean them. But I've never heard someone say the Vow with as much doubt as you did today, commander Alarum. General Wray tells me you had difficulty confirming your promotion."
Lance bit his lip, trying to think of something to say. He had signed the form in the end and that had put an end to his doubts... for a day. Then they had returned, stronger than before, gnawing at him day and night. He had been raised to become a commander, yet he had never been so unsure of something his whole life. He shrugged. Aranov took that as a sign to continue.
"It is not your capability that worries you. You are the best cadet we have had in... a very, very long time. You proved your worth on the Manta and countless battle exercises before that. You did not learn to command: you knew how to do so from the very beginning. The Academy was just a way to refine your talent. You yourself might not think so, but deep down you know that I'm right. You are capable.
"And even if you aren't, what of it? Worse commanders have come before you, worse men. Once upon a time they would have remained commanders, leeching off of the Consectorate and ravaging its forces from the inside out. No more. If an officer fails me, I make sure he doesn't continue doing so for long, one way or another.
"But that's beside the point.Something is worrying you, and it's not doubt regarding your skill. Care to guess what it is?"
Lance stared. Aranov was wrong. Every night for the past year, and even before that, the thoughts gnawed at his mind as he drifted of to sleep: Am I really good enough? What if I fail? Do I rise too fast?. Even daylight and human company brought no respite from the anxiety. His worries were there, at first in the eyes of his teachers and fellow students, then in those of his superiors and subordinates: envy, disdain, hatred, mistrust. They said he was a prodigy and yet most everyone didn't seem to believe it, so why should he?
And yet Lord Aranov's words rang true. It was no accident that he had risen so quickly in the Academy. At the very beginning he had been set apart from his older colleagues, spying their mistakes and punishing them, at first in the simulations and then in the mock battles. He was better than them, but it took a long time for them to accept that, and even then their respect was bitter and grudging. Was that what he feared?
"I don't doubt my... capability. But that won't be true of my crew and other captains. How can I command those who look at their commander and see a kid?" he said.
Aranov just shrugged. "Gaining the trust and respect of one's crew is as much a part of command as strategy and tactics. It is a challenge, but not a reason to doubt your decision."
Lance bit his lip. Lord Aranov talked as if he knew exactly what was troubling him, even though Lance himself didn't. In that case, I'll let him tell me, he thought. He shrugged.
"It's because you're not sure if command is what you want," the lord said.
"What I want?" Lance was taken aback. From the beginning he had been taught that his wants did not come into it. First it was his father, telling him that the family was relying on him, then it was the professors and officers telling him the Consectorate was relying on him. You leave the wanting to the civilians and soldiers. Officers are made of tougher stuff, he remembered one of them saying. Or had that been all of them? "What I want does not factor into it. Into this." he answered. Lord Aranov laughed. A real laugh, the likes of which he hadn't heard in a while.
"What you want is the only thing that factors into it. Tell me, Commander Alarum, have you ever been to school?"
Lance narrowed his eyes. Was the man joking?
"I spent my entire life in school, my lord," he answered. Aranov waved a dismissive hand.
"In institutions. In the Academy. I'm talking about a real school, with other kids your age. Dumber kids, but actual kids, not the people you've spent your life besting. So? Have you ever been to school?"
"No, my lord."
"Have you ever walked the lower levels of the city, bought your own food, driven your own car, thought about the next bill or meal instead of the next invasion? Has your noble ass ever sat on a public shuttle?"
Lance was smart enough to know Lord Aranov was getting at something important, and more than smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The Lord of the Consectorate went on.
"Most of my officers do their jobs for the money or the reputation. They want to retire rich, or famous enough that their wealth doesn't matter. Others do it out of blind loyalty, and that's only slightly better. They give their years to the Consectorate, not their lives, see the military as a career rather than service. They call themselves soldiers but they're civilians at heart, working instead of serving and never giving up the other life. They do it because they want something out of it, and that is wrong."
"And what is right?"
Lord Aranov rose and gestured in a circle at the city that could be seen all around them.
"That is right. You are the wall and shield, you said. Those words mean something. They make you a protector. The point of the military is to protect, to serve. As a commander, you fight so others can get something out of it, not you. As a soldier you must live to serve, and to do that you must give up the civilian life.
