"You're aware that once you make that move, you'll be branded a traitor for the rest of your life, right?"
"Do your current compatriots understand your reasoning?"
"I knew it. You were from Veto, after all. And all that running around. You have sampled from all across the platter!"
In the chilly and cramped confines of his spartan quarters, Davlos lifts the iron off the board and sets it to the side. Brushing his fingers through the finely-drained embroidery of the Ishuk-Raata insignia, the scornful words of his friends, associates and confidants rang through his head with clouds of steam floating up against his frame.
Ironing his uniform was one of the things every Caldari child learnt in his upbringing. Even the most affluent children of CEOs were not spared the drudgery of carrying out this chore on their own. To fail in maintaining a proper and sharp bearing of uniform reflected poorly on its wearer, for it indicated a failing in discipline. A Caldari without discipline is worthless.
He lifts the navy-blue sleeve, letting it fall to the side and twists the knob to its precisely desired temperature setting through muscle memory alone. Of all of his possessions, the iron was the oldest among them, ever trusty and never quite failing him. They don't make irons like it these days. Folding a clean line across he presses down firmly, yet not too hard as he methodically forms a crisp folded line that would have made any Citizen-Sergeant-Major proud.
He had been following the progress of the conflict in Black Rise ever since he retired from it years before. It had always been a back-and-forth affair with no end in sight, and yet with the recent gains and successes of the Federation, he began to see a way the conflict would end that would be a boon for the Caldari. He had no love for Tibus Heth, the individual who had taken the State away from the Caldari. Heth is a dictator, but despite his cadre of mouth-frothing Provists, Davlos can see the vulnerability in the dictator: despite appearing all powerful, the dictator remains in power only at the pleasure of the elite, moneyed interests who keep him there. Most, if not all of the relevant megacorps placed massive investments in the region following Heth's successful first push throughout Black Rise, and now, the megacorps' interests are under threat. Should the Feds maintain their momentum, those investments will crumble and it is likely that the megacorps will see less reason to keep Heth where he is.
Or at least, that's how it worked out in his mind.
With the utmost care, he slips the uniform onto a hanger where he sprays the fabric on the underside, methodically evening out the application and stepping back to examine it.
It is perfect.
He had thoroughly enjoyed his place in I-RED. Enjoyed the stability and sense of belonging that it afforded him. Had come to enjoy the company of his fellow Ishukone employees and the camaraderie of his own people. But he could not see how fighting for the regime would advance the interests of the Caldari.
"A dreamer as always. Why the fuck won't you grow up?"
He thought that he grew out of it when he settled into the comfortable trappings of megacorp employment. But he hadn't. Most of his things had already been packed and shipped elsewhere. The perfectly-ironed and -starched uniform was so well-done it stood on its own: a yardstick indicating that he did it right.
"I'm still a good Caldari, right?" He asks no one in particular, his voice echoing uneasily across the room. Nobody will answer that question, and nobody probably can.
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Topic: Defection (Read 1883 times)