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Census
by Jason Krueger
Olen stepped off the Interstellar Explorer with a scowl upon his face. How a transport ship so small and run down could be dubbed interstellar was beyond him. It was bad enough he was reassigned to such a remote, uncivilized planet, but couldn’t the military have provided him with a better ride?
Eager to forget the two week trip, and even more eager to stretch his legs after the cramped voyage, Olen started walking down a nearby dirt road towards the village to which he had been assigned, securing his heavy standard-issue backpack to his back. Two large columns of smoke rose above the horizon in front of him, emanating from a single large wood hut.
“It’s a wonder they’ve even discovered fire,” he grumbled, stubbing his toe on a rock protruding from the middle of the path.
In actuality, the planet Verbena was not very far advanced from the discovery of fire. The natives lived primarily in wood or sod houses, and farming was the only way of life. Even the planet’s royalty owned and maintained their very own farm, distinguished only by its size.
Olen himself was a young army private, fresh out of high school. With merely average grades, and over 4000 peers to compete with, joining the military seemed like a relatively good option. Now, however, he was beginning to have his doubts.
Entering the outskirts of the village, Olen wrinkled his nose at the sudden strong smell of livestock.
“Wonderful. Am I to be milking cows then?” he wondered. “Nothing like making good use of combat training.”
When Olen had joined the army, he had wanted nothing more than to stand in the front lines of a planetary war, blast rifle in hand. The reality of such a war happening, however, was unfortunately very slim. Thus, the powers-that-be saw fit to give him menial tasks and boring clerical jobs in the meantime.
Olen had originally been excited when his reassignment orders had been given to him. Any field work was better than the endless filing he had been forced to deal with. Even in his advanced culture, they had not evolved beyond the need for paperwork.
“Olen!” the shout came from one of the smaller huts.
“Bis?”
There, standing in front of a particularly small hut, was his uncle Bis! Bis was a short, stocky old man, with steel gray hair and beard. He was a career man, in the army for 20 years now. In fact, Olen wondered, why hasn’t old Bis retired yet?
Giving each other somewhat sloppy salutes (one had to at least try to follow protocol in front of planetary natives), they embraced briefly, clapping each other on the back.
“I was hoping you’d make it here. I requested you personally!” Bis smiled cheerfully.
“What? You were responsible for my reassignment? Why would I want to be stationed in a prehistoria like this?” Olen’s own smile quickly turned.
“Oh come now, someone has to do it. Might as well keep it in the family, right?”
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