"This is more than true for you: you have never tasted what it's like to live the common life and if you forego the opportunity to do so now, you never will, mark my words. So it really does come down to what you want. Do you want the life of the soldier? Of serving and protecting, killing and dying, fighting or waiting to fight? Because I assure you, that is all you will get out of it.
"Or do you want the life of the civilian that I described for you earlier? You don't know, of course, because you've never tasted either. But I will be honest. The civilians have it ten times easier than we do, and they get to make use of that, too. What will it be then?"
He is letting me bail out, Lance realized, shocked. He looked into Domovoi Aranov's stern face and for the first time he saw a man instead of the distant lord seen on the holos.
"That can't be right. If it comes down to what we want, everyone would choose to be a civilian... or a bad soldier."
Aranov grinned.
"Why else do you think we have a thousand of those for every good commander? But what you say is true, in a way. Why choose the hard way if we want life to be easy? And my only answer to that is that we don't always know what we want. I myself didn't know for a while. But then this happened." Lord Aranov took hold of one of his gloves and pulled it off, revealing a scarred and burnt hand beneath. Lance kept down a gasp.
Everyone knew that Domovoi Aranov burnt his hands saving a woman from a fire, but the general opinion was that the damage had since then been fixed. No one wanted burned hands. And yet the lord of the Consectorate had them: their skin was wrinkled and reddish, anything but lordly to look upon.
"I burnt my hands to save a life and since then I knew that that was all I ever wanted to do with my life. Saving lives, I mean, not burning my hands. That is what told me what I want. You might have a similar experience, though what it tells you may not be the same."
Lance thought of a certain ship and a certain boy who had saved its crew from a pirate raid. A fond smile came to his face and he opened his mouth to speak but Aranov silenced him.
"I don't need to know. I can see the conviction in your eyes. Don't get too happy. It'll be gone by tomorrow. You won't really know until you've actually done it time and time again and even then you'll doubt yourself. But don't worry. This'll do for now. Onto business then."
Aranov donned the glove again, and with it he donned his title. The man whom Lance had briefly seen was gone, replaced by the lord of the Consectorate again. Domovoi touched the holographics display he had brought with him and it lit up to show a star system.
"This is the Naran system." Lord Aranov said and zoomed in on one planet - Ekson. "As you see, a relatively even amount of Outsiders and Coalition forces are currently present."
Lance was about to correct Aranov's false statement when he realized it was not so false - It might be six on five with planetery defence cannons on the side of the six, but the Outsider Flagships sheer firepower and the lack of weapons on the Tirion ship evened it up.
"A number of Outsider ships have been noticed moving around Coalition territory, spotted around Fyrd, but their destination was unknown. They could be heading for Naran, or Naran itself may just be a distraction and they could be targetting something more important, like Tennos or Magraia. We simply lack the information necessary to prepare well. We've decided to assemble a capable quick response fleet, and you're the one in charge of it.
"The Auruleans and Quantum Legion have sent a ship each, which are already in orbit, but if you want to replace them with other ships feel free to. In addition to the new ship you will be commanding and the two I already mentioned, you'll be allowed to bring one more ship with you. I can make a Patrol or one of our Standard ships available to you. Go over any reports and other documents you need to educate yourself about your enemy and the situation, then decide on what forces you will want to bring and let General Wray know.
"And don't forget to read up on your potential allies. The Magrathean-Tirion Collective in charge of the Naran situation highly values its independence from us, so as Lord of the Aranov Consectorate I am telling you that you should respect that independence. As one of the main Coalition Strategists, I am telling you to do whatever necessary."
"Yes, sir." Lance said and rose to go, feeling that he had been dismissed.
"Oh, and one more thing, Commander." Lord Aranov said as Lance turned around to leave.
"Yes, my lord?" Lance asked, turning back.
"There has been a change concerning the name of your ship."
"A change, my lord?" Lance was confused. Why change the name of a ship?
"Yes. It is brand new and has yet to lift off so I saw no problem in changing its name. Your own lord father petitioned the change and I agreed. After all, your family invested a lot of money in its construction."
Somewhere in the back of Lance's head, a thousand alarm bells began to ring at once. He felt his throat tighten and his stomach churn.
"Ah. What is the new name, if I may... what is my ship called now?" he managed to ask, though he dreaded the reply. Knowing his father...
"Why, it is named after your own family, commander," Lord Aranov tapped at the display and it shifted to show a battlecruiser, the words "Alarum" painted along its hull. Lance's heart sank.
