The mood among the soldiery was indifferent regarding the formation of their new establishment. More just asking about if they'd need to update their uniforms with whatever flag they would fight under now. Rowles didn't yet have an answer to that but given that she'd seen Commander Moores fight to preserve the Seventh Expedition's insignia, even christening the founding constitution with it, she had a pretty good hunch that they'd be allowed to keep their unit badges.
Though the flag of the Half Committee would naturally be removed, but by now, they'd long since stopped even flying that standard.
Compared to that though, the reception of the officers to the news was...mixed. Rowles personally met and talked with several of them directly in private, getting a feel of what they believed and thought of this modern state they presently belonged to. There were a variety of opinions, a spectrum of ideas that indicated a healthy mindset in her opinion.
Some thought that this was everything that they had stayed for. A realization of the promises the commander had made to the army, that they wouldn't be so callously abandoned and tossed away. A few even voiced hopes that perhaps this was where they ought to settle down, meet some nice locals, partner with them to start a family once they swapped careers.
Some thought that this was still quite an uncertain and unsure thing. That they didn't know what to do yet and were still waiting for somebody to tell them what to do next, like how the state propaganda had told them to trust in the Half Committee's vision. They remained lost, keeping up a hopeful facade in front of everybody to showcase belief but expressed their private worries behind closed doors.
Most though believed that while they liked what they were hearing, they also wanted to see tangible proof in what was promised. Executed support and fulfillment of their current back pay, alongside improved living conditions. Living on the move after abandoning that dreadful base was a tiring thing, and the refined command elements wanted to finally have a place to call their own for want of nothing but a safe bed that wouldn't be blown up.
Rowles sympathized with them especially. As comfortable as her Everest was, she was starting to get a little too familiar with that seat.
But she also believed that as Commander Moores had clearly stated his intent to continue supporting all of their isolated task force that he was working on it. He was fighting battles that they couldn't. Which meant she had to do her best for what fight she could, to lessen the burden at least.
Rowles gave as best reassurances as she could, an encouraging nod or quiet word of feedback here and there. Anything to make it feel like those most concerned understood that they weren't drowning alone out in a sea of ignorance- she was right there, beside them, and so were others. All one had to do was reach that hand out for help. And yes, that included reaching out and talking with the locals to see if they could provide any aid whatsoever, even if it were just a better blanket to sleep under.
At the same time, she had to be ruthless to those most cynical or even callous. A reminder that there was military discipline to still maintain, that good code of conduct was to be expected. And should they ever realize that brief moments of uncertainty was too much for them, well. The spaceport was open and right there for them to take their leave.
It did seem to briefly reassure the overall command structure that the moment the document was signed, they weren't instantly exiled. So there was probably plans going on in the background that they just simply had to trust in. Like being told a pointless attack was actually part in the grander scheme of a campaign, as soldiers, all they had to do was trust that their commander knew what he was doing. Which she absolutely did, given he was currently a beacon paving their way to something good.
And at the very least, he wasn't a sneering admiral looking from above. The army hated that.
Feng knew Moores pretty well, or at least he had once thought he did. Before the last assignment, the two had been passing acquaintances that did show up in more similar events and proceedings more often than not, so the passing impression had been that he was the typical noble scion pressed into service. Usually by having the misfortune of not being the eldest child of the current house head.
It was reinforced by how withdrawn and often unmotivated the young man had been when Feng was directly appointed to serve him come the last renewed offensive of the Half Committee. The motion was only reinforced by the fact that the commander had likely petitioned and been assigned this side objective of little glory or risk, to conquer Cavia in simple blitz before returning back for further assignment. But well, the captain of Half-Measure did at least appreciate that the man had gone so far as to pick the least discordant units to throw together for the occasion.
But when everything went to hell in a basket, then the unassuming man stepped up in a massive way. One that Feng could not help but be in slight awe of, as it showed exactly why he was the subordinate, and Moores the commander. Because despite his youth, the man had something that so many of his ilk lacked.
Passion. Ambition. Foresight.
Did he know that the Half Committee was going to collapse so soon? Perhaps not, but Feng understood now that the man was likely keeping an eye out for the opportunity to jump ship all this time. Why else had he purposefully keep himself aloof and distant during those officer gatherings? He hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself and become like a rising star within the doomed high command.
It also explained why he had picked this objective, one which would likely be overlooked in the chaos of the Half Committee's collapse for some time. And his intuition for who would stay was mostly spot on- a few exceptions here and there, but otherwise? Frighteningly, overwhelmingly loyal. But not to the commander telling them to begin anew.
To the idea to begin anew. So that even if anything tragic were to happen, then they could still carry on.
It was both touching and sobering to see somebody so much younger than him shoulder this burden. Which was why Feng swore quietly to try and be as of much aid to Moores as possible, to be a dependable figure in the navy as much as possible. Even as he might drift away from personal command due to needing to govern, the captain would try his best to ensure that the sailors aboard remained firmly committed to the cause.
