The Interview

The woman was neat and businesslike. Her body language drew attention away from the fact she was probably only in the middle of her third decade. The dark blue business suit she wore suited her but drew attention away from any physical assets. She wore it like a uniform and her tight expression suggested she would have little patience for fools or glib flattery.

"Ma'am, I'm John Darcy. It was suggested to me that I should speak with you about the a job opening you may be looking to fill. I wasn't given much information so I hope I'm not wasting your time." John stood at parade rest in front of the woman, eyes front, back ramrod straight, yet still aware of her appraising glance from where she sat at the simple table upon which rested her business valise.

"Mr. Darcy, I have had quite a long and challenging day. I am tired and rather annoyed. You have two minutes to convince me that a longer conversation has any possibility of not being a waste of my time." Her tone was cool, but the challenge was obvious. She didn't really want to hear from John and would dismiss him out of hand as soon as she found a pretext.

John needed to find some form of work so he could continue to eat. And soldiering was the business he knew, even if what passed for soldiering here on the far end of the Charon Drift in the Cauldron wasn't exactly the same as soldiering in the Corps back in the Empire. That life was past, however.

Whatever new life he was going to have out here had to start somewhere and the lady from Farrell's Landing might be the best option of a slim lot. He wasn't particularly keen to wind up working in a fourth-rate mercenary unit with a mix of substance abusers, bloodthirsty idiots and ruthless brigands. That idea turned his stomach so John new he had better make a good showing here. This might not be that many notches above his other options, but better was better. If this was better.

"Ma'am, if you'll bear with me, could you please tell me the nature of your situation so that I may explain what advantages I may offer you over your other alternatives?" John tried not to sound desparate. He wasn't quite that badly off yet, but the other prospects for employment here really weren't things he was anxious to pursue.

The woman continued her scrutiny, but deigned to reply to his question. "Mr. Darcy, Farrell's Landing is a small world in the far reaches of what is generally considered to be one of the worst backwaters of the Empire. The Imperial Navy rarely visits our world and doesn't stay long when it does. If there's a situation that requires military intervention, it is quite likely the Empire will only be able to investigate the outcome after the fact. That reality is cold consolation to our people who might end up dead or missing relatives and without their savings. And that's a best case scenario."

She continued, managing to mostly surpress the bitterness in her voice. "So, with things worsening in the Drift and more quickly in the Cauldron, Farrell's Landing needs protection. Our Council of Reeves has elected to retain a military unit to serve as our protection in the short run."

"We have credible concerns that an unsavoury neighbour may have designs on our world. And thus, I am here on El Dorado in the hope, vain as it may seem at the moment, of finding such a force to protect my people. So, how can you help me with my problem, Mr. Darcy?" She ended with a chilly smile. She obviously had no expectation that John Darcy could do anything for her.

John brought his eyes down to meet hers and returned her appraising look. She looked him squarely in the eyes and said "You have ninety seconds remaining, Mr. Darcy.".

"Ma'am, you wouldn't even be giving me ninety seconds if you had found someone you liked the looks of for this job. I haven't been here on El Dorado long, but I've looked over the list of units you might choose to retain and met with a few of their commanders."

John paused, allowing for a moment of silence to give his next words more emphasis.

"There isn't one of those units I would choose to be a part of if I could find another option. There isn't one of those units I'd want defending my people if I was worried about unsavoury folk. There isn't one of those unit commanders that I'd trust around my women folk, my home, or my treasury."

She cocked her head slightly to one side, perhaps adjusting her appraisal of John slightly.
"Mr. Darcy, you seem to take a dim view of my available options."
 
"Firstly, I've got a self-styled General who thinks he is the Maker's Gift to womankind and who wants me to hire his mixed battalion of armoured infantry." The young lady used her long, thin fingers to tick off the entries of her list as she enumerated them.

"Secondly, I've got a former Army Colonel from the sort of place where it might be hard to differentiate between the local troublemakers and the military and he wants me to hire his reinforced company of 'special forces'."

"And lastly, I've got a Major, standing in for his absent Colonel, who wishes me to hire his battalion of line infantry. The best thing I can say about his offer is he probably bathes and not in perfume and his line infantry might be able to march in a straight line."

Her face had taken on a tension as she ticked through her options. "Whatever in the world gives you the impression that I am anything less than thrilled by my options? And what can you, John Darcy, offer me that is any more palatable?" Her questions had the acid tinge of sarcasm. Her frustration with her prospects was obvious but equally obvious was the fact she classed John in the same group with the others.