Gaining the respect and loyalty of the crew as a noble far too young to be a commander would be hard. But doing it with a ship named after his family would be impossible: nothing would make his future men think he hadn't bought his way into the military. His father was too arrogant to see it that way, but Lance was not.
"My lord, I think it best if-" he started, but then he saw the look on Lord Aranov's face: cold, distant, studying him intently. He knows. Of course he knows. He's Lord Aranov.
Lance got the feeling that the name was more Aranov's idea than his father's. What was it the lord had said? Gaining the trust and respect of one's crew is as much a part of command as strategy and tactics.
Despite himself, Lance Alarum found himself smiling.
"I am glad not everyone takes me for a faultless prodigy," he said, turned around and left.
SoA
Lance Alarum is inaugurated as commander of the Alarum and has a chat with Lord Domovoi Aranov.
The Coalitions new Rapid Response Fleet, led by Lance Alarum, leaves towards a point halfway between the Dinari, Naran and Magrathea systems. 3 ICs travel time. (2 Hexes away from Naran, 3 from Dinari and Magrathea)
The Fleet consists of: One Quantum Legion ship, One Aurulean Special Operations ship, One Aranov Patrol and the Alarum.
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Lance Alarum stared at the scanner on the table in front of him, his mind far removed from the room and the matter at hand. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the device. Such a small thing, to tell him who he was, to bind him...
The clearing of a throat interrupted his thoughts and his attention shifted from the scanner to the man sitting on the other side of the table. Wray was his name. General Wray.
"Your signature is required for the promotion to come into effect, major," the General said, not for the first time that day.
Lance nodded, smiled, then frowned. His attention wandered away from the man and the table, and he found himself looking around the room. Not that there was much to see. Grey, bland walls, a single shut screen, a spare chair. It was clearly not meant to be used for as long as he had been in it. And yet he did not care. He kept his quiet, letting the silence fall over them, like a mantle.
It lasted for a full five minutes before it was broken by the steady drumming of General Wray's fingers on the table. Lance looked up at the man's stern faced and stared into his eyes. The drumming stoped. General Wray stared back, his face a blank mask, betraying none of the irritation others would surely show after this much of a wait.
Lance had to admire the man's patience: it was the only thing driving him crazier than the choice he faced. They had been in the room for almost an hour now, waiting for him to sign the form, to confirm his promotion to commander - the youngest ever - but he hadn't shown the slightest sign of doing so. It would take less than a minute: all he had to do was slip his finger into the scanner and it would be done: fingerprint, DNA, blood and it was over, confirmed. Others in his position would have done it in the blink of an eye: the rank of commander came with great honor, and an even greater paycheck.
But Lance and General Wray had been there for far longer than a minute. Both of them knew that something needed to be discussed but neither of them seemed eager to start, preferring the silence.
So be it, Lance thought, I'd rather confess than complain and that means speaking second, even if I'm saying the exact same thing.
Another five minutes went by, their eyes never parting, barely blinking. At last, when Lance felt like he would rather scream than keep staring at General Wray's dim blue eyes, the silence was broken by a rhythmic digital beeping. Wray's eyes tore away from his and he looked down at the personal computer strapped to his arm.
"It would seem I am sorely needed elsewhere, major. An urgent matter, I am told. No doubt the zerg are invading." the bearest hint of a smile played on the general's lips, yet Lance knew he wasn't joking, not entirely. He was wasting his time and a general's time was important. Allegedly. Lance shifted uncomfortably in his seat but did not reply.
"Major Alarum, I have the feeling you are not entirely willing to accept your promotion," the general said. Their eyes locked again. For a few seconds. Then Lance sighed and looked down at the table.
"I believe you are right, sir," he answered after a while.
"Why?" Wray shot right back, his voice laced with surprise.
You know why, Lance thought. "A few reasons," he said instead. He hated the way the general was playing dumb with him, dragging the information out of him. Hell, he hated the reason he was here. The Command for promoting him, the Academy for teaching him, his goddamn pa- He stopped there, aware that emotion was showing on his face. Wray watched him, his face blank, waiting for a response.
"I am nineteen," Lance said bluntly.
Wray made a show of looking down at his computer and tapping at it.
"I know," he answered. Lance almost growled. But then he saw an opening.
"And so will my crew. And anyone I work with," he said.
"Is that a problem?"
"I am not sure. What do you think, general?" That got him. His mouth closed and he stared at him, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, he started slowly.
