Having arrived at Darth, Chiran, the previous day, Marshall and Jerrett stood in line behind a long string of unsavory characters, all seeking to serve in the guard.
An officer sat behind a paperwork-laden table that evidenced his short stature, meeting him at mid-chest. His yellowed skin tattled on his history of excessive drinking, as did small broken veins on his broad bulbous nose that appeared too large for his face. Dark puffy circles hung below his yellow-brown eyes. His scant gray hair, parted nearly to his ear, did little to cover his bald crown. Overall, he appeared cadaverous.
Marshall hated the man at first sight. Having watched him for several continuous hours while awaiting his turn for processing, he witnessed the officer’s pettiness and dishonesty. From what he’d seen since arriving in Chiran, he concluded that the man was typical of most of the Chiranian guard.
The recruit standing just in front of Jerrett and next in line, stepped up to a scratch drawn on the wooden floor a few feet before the table. The officer did not look up. He reached to his side, where stood his assistant. The aide approached the next recruit, took his application from him, and then handed it to the officer.
The officer put the paperwork down, looked it over quickly and scribbled something on it. He motioned toward the recruit as he handed the paper back to his assistant, all without looking at either of the men or otherwise acknowledging them.
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