He let the hint of a smile touch his lips. "Ma'am, if I had a choice between that lot and giving my own young men a rifle or shotgun and hoping they could protect me, I might still choose my own folk."

Jon chose to forgo using his fingers to tick of his points in reply, instead remaining at parade rest as he responded. John kept his smile, but his tone was cold. If she was going to give him cool and sarcastic, he could risk showing a little steel in return.

"That self-styled General is a lecher and his troops won't be any better with that one leading. They'll be more focused on molesting your womenfolk than protecting them."

"The former Army Colonel is 'former' with good reason - something about black market sales of his own military's equipment. I wouldn't expect him or any of his to do anything but help themselves to anything not nailed down and to things nailed down if they have a crowbar. And the only thing 'special' about those 'forces' is the rate they'll want to bill at."

"As to the last one, he's standing in for his absent Colonel because that Colonel is busy getting shit-faced at the local watering hole. I visited their camp and I found plenty of dress uniforms and fancy toasts in crystal glasses; They are quite pleasant to their guests. But what I didn't see was any sign that anyone from the least private to the senior officer present had the vaguest clue of how to lay out a secure camp and to protect its permimeter. If they can't even secure their own perimeter, they'd be pretty damn little use securing your people. The officers would probably offer the invaders a nice drink of brandy." John made a sour face at the thought.

The woman spoke with slightly less chill, having been brought up somewhat sharply by John's own tone. "Mr. Darcy, you're telling me things I already know. I know what all of my bad options are. Unless I'm mistaken, you don't come with even a squad of soldiery, let alone a company or battalion. What can you really do for me, John Darcy?" There was a hint of curiosity in her voice, but it was very faint.

"Ma'am, you don't need a battalion, a company, a platoon, or even a squad of profiteers, of fancy dress clowns who couldn't identify the sharp end of a bayonet, or of lecherous miscreants who'll spend more time molesting your young ladies than they will securing your assets and population. That kind of help, you don't need."

"Farrell's Landing is a mostly agrarian world with some natural predators that demand respect. The kind of people that colonize those sorts of places are strong and capable, if properly trained and equipped."

John looked her straight in the eye with his best Command Stare. "What you need is somebody who you can trust to train your own people to protect you. You need someone that won't be doing it because he's an overpaid layabout or he's hoping to supplement his income from your assets whenever no one is looking. You need someone competent, professionally trained and capable in both military theory and applications thereof and with the field experience to back that up. Trust, competence and professionalism - that's what you need and that's what you can't get from any of those others. That's what I can offer you."

John unbuttoned the top two buttons of his jacket, reached inside, and removed a one page film. He stepped forward smartly and handed it to the woman. As he passed it to her he said "John Fitzgerald Darcy, Captain, former Commander of Raider Company Alpha, 1st Battalion, 5th Imperial Marines Assault Brigade, at your Service, Ma'am." He stepped back and snapped to attention.

The woman, obviously somewhat surprised, briefly stared at John. He observed her stare in his peripheral vision, his eyes now once again locked eyes front. She then glanced down at the film, his one page resume. He saw her eyes quickly scanning the page.

He could see her taking in his qualifications: Graduation credentials from Marine Basic, Imperial Marine Officer Training, Marine Raider School and Close Combat School. Qualifications as a marksman, infantry section, platoon, and company leader, jump wings and the orbital assault badge. Commendations for good conduct and competence. Equipment qualifications on all state-of-the-art small arms, precision and support weapons in service with the Imperial Marines as well as with all current issue iterations of vac suits and combat exoskeletons.

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared with surprise when she read the section on decorations. That section started with "Imperial Medal of Valour", a decoration which could only be won in combat while in direct personal peril during the execution of tasks critical to the success of the mission. In the ranks of Imperial Decorations, it was seventh in precedence, but was still a rare sight even within the Empire. Out here in the Drift, he might be the first and only person the young woman would ever meet who had such a decoration.

The section continued with "Meteoric Assault Order" awarded for having executed at least one meteoric combat drop from an orbiting vessel, the "Close Combat Clasp" awarded for having engaged enemies in extreme close quarters fighting, and the section concluding with "Wound Badge" indicating John had taken a wound in the line of duty.

While his list of decorations was not a chestful by any means, these were decorations given for actual achievements in combat rather than awarded for some political reason or as a bribe, both of which are common in many small Rimward militaries. The page concluded with an honourable discharge notation.

