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Vanguard Word Update
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 10:02:07 +0000 UTC2k words
***
“Stand-to, troopers!” a gruff voice shouted, snapping Cadell out of his thoughts. He turned to see a Staff Seargent marching towards them from across the hangar, the polished badge on his collar giving away his rank. “What backwater did you all come from? Front and center on the double!”
The startled group he’d rode in with scurried to form ranks, Cadell ducking over to join the rear row, standing to attention. The Seargent produced a datapad, listing off a series of names, speaking over the rumble of machinery echoing from either end of the hanger.
Once rolecall was over, the Seargent waved for them to follow. “Everyone’s accounted for, amazing. Welcome to the Hub, troopers, seat of the rebellion, or Alliance as its more recently known. Show of hands who’s been on a starbase before,” the Seargent ordered, striding up and down the ranks. Nobody lifted an arm. “Amazing, bunch of double greenhorns… We’re on a schedule so he’s a quick rundown,” he added. “This habitat was designed from the hypothetical ground-up to trick you. Everything. The breeze, the force that’s keep your feet on the deck. My advice? Let it fool you. It’s not going to be easy for all of you,” he said, eyes locking to the man in front of Cadell. “But if the tens of thousands of civvies living on this ring can acclimate, then so can you. Or am I wrong, troopers?”
There was a chorus of firm no Sirs, but the Seargent remained unimpressed by the show, perhaps expecting a few yellowbellies in the group. Cadell may have failed to see the Hub from its orbit, but it couldn’t be all that different from being planetside, could it?
“I’ll be escorting you to the military quadrant,” the Seargent continued. “you’ll be spending the majority of your time aboard there, training and studying to get your Alliance blues. Follow me and stay close, and no wandering off, because I will not go looking for you.”
The Seargent led them across the hanger bay, Cadell and the others hurrying to shoulder their packs and follow after. There were yellow laned painted onto the deck, the Seargent urging them to stay between the lines and stay out of the engineer’s way.
On the far wall of the hangar bay were a series of pressure doors, the Seargent leading them through, the tumult of the machines cutting off as the automatic doors shut behind them.
They were led through a short hallway, where another pressure door stood at the far end, the Seargent pausing just before he walked into the sensors.
“One more tip for you all,” he said. “Don’t look up.”
Some of the others exchanged confused glances, but when the doors parted for the Seargent, they soon got their answers, Cadell’s eyes lighting up as they emerged into the Hub proper.
Cadell had only ever seen pictures of cityscapes, the biggest town on his homeworld had been the urban clusters situated around the spaceport, but the streets of the Hub put that to shame. The torus was a network of tight, metal streets, wending through clusters of buildings two or three storeys tall. The conversations of a thousand voices travelled on the recycled air, the breeze as metallic as the steel that covered every surface.
The structures looked like they had been extruded from the hull, made from the same reinforced material, but some of the buildings were more decorated than others. Some had been textured to resemble brick and marble, others painted over to give the illusion of wood or stone work, windows and verandas draped with awnings to give the dwellings a more homely appearance.
Flanking the cityscape was a giant wall of metal, more akin to a cliff face than any manmade structure, windows and balcony lights giving the sheer face some detail. It walled off the far side of the torus, and as Cadell turned about, he saw it was the same on this side, his procession having emerged from the giant wall on this side of the ring.
These two towering faces walled off the torus on either side, the Hub cityscape condensed between them. They stretched away to the left and right, the curve of the ringworld subtle enough one could almost fool themselves into thinking they were planetside. The illusion was broken, however, when Cadell forgot about the Seargent’s warning and his eyes rose above the skyline.
His perception shattered like a dropped glass, his stomach churning as he tracked the artificial horizon. The curve became more pronounced the higher his gaze, the two walls of the habitat thinning with distance, curving into the sky like some madhouse rollercoaster climb. Even the buildings rotated away, making it look like they were laying flat on their sides relative to his position.
He couldn’t’ see any ships nearby for reference, but the habitat seemed to stretch on for an impossible distance before rotating into the sky, forming the loop that gave the ringworld its namesake. Craning his head further, he noted his view to the exact opposite side of the ring was blocked by an odd vessel. It looked more like a traditional habitat, a giant cylinder that sat in place in the Hub’s epicenter, floating in the sky like a metal sun, adorned with colorful lights and window strips. He wondered what its purpose was.
Looking over his shoulder, it seemed he wasn’t the only one to ignore the Seargent’s warning. Several of the other Private’s were clutching their mouths, gagging beneath their hands. One of the more unfortunate recruits was hurling up his lunch in a nearby waste bin, the Seargent holding no pity as he laughed it up.
“Don’t worry, groundies, some take to it better than others,” he said. That must be a slang for someone who doesn’t leave their planet often. “Like the young Private here, he’s copping an eyeful like it’s nothing!”
The comment was directed at him, Cadell’s chest swelling with pride. He’d made a good first impression. When the sickly guys were able, they followed the Seargent away from the wall, dipping into a series of tight walkways lit by the occasional fluorescent lamp post.
