Ichor

Major General (Part II)

Year 9 - Major General
Planet Primae

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They both took the last open seats in the back and waited. Not a second after they sat down, food magically appeared in front of them. It had to have been magic because the national delicacies of each person's home planet appeared on the table. To name a few, there were Kizzop stingers and Girrit ribs and Oppanieth tongues and Pan Pan rolls and some sort of round, red disk with smaller red disks on top.

"It's called pizza. Pepperoni pizza, to be exact. A favorite of mine," Major Ichor explained. "Give it a try."

Not wanting to be rude, Sam grabbed a slice, ignoring the burning sensation in his fingers at the temperature. Tentatively, he took a bite. It was immediately spat out into his napkin. The others at the table shot him disgusted looks.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be disrespectful," Sam added nervously.

But Major Ichor didn't look the slightest bit fazed. "No need to apologize. I've found that most people on Primae don't like it either."

"It's not that, sir." Sam continued when he saw the major raise an eyebrow, "I'm allergic to tomatoes, sir. I've only had them once, but I had to go to the hospital after."

Major Ichor looked over at him with apologetic eyes. "I'll make sure to warn you of any foods with tomato or remove them entirely while you're here."

"Oh, no! That's not necessary, sir. You don't have to do that for me."

"It will be done, Mr. Walker," the man declared, but not unkindly.

Colonel Schwartz, according to the name tag, attempted to make conversation. "Mr. Jerim here tells me he is ranked number one at his school for sword fighting."

"Yes, ma'am," Jerim quickly agrees, looking for any opportunity to impress, "I have been practicing since I was two years old. I would love to spar with someone to know how I fare."

"Is that why you spar?" Major Ichor asked.

"Of course, sir. As my instructor says, 'Winning is the measurement of success'."

"Couldn't agree more," the boy's mentor praised. "Don't you think so, Major?"

"No," he intoned, refusing to elaborate further.

Another mentee tried to alleviate the tension. "I think we can all agree that early exposure makes the best fighters, at least. I mean, as my district's champion in hand-to-hand combat, I have to say it was in part to the tutorage I received at the age of three," she said.

Her mentor, Colonel Sims, nodded in assent. "Indeed, Miss Evine. What about you, Sam? Have any prior experience?"

Sam wanted to say he'd had plenty of experience fighting to stay alive. Fighting over food and clothes and whatever else his family needed. But he only shook his head as he said, "No, sir."

"None?" the colonel said condescendingly. "Well, I suppose you could learn anyhow. Especially with such a brilliant swordsman as Major Ichor. But tell us, Sam, why do you want to enlist?"

Sam thought about crafting some lie about bettering himself and bringing glory or something, but one look at Major Ichor and he knew it was pointless to lie.

"It pays well," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, my left ear has gone slightly deaf since the cannon incident. Could you repeat that a little louder, please?" Colonel Sims requested with a sickeningly sweet smile. Sam had a feeling his hearing was just fine.