She carefully set down the film page on the table in front of her. She drew in a breath, paused, and then spoke, more quietly and far less pointedly than before. "Captain John Fitzgerald Darcy, I know of your Imperial Marine Corps by its reputation alone. That reputation is fearsome and honourable. No one doubts that Imperial Marines know their business. That by itself makes you the best candidate I've seen all day."

"But you are a former Marine. An ex-Marine. What gaurantee have I that you will be any better than my other options?" This time, she looked less the assured and business-like young woman and more like someone who has seen an oasis in the desert and isn't sure if she should trust her eyes for fear it turns out to be a heat mirage.

"Ma'am, you can discharge the Marine from the Corps. You never take the Corps out of the Marine. If you didn't have integrity and honour, you could not lead Imperial Marine Raiders in battle. They wouldn't have you, rank and orders be damned. But my words aren't going to allay your suspicions by themselves." John looked back down, meeting her gaze.

"The man who suggested I come talk to you, I believe he's an associate of yours. Average height, round spectacles, and some seriously unruly, wiry white hair. Ask him what he thinks about what sort of character I might have. It's better hearing an opinion you might trust."

"You can reach me at the Crown and Thorn where I've got a room upstairs. Ask the bartender and he'll point you in the right direction. That is, of course, if you like what your friend tells you."

"I think my two minutes are up. Thank you for your time Ma'am." With that, John about-faced and marched from the room as sharply as he had ever marched on parade.

---

Mari O'Callaghan left the meeting with the ex-Imperial Marine Captain somewhat unsettled. His record was credible and he had trained and commanded in the Imperial Marines, an organization known for its competence, effectiveness, and professionalism. If he happened to be a drunkard, a lecher, a thief or a miscreant, he didn't wear any of those pinned up on his sleeve for all to see - making him immediately seem a better candidate than the other commanders.

But he didn't have a unit of soldiers behind him. Mari agreed with him that the young men and women of Farrell's Landing were good folk - hardy, sensible, and loyal. But it was less clear if they truly had what it took to be trained to fight battles and win them. Would they be brave enough in the face of gunfire and bombardments? Could they handle their fellows screaming and dying in combat around them? Could they bring themselves to kill the enemy without freezing up or being sick? And if they could, would it change them in a way that would make them something somehow darker and altogether less palatable?

That wasn't all that unsettled her about John Darcy. He challenged her authority just in the way he met her gaze. He wasn't going to be one to meekly take orders from his paymaster nor was he going to back down when he thought he was right. And, despite the modest cut of his clothes, Mari could tell he was in great physical shape. And he had the craggy jaw and the height to be considered attractive, if you went for that kind of rugged look. There was just a chance Mari might have a weakness that way, if she ever let herself admit to having any weakness whatsoever.

Mister Darcy had suggested she go talk to Lawrence who would, for some mysterious reason, provide some form of character reference for the ex-Marine. With that in mind, Mari sought him out in the suite at the motel that they shared while in town on Farrell's Landing's official business.

When she saw Lawrence, she was horrified to see a bright, puffy shiner. He'd taken some sort of hefty blow on his left cheek that had swollen up the face around his left eye and discoloured it to rather unpleasant shades of purple and blue.

"Lawrence! Whatever did you do to your eye? Did you trip or run into something?"

Lawrence Farnsworth O'Higgins gave her a sharp look with his one unswollen ocular orb before replying. "Mari, if by 'trip' you mean 'were knocked down by four louts' then yes, I tripped. If by 'run into something', you mean one of them bludgeoned me in the face while I was down, then yes, I ran into something. His fist. Repeatedly." Lawrence's voice was cross and he was clearly perturbed at the thought that his clumsiness somehow explained what really was the results of some form of assault.

"What?! Who did this to you? Where were the authorities? Did they catch them?"

"And more importantly, are you okay?"  Mari's tone was a mix of indignation and concern for her elderly friend and fellow civil servant.

"In order of importance: I'm okay, except my face hurts and I'll look pretty bad for a week or so while the bruising heals. It was four thugs who claimed to be soldiers and whose intention was to convince me to get you to sign on with the General you spoke to. Apparently their skills of conversational persuasion were lacking so they went directly to bludgeoning. The authorities were, as they usual are in the Drift, nowhere to be seen. Ergo, they did not, in fact, catch anyone."