The deck below their feet was slanted, subtle enough that one had to really think about it in order to realise the curvature. The Seargent soon brought them out into a wider street, one that was about as far wide as a highway lane. He explained to the ogling troopers that this was simply known as the ‘main’ street, and its path wrapped around almost the entire length of the torus, and Cadell could see it wrapping up the artificial horizon, embedding into the ringworld like a crop circle viewed from an airplane.
The street was crowded with throngs of people, their group merging into the bustling foot traffic, the men and women in civilian clothing parting before them when they recognised who they were. Cadell couldn’t take in enough of his surroundings, always peeking over the man in front of him or around the one behind him to observe the goings on of the habitat. This was what he had signed up for. Travelling the Galaxy, seeing new sights – this was so much better than staring at a farmstead all day long.
The street they walked soon concluded at a security checkpoint, with barbed wire fences bridging off to the left and right, the number of people walking the street dimming until it was mostly personnel wearing Alliance fatigues.
“We’ve arrived at the military quadrant,” the Seargent announced. “Some of you might have noticed those coloured lines on the ground. The red one always to the quadrant, don’t forget that. The other colours lead to different wedges, but you don’t have to worry about them for now. ID’s ready, everyone.”
Cadell wanted to ask what he meant by ‘wedges’, but the Seargent was already walking them up to the security gates, chatting with one of the guards there, so he didn’t have the chance. The guard wore some interesting gear, Cadell had never seen its like. He wore some familiar ballistic padding on his vest, but he was also shouldering some ceramic plates and metallic gauntlets, his legs clad in similar black combat armour, the blue stripes of the Alliance trailing down one of his shoulder plates.
He was also carrying a weapon Cadell had never seen before. It was a compact, plastic rifle, though its alloy wasn’t quite like the rifles he’d used in basic. It was strapped over the guard’s shoulder, however, Cadell unable to get much of a better look.
When everyone’s identifications were in order, they were allowed through the gate, Cadell offering the guardsman a nod as he stepped over the perimeter. The military was much more spartan compared to where their hanger had dumped them out. The buildings were blocky, stocky things with the barest furnishings, flanked by training yards full of exercise equipment, and fields of grass that were probably for running laps or sports.
Aside from a few engineers maintaining life support machinery – of which there had to be countless to hold a station like this together – the personnel around here were comprised of military, officers shouting orders as drills were carried out across this side of the quadrant, the occasional gunshot hinting at firing ranges must be housed inside some of the complexes. It made boot camp back on his colony look like a backwater. From the way it spanned up a quarter of the way up the ring, this place must be home to tens of thousands of Alliance soldiers.
“Plenty of time for gawking later,” the Seargent said, noting Cadell’s wondering gaze. “Through here, we’ll get you set up with your units, then we’ll get on with the tour.”
They detoured off to the side, approaching a long, squat build sitting flush against the ringworld’s wall. As such, it was far larger on the inside, the majority of its interior built deep into the station’s hull.
It was a barracks, the wings of the building split into bunking areas and classrooms, Cadell sneaking a peek inside them as he hurried to keep up with his group. Potted plants in the corners helped to liven up the otherwise sterile surroundings, and there were even rooms with carpets, a rare treat considering the costs it would take to ship out linen this far into deep space.
They stopped at one of the briefing rooms, half the space filled with rows of chairs, facing an upraised stage with a projector screen on the wall behind. Dozens of people were already inside waiting for them. They were fresh-faced, wearing blue fatigues and sporting their Private badges. These must be other groups that had shipped out to the Hub for training.
The Seargent that had accompanied them here handed them off to another officer, the two chatting briefly as Cadell and the others idled around. The ride to the system had been mostly uneventful for Cadell, most of it he had spent catching up on some sleep, and it seemed the others had taken the time to get to know each other.
“Alright alright, settle down,” the Seargent said. “When I call your name, come forward and I’ll give you a number. We’ll be splitting you up into squads one through to fifteen.
Cadell was the fifth one called up. The four before him had been split into two squads, it seemed, the pairs of men moving off to find the rest of their number.
“Cadell?”
“Yes, Sir?”
The Seargent regarded his tablet, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he stopped short, his bushy brows furrowing.
“Problem, Sir?”
“No no, it’s just… Huh. Looks like you’ve caught someone’s eye, Private. You’re a number sixteen.”
“I thought there was only fifteen squads, Sir?” Cadell asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The Lieutenant must have done some rearranging,” he muttered. “Go wait over there while I sort the rest of you out.”
“Who else is in sixteen?” Cadell asked, but the Seargant waved him off.
“You’ll have to ask the Lieutenant, it’s above my paygrade anyway. Out of the way, Private.”
Cadell stepped out of the way as the next man was called, his brow furrowed in confusion. This was strange. How come an officer of the Alliance didn’t know what was going on? And what was this about a Lieutenant?
