Rzev

“Rzev?” I began, walking up to my former subordinate. He was now clad in the shining white armor of an Ultra, a far cry from the cuirass of a Minor I previously saw him in. His vision snapped to me, breaking a previous blank stare into dead space. Within his eyes, I saw… fatigue. I saw a man tired of conflict, of war, of dealing death and destruction on a daily business. I saw a man, younger than I, who dreamt of hearth and home. I saw… me.
“Major ‘Kalaree,” he replied in a low voice, a tone he kept for the duration of our conversation. He kept his head low, his posture slouched over more severely than anyone else. “Are you well?”
“I am, sir,” I answered.      
Rzev tilted his head, and broke his eye contact with me ever so briefly, as if to ponder my words. “It’s interesting. You called me ‘sir.’”
“Your rank compels me to, sir.”
“Ah… right. This armor ill suits me, sir. I mean… Major. Look at that. Old habits die hard, don’t they?”
“Indeed.” I glanced behind me, and found Mik approach us. He dodged the lances walking to and fro, and the supply crates ferried from here to there. The hum and activity of the supply depot faded from our attention quickly.
“Hey, kid- er, sir,” said Mik.
“Major ‘Mutukee,” Dayan said.
“You look good in white, sir.”
“As I said to ‘Kalaree, I find it ill suits me.”
“Rzev?” said a voice. I turned to find it came from Dayan.
“Dayan…” Rzev uttered breathlessly. Mik and I stepped aside in silence. The two stared at each other for some time, with Dayan appearing to be utterly amazed by the status of his friend.
“Are you well?” asked the Minor.
Rzev said nothing for several moments, looking away. He seemed to choose his words carefully, searching for them with great caution.
“I am tired,” Rzev plainly said. “I want to go home… but I know I mustn’t. Not quite yet. Not, I think, today.”
“Are you not proud that your cuirass shines white, my friend?”
“It is exhausting. Utterly exhausting…”
Rzev let out a long, weary, shuddering breath. He blinked once, slowly, looking at his surroundings with a slow yet decisive intent, scanning the environment.
“Look at all of them. Look.”
We did so.
“Look at how they treat such bloody business with such nonchalance, deeming it a banality. That’s the maddest thing. That’s mad, isn’t it? That is mad, isn’t it?”
Rzev grinned, and he chuckled quietly.
“You know,” he told me. “You know this. Oh, you can’t say it, you don’t want to say it, but you know.”
Category:The Weekly