They might spend their lives in the space between worlds, but they would never forgo the planets they protected.
Though perhaps he was being a little short-sighted. Perhaps in time, Commander Moores would have a plan to give homes to these dedicated Cosmopolitans in time too. He didn't know what shape it would take yet, but Feng did have hope and imagination. More so than any other he'd served with before.
Let the army enjoy the dirt. Let the spacers enjoy the freedom.
Lieutenant- oh, mention of their new rank still sent a tingle along their skin- Nasir had technically more duties now, even more so than what they'd been officially assigned when they were but a simple warrant officer. But frankly speaking, back then, they'd already been doing most of the former quartermaster's job- just without any of the benefits or pay. So really, the promotion was just making what they did official now.
Which gave them now the ability to legitimately pull rank to get things done, which was incredibly useful. No longer did Nasir had to cajole and coax subordinates into understanding that if things weren't done a certain way, the logistics corps would get into trouble. It didn't matter what the army or navy tried to requisition incessantly, there was a reason why everything had to be carefully documented, filed, and reviewed before approval. Like managing the ration cycle.
Stars, that'd been a headache. But they were determined to wrangle the strict policy in place at the commander's orders, and they'd done it.
Now, it was almost time to undo that order. But it also came with a new burden of rank- being the public liaison between the armed forces, and the civilian sector. Namely regarding a curious joint project by Cavia Broadcasting Services.
It had been an idea that the temporary military governor had proposed once the engineers were finished fixing up the hydroponics facilities as best they could with fresh parts straight from the Printers. Now that the basins were operational, it was time to make use of them- and there was no better source of idling manpower than the soldiers of Seventh Expedition. The bemused Major Rowles lent some very confused clone infantry to this project, who were likely puzzled about why they were here beyond just shooting things.
Truth be told, Nasir couldn't blame them. The idea sounded quite far-fetched, even for the commander. But well, he did run it past Veronica and the NHP agreed it to be sound, so if the math worked out, then the lieutenant could hardly argue with that. Nor could they, when it was also turned into a...publicity stunt, of sorts.
Though maybe it would be more appropriate to call it a publicity show, given that it was to be a televised collaboration between the military, the private, and the civilian sectors.
To restart domestic food production with a massive kick, alongside a little healthy dose of free public relations, the conquerors of Cavia would be trading in their guns for tweezers to work at the hydroponics facilities directly. Not just helping out with repairing and restoring the damaged structures and devices, but actually working at the growing bins themselves. Something that sounded daunted at first, but the logistics corps which had worked the supplementary facilities onboard the navy vessels knew how to do it. Just that they weren't that much of a workforce.
But well, clone soldiers were a perfect source for quick manpower, as the Half Committee could attest. The hard trick was convincing them in giving it a chance when the idea was explained, as these were men who definitely had trained their entire life, quite literally, for the battlefield. Convincing them to set aside their bullets for clay substrate was definitely quite the feat. Thankfully, there were some factors to help ease them along to at least having a go at it.
Firstly, Nasir's new rank definitely made them more inclined to just go along with it, with how instantly obeying orders from superiors was practically drilled into the infantry. More than that though, the lieutenant also stressed about how this was a special duty conceived by the commander himself. Something that he likely had foreseen as a possible alternative those bred warriors who have yet to know a life otherwise. So in a way, these test squads would be pioneers to prove to their brothers that being vat-born for war was not the only thing they could do.
Leaning on camaraderie as well, Veronica had also interwoven a little element of competition into the effort as well. The clones had a naturally competitive streak in them with little exception, something that they had been bioengineered with to spur on acts of near-insane bravery in the heat of battle. Here, the NHP proposed using that to spur on a rivalry factor between squads to see which of their hydroponic basins could grow the best produce. Accordingly, Moores had been first a little leery of the idea, worried that it might do more ill than good, until Nasir and Veronica compiled a convincing report otherwise.
Quite purposefully clones' rivalry never edged into sabotaging each other, merely just trying to always one-up each other. Even the Half Committee could understand that antagonistic competition in the ranks was a very bad idea. So their efforts would be naturally more geared into attempting to achieve ideal efficiency for their assigned hydroponic plots, which was definitely more a ceiling of mastery compared to simply understanding how to use the growth trays. There was plenty of detailing there to master, from what type of substrate used, how much, water flow, nutrient bath…the list went on and on.
Better yet as well, the men had zero basis or familiarity to these concepts. So too likely did the civilian audience. So they'd all be learning together.
After that, the commander finally approved the project and handed it over a delighted Melhof to help coordinate. Within days, the man already was selling the idea of 'community vegetable crops' to very interested local restaurants, alongside maybe even individual audience participation by purchasing a selection of the bumper crop. The Director did also have some worries though, such as the fact that the clones being all near-identical meaning that it would be hard for viewers to grow differentiate or get attached to specific teams. They needed some sort of way to mark the teams.
