The beginning of light

3

"Aren't you tired of all of this yet?" Sammrock sat at the control panel, leaning back in his captain mate's chair. The navy blue overalls fitted his athletic, well-proportioned body, simultaneously featuring hundreds of functions, ranging from pulse control, heart rate, and biochemical control of blood gasses, to the ability to contact technical support at any second through an earpiece implanted under the ear. It was the elite uniform of the United Interplanetary Forces.
"Of what exactly?" muttered the captain of the ship thoughtfully, adjusting something on the wide touch-screen control panel.
"Well, all of it... I dreamed of being in the military from the cradle. I dreamed of being like my father. But now..." Sammrock approached the screen, through which the ship's course and all upcoming intergalactic routes were displayed. "Now I can't even fly on a business trip to my girlfriend."
"Why?" Mekhen raised one eyebrow, keeping his gaze firmly on the temperature readings in the cabins. He tried to adjust the settings, but it looked like the heating system was malfunctioning in one of the compartments on their X238-Billow. "What have we come to?" he muttered unintelligibly under his breath. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I'm saying that Ammorial canceled the agreement in support of United Interplanetary Forces."
"What do you mean, canceled?" Mekhen turned to face his friend and leaned on the corner with his back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Does he want someone like Santoritans to take over his planet? Or for Krypt to pull something again?"
"He's convinced it's impossible," Sammrock shrugged. "How is that impossible? What kind of nonsense is that?"
"According to Neirali, he claims that frequencies have changed and the invaders will get the taste of their own medicine before they can commit any crimes. In short, their actions will come back at them like a boomerang before they break through the planetary defense wall."
Mekhen chuckled in disbelief.
"I mean, I get it, there is a transformation taking place, and the consequences of our choice comes unequivocally faster, but I am not sure that Ammorial should rely on this law of karma when it comes to the matters of protecting the planet. It's a little too frivolous."
"Coincidentally, Neirali supports his decision. Despite the fact that now I can't visit her at all, except when I'm on vacation." The young man flexed the muscles on his jaws in displeasure. Due to his expressive eyebrows and focused look, his manly face sometimes seemed too stern, but not to people who knew him closely. Under all this seriousness, he always had a good-natured smile in store for them.
"They are all like that over there, Sammrock, on this Lucis of theirs. Don't mind it. For them, being kind is more important than being alive, apparently..."
"Not quite, being alive is also important to them, of course, as part of their love for themselves. But still... it's pretty strange. Obviously, I love Neirali very much... But now I don't know what to do. What else can I do besides being a soldier? The military on Lucis is basically nonexistent."
Mekhen sighed noisily, looking down at his feet with an immovable gaze. At the same time, he was thinking about something of his own, something distant, beyond the understanding of the assistant captain.
"You have not been yourself after the crash, Mekhen," Sammrock scanned him with his attentive, direct gaze.
"Hard to be yourself after spending a year in a coma." The captain casually tucked his loose hair behind his ear, exposing the scars under his earlobe, and silently set to work again.
Mekhen knew that he was not himself. Occupational burnout, perhaps? For some reason, he was no longer thrilled about his captain's bridge. He was no longer sent on field missions. Not that he was too eager to chase criminals across the galaxies. His arms and neck were covered in burn marks. And he no longer had any intention to let himself be blown up if something went wrong. Risking his life doing tasks of those who actually, deep down, perceive him as expendable? As a pawn that can and should be sacrificed for the sake of their own well-being, accumulation of power, and efficiency? That's the whole point of being a soldier. And he no longer believed in any fairy tales about how romantic and heroic it is to be a special agent of the UIF after these twenty-five years of service. He had stroked his ego long enough for the status and title of a hero to be once again equivalent to life. A simple and happy life. He missed everything, while darting through the galaxies, neutralizing criminals, and standing on these captain's bridges. All the delights of just living and enjoying the sun on one of the colony planets, taking pleasure in the warmth of the life of a mere mortal surrounded by family and friends.
War only exists where life is not valued. If everyone at least valued their own life, not even necessarily someone else's, then there could be no war at all. No one would want to be a soldier, a military man, or someone's pawn, risking their lives for the sake of realizing the ambitions of one of the rulers. For every person out there, simple human happiness would be more important than the titles of heroes and awards by the committee.