The nearest Air Route was a hundred metres from Markov's quarters. It was one of four Air Routes on level 208, and it was visible only as a red outline on the black stone wall of the corridor. Above the entrance, two yellow arrows pointed up and down within a green circle. Finding the Air Route was the easy part. Using it was another matter entirely.
Markov stepped close to the entrance and it split down the middle, each panel sliding silently sideways into the wall. He squeezed himself into the padded booth and felt the acceleration webbing wrap tightly around him. Before he had chance to change his mind, the booth launched itself into the strange inner workings of the White Spear. Markov felt his internal organs rearranging themselves as his body plummeted in the small booth, slapping from one side to the other. It felt like falling down a drainage pipe while being punched repeatedly in the ribs. When the door split open again, Markov stumbled out into the corridor of level 117. According to the schematics he had been studying, this was where the officer's cafeteria should be. He had no idea how the Air Route had known where to bring him. He hadn't given it any kind of command, either spoken or otherwise.
The Air Routes had originally been constructed for transporting the lords, back in the days when they had occupied the White Spear. Markov guessed that the control systems were more suitable for lords than men.
'Morning, General.'
Markov turned to find one of the Commanders standing near the wall. He had a strange smile on his face, and he looked as though he had slept well. Markov wondered whether the man had a clean conscience, or whether he was just a sound sleeper. He remembered the man's face. They had met before. But after the previous night's meeting in the Orange Room, so many names had slipped out of his mind. No doubt they would come back to him at some point during the day.
'Morning, Commander...'
'Jake Harris, General.'
'Yes, of course. I think we met before, a few years back.'
'We did.'
'You look older than the last time I saw you,' Markov said.
'Since last night's meeting in the Orange Room? Damn, I age fast these days.'
There was a mischievous glint in Harris' eyes, which Markov chose to ignore.
'I've been away for four years,' Markov said. 'It looks like a lot of things have changed around here, good discipline being one of them.'
'You were hard on the commanders last night,' Harris said.
Markov held his gaze. 'Is there any other way?'
Harris shrugged. 'Perhaps not.'
'Everyone needs to understand that things are going to change around here.'
'I think that came across.'
Markov nodded. 'I hope so.' He turned his head, looking up and down the corridor. 'It's been a while since I've stayed in the White Spear. Maybe you can remind me where the cafeteria is? I thought it was on this level?'
Harris smiled. 'You were absolutely right, General. Follow me to sample delights beyond your wildest dreams, so long as your dreams are extremely basic and impoverished.' Harris turned and walked at a leisurely pace to the end of the corridor where he slipped through a narrow archway on his left.
Markov followed him. On the other side of the archway, the corridor opened up into a large seating area. The double height ceiling was higher than the other levels, giving the cafeteria a spacious feeling. Ten rows of tables ran along the length of the room with a metre wide gap between them. There was enough seating for four hundred crew to eat in a single sitting, but most of the tables were empty at this time of the morning.
Harris gestured towards the opposite end of the cafeteria. A couple of cooks were standing behind a long row of steel containers. Their blue overalls were clean and immaculately pressed. Markov nodded his approval. Attention to detail was important. A well pressed uniform was the sign of a disciplined mind. He had a lot of respect for those who were not afraid of hard work. He walked towards the cooks with Harris at his side. A range of fresh smells assaulted his senses as he approached the serving area. Harris headed for the right side of the food line and Markov joined him.
The cafeteria was almost empty so early in the morning, but the cooks had already prepared a large quantity of food. The bulk of the crew would be arriving in the next hour or so. Markov decided he would speak to the cooks later to find out what the busiest times were. He could learn a lot about the hours the crew were working from the times that they ate. He was also interested in what they were eating. It was important for the crew to maintain a healthy balanced diet to complement their training schedules.
Markov stared at the skinny cook standing in front of him. His neck was thinner than Markov's arm. Spots covered the lower part of his chin and his small blue eyes stared out from a face that was utterly terrified.
'Gen... Gen...' The cook turned and ran through a swing door at the back of the serving area. 'The bloody General's here!' he shouted from somewhere behind a wall.
Metal crashed against something hard, and glass shattered somewhere out of sight.
'You stupid bastard,' another voice said. 'Clean that up.'
Markov turned to face Harris with a frown.
'I think he's pleased to meet you,' Harris said.
An older cook stepped out from the back room. He had a round belly and a thick grey beard. He fastened his apron straps behind his back, and nodded solemnly to them both. 'Morning, General' he said.
Markov nodded back.
The cook took that to be the end of small talk and began scooping food from various containers onto Markov's tray. Markov let him pile it high. He would worry about what it was when he tried to eat it.
Harris served himself before heading for the nearest table. When Markov caught up with him, he noticed that Harris' tray was almost empty.
'You're not hungry?' Markov said, flicking a finger in the direction of his tray.
'I ate already,' Harris said. 'I wasn't sure what time you would go for breakfast, so I came down about five. This is just a top up breakfast for me.' He poured himself a glass of water from a jug on the table and then poured another one for Markov.
'What is this?' Markov said, lifting a forkful of green sludge from his tray.
Harris shrugged. 'It's similar to egg. It's synthetic.'
'Did they have to make it green?'
'I guess they wanted to try something out.'
Markov pushed it around with his fork. 'Does it taste like egg?'
'Not really.'
Markov scooped it into his mouth and chewed, his expression remaining completely blank. 'Harris,' he said.
'Yes, General?'
'Remind me never to eat that again.'
Harris laughed.
Markov struggled to eat several other types of synthetic sludge from his tray, trying each one in turn. He made a conscious effort to ignore the clashing flavours as much as possible. He knew that he would be eating the same sludge for months so he had to make sure that he set a good example for the other crew to follow. He would make sure this was the last time that he complained about the food in front of anyone else.
The cafeteria was almost empty. Only a handful of people had arrived so far. They sat scattered around nearby tables, busy chatting or eating their breakfast. They certainly weren't looking at General Markov, not when they thought he was looking at them anyway. It was obvious they were curious about him. There was a new General in the White Spear. Most of them had never met a general before. It was only natural that they would wonder what he was doing here, and how things were going to change now that he had arrived. His name would be mentioned in corridors and stairways for many days to come. Markov wondered what they would say about him. It didn't matter what it was. The crew would always talk about something. Stories carry on the wind, General Wolfhammer had once said.
Every man is just a shadow formed by the words of other men.
Only time would tell what shadow Markov would cast. He enjoyed another of Wolfhammer's sayings too.
Dead men's words count for nothing when history is told.
'They'll get used to you,' Harris said, wiping some green sludge from the corner of his beard.
Markov nodded.
Harris leant forward with a wide smile. 'Let's face it. They don't have a fucking choice.'