"I... don't see why it would be."
"Truly? Would you serve and obey a teenager, general?"
"If he or she was a capable commander, I would, yes."
"And if you did not know?"
"I would attempt to find out."
"And if you found out he -or she- was an incapable commander?" Lance expected another irritating reply, but for once the general seemed to take him seriously. He sighed and steepled his fingers.
"Major Alarum, our military academies are the best in the Coalition. Anyone who graduates from them, especially from the Zagrov Academy of War, is more likely to be a zerg than incapable."
Lance snorted. "In the end, yes. After years of experience. But I don't have that."
The general again made a show of checking his computer.
"You must be mistaken. It clearly states here that you spent eight months aboard the Manta."
"That was a glorified cargo ship. Two guns don't make a battlecruiser."
"Making what you did to those outlaws even more remarkable."
Lance had to bite back his response to that. The general was right there. It was hard to ignore how he had defeated twenty would-be raiders with nothing more than four marines and a few crates at his disposal. And wits, another part of him said. Don't forget the wits.
"One battle doesn't win a war. Nor does one victory make a commander," he said defiantly. General Wray finally sighed at that. He parted his hands and rested them on the table.
"Mr. Alarum," he began, "do you think that the three hundred billion we invest annually into our military training institutions is wasted? Do you think we use it all on parties and ceremonies? Do you think you spent four years in our best academy not being prepared?"
Lance was about to reply but the general silenced him with a quick motion of his right hand.
"No, you listen, major. What do you think we are? The incompetent morons you see in holos? The zerg invasion ended four years ago, not four decades ago. We haven't become soft, not yet. Because the zerg are still out there, waiting. We don't know what they're waiting for but we know they'll come again. And it's up to us to face them. And guess what? We can't do it alone. We need every soldier, every ship and every brilliant commander we can get our hands on. Not just us, all of humanity. The protoss too, damn them. So now here's your choice: either you sign this bloody form and take the responsibility that would be forced on you if it were up to me, or quit and get out of my sight. But whatever you choose, please quit wasting my time."
Lance stared at the general... and signed.
That was a week ago...
SoA: Lance Alarum is promoted to commander... two weeks ago. Intro post. Srry it took so long
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Characters:
Lance Alarum
Born to the noble house of Alarum, Lance was expected (and forced) to pursue a career in the Consectorate's military, much like his older brother, Alexander, and sister, Natasha. However, he was not expected to power through his schooling and join the prestigous Zagrov Academy of War at a pace that made his brother - and most every other cadet - look like a toddler learning how to walk.
At age 14, he was the youngest ever person to enroll in the academy. At age 18, the youngest ever to graduate. And at age 19, following eight months of service, he is the youngest ever commander in the history of the Consectorate's military.
While the more envious of his peers (and superiors) like to attribute his success to nothing more than the wealth and influence of his family, anyone who knows him is aware of the truth: Lance Alarum was born to command, and while he still lacks the experience needed to do so effectively, it is only a matter of time before his near-unprecedented talent can be put to full use.
However, few are able to look past Lance's brilliance and see the unprepared adult within: he is a person with a mind, and like any other mind, he is able to doubt, admire, hate...
Name: Cassandra
Last Name: Argel
Identification: M-094
Age: 25
Codename: Emily
Pacification method: Partial brainwash.
Status: Assigned to Aranov "Alarum" battlecruiser as second-in-command (NOTE: First official assignment). Commander: Lance Alarum.
Implants: WLO-3
MRA
OSL-9
Details (60 points):
Flagship: The Alarum (100 points)
A bulky but maneuverable battlecruiser recently "donated" to the Aranov Consectorate by the Alarum family. The shiny behemoth has been placed under Lance Alarum's command, though its crew was brought in from other areas of the military and is not completely new.
Weapons: 3
Armor: 4
Maneuverability: 5
Security: 4
Cargo: 3
Speed: 5
Tech (120 pts):
Marine
Marauder
Siege Tank
Medivac
Viking
Raven
Stimpacks
Concussive Shells
Siege Tech
Orbital Command
Missile Turret
200 Supply (20 pts):
50 Marines 50
20 Marauders 40
10 Siege Tanks 30
15 Medivacs 30
20 Vikings 40
5 Ravens 10
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Hello!
I think I might get back into this too! I'm just not sure if I should continue Razrac or go for somethin new. :)