"However...", Lawrence continued, putting some ice into a towel and applying the towel to his swollen face, "...there was a young man coming out of the local pub who happened upon me getting the stuffing knocked out of me in the back alley. Three of them had me down and the fourth was working some cosmetic realignment surgery on my face with his knuckles and a piece of plaspipe. Thankfully, they'd already knocked my glasses off or they'd have broken them in the process."

"Lawrence... I'm so sorry... I should have made you stick with me." Mari O'Callaghan was neatly dressed and prim, but if anyone had tried to lay a hand on Lawrence with her around, he'd have gotten his teeth loosened!

"I'll live, woman. I grew up on the Ranges and, Lord knows, I've had worse from one of the Bison. I'm just a bit older now and wasn't expecting it. They took me by surprise or I'd have given them what-for, let me tell you." Lawrence shook his fist in the air by way of punctuation.

Sure you would, Mari said to herself. You're sixty four years old and you've been off the range for 15 years teaching and being a part of the civil government. But she'd never say such a thing out loud so as to not offend Lawrence's pride. She cared more for him than she liked to admit. He was the next best thing to a parent since hers had been lost at such a young age.

"You were saying a man came by while you were being worked over?"

"Indeed I was. He didn't walk by and shrug it off as none of his business. He didn't stop to chat with them either. I guess he figured anytime there's four on one and the one is a more mature fellow, the four were probably up to no good. He just waded in. Gutsy, too, because a couple of them had plaspipe sections and one had some kind of fancy looking fighting knife. Didn't deter this fellow none though. He just waded in and in short order, he had all the bits of pipe and the knife, they had a bunch of stomped toes, busted noses, loosened teeth and bashed up ribs, and they decided it was time they lit out for safer whereabouts."

"I have to admit, if he hadn't happened by, I'd probably have taken a goodly lickin' from those thugs."  Lawrence seemed still a bit shaken, which was entirely understandable in Mari's mind.

"Who was this passerby? Seems like I owe him a beer at the very least." Lawrence's story had distracted her from her original intention in coming to find him.

"Said his name was John, John Darcy. Seemed like a good lad. Tall, kinda handsome though I'm still partial to womenfolk. Had a fair bit of steel in him, that fellow did. Helped me up, dusted me off, and found my spectacles. Helped me back to the motel too. I asked him why he decided to get involved since the odds were bad and it weren't any of his business really and all he said was 'when that sort of thing is let pass, its only a few steps to anarchy and I don't much like their sort in any event'. I gave him my thanks as you might imagine."

"John Darcy, you say? Well that's interesting. I just interviewed one ex-Imperial Marine Raider Captain of the same name. He suggested maybe I ought to talk to you for a character reference."

"Well, Mari, I owe him that at the very least. You will be hiring him, won't you?"  Lawrence's expression was serious.

"I don't know, Lawrence. He seems like a decent sort and he can obviously handle himself. But he's only one man and he thinks he can train the folk of Farrell's Landing to be his soldiers. I'm just not sure that that's what we need or want."

"Well, them four were a fine sample of what you'll get from the normal mercenary lot out this neck of the woods. I can't say whether John Darcy is right or wrong about being able to train our younger folk to do the job, but I can tell you that these other sort are as likely to be a nightmare as a salvation for us." Lawrence resettled the towel, some of the ice having melted.

"I still don't know, Lawrence. There's something about him...." Mari trailed off.

"Hmph. Girl, he's tall, he's handsome, he isn't the sort to take orders from no man... nor woman.... and that's what's bothering you." Lawrence had hauled out his glare of censure and had it set to 11.

Mari was going to reply, but Lawrence knew her too well and he'd just harrumph her and dismiss any objection on her part. Lawrence was the sort of man, having come up on the Ranges, who learned to judge another in short order and more by actions than words. It was pretty clear he'd already made the judgement about John Darcy and Darcy had met the high bar to be considered 'okay folk' by Lawrence.

The darned thing of it was that Lawrence judgement was damnably near 100% accurate when it came to scoping people out.

"Okay, okay. You can stop giving me the 'look'. I'm not going to make my mind up tonight. I'll sleep on it and if I'm settled in my mind tomorrow, I'll go talk to Mister Darcy again."  Mari crossed her arms across her chest, her usual way of signalling she'd reached her final position in a discussion.

"Well, I suppose that's a good idea. Always good to sleep on these things. Then you can go hire the man on the morrow." Lawrence had established his position as well.

---

© Lux Mentis, August 2009. All rights reserved.