The Road Well Trodden

The clock on the table is a wind-up clock and the table is meticulously organized by the man sitting on the opposite side, who looks at the screen protruding from his desk with the utmost focus. His fingers glide along the keyboard barely making a sound, the light tapping almost as loud as the ticking of the wind-up clock on the table. It seems ancient. Adalfarus stares at it intently, as if to work out what is going on within it. Why does it make the sound? Maybe it isn’t a wind-up clock but a modern clock disguised to appear as a wind-up clock. The balding man with a combover — why would he have a combover? He could get hair implanted — and the glasses on the tip of his hawk-like nose meets Adalfarus’ eyes.
“Nice clock, eh?” he breaks the silence.
Adalfarus sits up and arranges himself in his seat, eyes downward now. “Yes, cool,” he mutters, his lanky legs folding themselves, then unfolding themselves in uncertainty.
The older man smiles “This isn’t an inquisition.” He notices Adalfarus doesn’t comprehend the word. “A trial,” he tells Adalfarus, his eyes widen in acknowledgement and go back to youthful apathy.
“So, Adalfarus,” the man begins as he looks back at his screen. Light falls through the window from one of the two suns, the fern on the window sill is unperturbed. “You are to be assigned to Agricultural Development Centre 23. You were informed of this before coming here?”
Adalfarus nods. The man takes notes quickly and continues “You graduated from District ‘Blackhawk’ High School, correct?” “Go Hawks,” Adalfarus answers, a little louder. The man smiles. “My son is there now,” he replies as he makes notes.
Some ‘hm-hm’s’ and nods come from the man as his fingers glide across the keyboard. Adalfarus shifts in his seat and looks behind the man. A diploma hangs on the wall, encased in a wooden frame and with curved writing. Adalfarus can’t quite make out what it says. A picture of the man, apparently at a younger age, with a large two-headed fish, hangs next to it. A photo underneath that has the family. The man, his wife, a plain looking, brown-skinned and curly-haired woman, with two children, a boy and a young girl. Adalfarus continues to scan the room, the plaque on the man’s desk read ‘Conscription Services: Karol Kalman’.
“Adalfarus?” Karol asks, Adalfarus jumps up realizing that the undertone in Karol’s voice indicated the second time he asked, at least. “Sorry.” Adalfarus blurts out. Karol smiles “It’s OK, no need to be nervous. Now,” Karol turns away from the screen and folds his arms, leaning back in the chair and looking out the window.
“Adalfarus you indicated on your papers that you wanted to work in Centre 23 in the Chemistry sector.”
Adalfarus nodded.
“You know, there is no harm in saying you do not wish to be drafted. You can apply for objector status. You could also apply to join the military conscription service. Or, if you wished,” Karol waved a hand “you could apply for the science services. But your grades aren’t good enough I am afraid. Now you listed an injury to your knee as a reason for not joining the Agricultural Services. Correct?”
Adalfarus simply nodded, his eyes wandered back down to the ground.
Karol turned to Adalfarus and lowered his voice. “Look, I understand what a difficult time it is in your life. You don’t know what to do, where you want to go, where you belong. I totally understand. It’s not forever, you know. It’s only two years, and in that time you can see if you like it.” Karol gestured to the photo with the fish “See that?”
Adalfarus looked up, then to Karol and nodded.
“I made that while I was doing my time in the Agricultural Services. I hated it at first. Hated it!” Karol spouted. Adalfarus smiled.
“But, eventually I got into the fishing sector. I ended up really enjoying that, and did an extra two years on the Fish Farms of Centre 14 and 33. Now, I advise you, just try it out. We can strike out the injury, I will mark it as ‘non-inhibiting’ and you can do the Agricultural Services time. You can serve the Republic that way. The colony wars are…” Karol stopped. He took a moment to find the right word. He shook his head, no, the boy should know.
“It’s brutal, my boy. My brother was in the colony wars and… he is a broken man. I can’t make it sound nice. Broken. He has seen things that will never… ever go away.” Karol sighed.
“The Military Service office is your next visit, I know. I know what your parents tell you, I know what all the parents say,” Karol turned and looked at Adalfarus, who met his gaze. “Choose this path, you can still serve the Republic. Just for a while, then see where it goes. OK?”
Adalfarus stared at Karol. Silence encased the room for what seemed eternity. A distant sound of a phone in another office broke it, and Karol continued.
“I will give you a night to sleep over it, and advise Jacob, the Military Service Services conscriptor, to do the same. One night, to think. Sound good, Adalfarus? Then I will give you a call and you can tell me what you decided.”
Adalfarus nodded. Karol got up from his seat and put out his hand. Adalfarus got up quickly, and lunged for Karol’s hand. Karol gave a firm, long handshake and met Adalfarus’ eyes, nodding. Adalfarus smiled and nodded.
Letting go, Karol thanked him “Take care Adalfarus, and we will speak tomorrow!”
Adalfarus nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Karol noticed the waiting room seats were filled again. He sighed and looked out of the window. The mountains of Pyrrhos in the distance, illuminated twofold by the dual suns of the Gurluz system. He hoped he could make a difference with this child, and put him on the right path. The peaceful path.
“For you… Lucan,” he muttered under his breath.
A knock came on the door.
“Come in!” Karol answered.