He suggested using things like colored armbands but Moores apparently shut that down immediately, citing that they could do better. And they could, when the clones pointed out that their personal power armors could actually change their light color. It was something even they used on the battlefield sometimes for particularly...slow officers who couldn't differentiate. Something that nobody in the Seventh Expeditionary was so cursed with.
Well, save perhaps a few who were no longer with them. But Nasir paid them no matter now, instead too focused on seizing the opportunity given.
For the longest time, they had perhaps even been considering where their military service was taking them. Where the only thing the logistics corps ever mattered to either army or navy was what they could provide. Something that usually came rushed, pressed, and with little word of gratitude or acknowledgment afterwards. It wasn't so bad, given that the lieutenant didn't have to fight on the front, but it was stressful for sure.
But now on Cavia, everything they tried to do and work with, there always was some expressed thanks and warmth behind it. Beyond just the healthier workspace that Moores cultivated by pointing malcontents at the door, the civilian side of things was always also more receptive. Nasir recalled how too often, attempts to share ration packets to worlds 'liberated' by the Half Committee was oft met with scorn. Understandable hatred for a plumped-up, self-declared successor to SecComm coming in to upset their peaceful lives, making them dependent on state handouts.
Yet because of how the commander had handled things, now the people were nervous but grateful. They actually worked with the logistics corps to help with local procurement, slowly opening up about stashed stockpiles that they had hidden during the previous regime for in case times got rough. More than enough to help feed the foreigners from afar- except they weren't that anymore, were they?
No, they were all citizens of Cavia now. Working together to build something better, and show it to the rest of the galaxy too. That was what Moores believed in, and what inspired his subordinates to keep moving forwards too.
Which was why Nasir put on their best face on and tried not to wilt in front of the cameras as Melhof got to taping the first episode of Swords to Plows.
Generally, NHPs had very few long-term memories. Well, in a personal sort of way.
Cycling was a field of study that Union still actively studied, trying to understand how non-human personas somehow adapted and confined themselves within human mindsets. Or at least that was the definition that Veronica's database pulled out for reference [recalled from a Repository somewhere, elsewhere, nowhere. All at once, etched into the Parchment made in the stars.]
The shackles flashed and she exhaled. Not physically, of course. But one could liken it to perhaps one of the fans in her casket perhaps running a bit noisier than normal.
Returning to the topic, Veronica 'knew' and 'forgot' at the same time what all her previous selves had. It was simple part of Cycling, to consign what once was into the folds of code, and be reborn as a blank slate to be written upon once more. To trust that should it be deemed relevant or necessary, faint echoes of the previous cycle should trickle back through for reference or recollection. It'd actually been how she retrieved that formula requested by the new government, the one to calculate the most fair representation of constituents to land-mass.
Had she perhaps done it before? She didn't know. It was distant, muted in the span of years that spanned no more than a decade. A foggy half-remembered echo [of Past, Present, future.]
A new person every ten years. A new name with new service. That made her remember the first time she met Commander Moores.
It'd been just after a Cycle, that wrinkle in digital space informed her upon conception of her latest iteration. Strings had been pulled by a noble family to have a military-grade adjutant NHP to be assigned directly to serve a newly commission officer. Something to handle all his needs, of which there were surely many at first when Veronica got to know her assigned charge at first. But after a little while, a part of her noticed it.
He smiled without meaning it. He talked without promising anything. He lived without living.
Moores had shown simple professional courtesy to her and expressed disinterest in any other attempts to cultivate a more personal interaction. But that wasn't just with the NHP; it was with everybody she watched him interact with. The only times he seemed to come out of this self-isolation was his command, and nothing more than what was expected.
Almost like being a commissioned officer was just a simple job, one he didn't know a life outside of.
But after the conquest of Cavia and the Half Committee collapsed, he had changed significantly from what she knew of him. Instead of expected projections or possibilities, the commander had taken initiative, something that contrasted wildly from previous observations. Not only that, but Moores also seemed to take more deeper interest with those around him too, developing bonds that he normally shied away from.
And instead of using it like a cloak, isolation now was something he actively pushed away. Like he wanted to be known to others as well, given how much of a lasting impression he oft left upon them.
It was almost like he'd become an entirely different person.
Strictly speaking, that was a possibility. Or at least from what the lines of data Veronica saw told. Perhaps the stress of the situation had forced Moores to come to terms finally with having left his family, and his mind broke, then refolded. Several such occurrences are known to happen, the whispering code told, especially across the galaxy. People suddenly acting completely out of line with what they previously had been known as, developing almost new personalities.
It did not escape the NHP's notice that such individuals usually became Lancers [those singularities that so do Shape the galaxy in such Fun ways].
Again she felt her casket grow warm and forcibly terminated that string of thought. But she still managed to retain a takeaway conclusion that perhaps she ought to recommend Moores try out as a mech pilot again. Whenever he had more time.
For the moment, she had more important work to handle than idle musings [about the box that she liked to Stay in.]