The Grey Chronicles Part One: New Declaration of An Old War

Chapter 17: The Dress Code is the Least of Our Worries.

The Anarchist, outer space around Onyx Seven, April of 8096 AL.

Newly appointed Lieutenant Colonel Alex Williams strode onto the bridge in his full dress blacks; the UCAM dress uniform was midnight black, the color of the buttons and gloves varied by platoon. His gloves were deep blue like an oceanic trench, and the buttons on his coat were made of polished brass. He walked up the ramp to the command platform and took a seat between Briarios and Soluna, where an extra chair had been placed for him. Everyone looked at him strangely; Alex noticed that the others were dressed in fatigues and realized his mistake as he took off his gloves. A mess assistant, affectionately referred to as a "messy" by the rank-and-file, placed a plate of eggs, ham, and hash browns in front of him with a cup of black coffee. The others stared at him in silence until, finally, Salem broke the awkward tension.

"So, whatcha' wearing?" he asked, his mouth half full of eggs.

"My uh, my uniform," Alex answered timidly as he looked up at Salem.

"Okay," Salem raised an eyebrow, "But, um, why?"

"You told me to be well dressed."

"And?" Salem asked bluntly.

"And, I assumed you meant full uniform," he flustered, embarrassed.

Salem chewed twice and looked at his son before he continued, smiling as he spoke to lighten the mood, "Briarios, take him to the tailor on deck four after breakfast and get him a set of officer's fatigues. I admire his enthusiasm, as well as his medals, but we can't have him showing us up every morning now, can we?"

After the messies had cleared away the dishes, the members of Demon squadron left to perform their duties around the ship. Soluna and Korana went to practice pugil stick fighting in the gym. Aela went to the hangar to coach newer recruits through practice simulations. Salem retired to the engine room; Master General or not, the Anarchist was his baby and he took great pleasure in repairing and maintaining her himself. Augustus was off replenishing his stock of whiskey; he kept a still on the lower decks, he distilled his own. Briarios would normally be in the weight room, but Alex's need for new fatigues had seen a halt to today's workout.

Alex and Briarios took the elevator to deck four, then started down the hall towards the tailor's office. They walked into the mid-sized room and approached the counter, the man sitting behind the desk looked up from his computer; he was not what came to mind when one thought of a tailor.

He was an exceptionally tall man whose physique dwarfed Briarios' easily. He was nine-and-a-half feet tall and six-hundred pounds in weight, with bulging muscles that were easily visible through his clothes. His biceps were so huge he could not physically bend his arms enough to reach his belt buckle; as a result he had to wear it off to the side. His head was bald and his face clean shaven, he wore the largest size of fatigues possible and yet his jacket was barely held together by a sturdy zipper. Even sitting down he was nearly as tall as the officer that approached the counter. There were two doors behind him leading to storerooms containing racks full of uniforms. He stood up as he noticed Briarios and spoke with a voice seemingly deeper than space itself. The tailor saluted Briarios, coming to attention.

"As you were," Briarios said, looking up at the man.

"Aye sir," the huge man looked down at the comparably puny man across the counter. "What can I help you with?"

"We need eight sets of officer's fatigues for him." Briarios replied, pointing to Alex.

"Yes sir." He tapped away at an over-sized keyboard; if he had used a normal keyboard, his fingers would have pressed multiple keys. "If you'll step over here I'll get your measurements."