Morison walked into his garage and flipped the light switch. Row upon row of tiny globes twinkled into life, bathing everything in iridescent, pleasant to the eye holo-light. The hangar was spacious and yet, there were only a couple of machines left for sale. Three tanks and five armored fighting vehicles; Terran-made, tracked, and armed with powerful laser cannons, they awaited their new owners.

Ever since that dreadful war on Sirius prime, people had been coming here in droves to purchase armored vehicles from his ever-shrinking inventory. Having lost his cargo ship and crew, Morison was asteroid bound; he had to conduct his life-saving business here. It was up to his clientèle to transport their newly-acquired vehicles to whatever planet they hailed from.

Hopefully, today was the day when Morison would part with the last of his merchandise. He'd saved some credits for a rainy day and intended to buy a small, armed transport ship. With the money he made from outfitting fellow colonists with tanks, self propelled artillery systems, and armored personnel carriers, Morison could finally resume his old business venture.

It would appear that the merchant of life was in luck.

A potential buyer walked in with a springy step and strange, wavy hand motions. This person was known for mediating vehicle purchases for alien allies of the Terran Minarchy, and called himself the “Tank Reviewer.” Dressed in imposing, reflecting the holo-lights suit, the shortish man looked around, with the click of a tongue he expressed his dissatisfaction from the apparent lack of choice.

Before Morison could open his mouth and greet him, the buyer's eyes were already locked on one of his prized possessions. Like many other purveyors of armed vehicles, the merchant of life had amassed a small vehicle collection. A few of these were oddities, prototypes that never entered mass production. Other models had long since been discontinued, but were famed for having many and great battlefield successes. There were many collectors who paid top credits for a well refurbished, rare vehicle.

Morison was always on the look for original parts or tanks to “flip.”

This was one of his older machines; a unique design that fought during the Sirius War. A one man build, the tank did the job it was designed for, but it wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination.

The reviewer walked around the machine and waved his scanner at it, each time grunting with apparent dissatisfaction. It took Morison a couple of seconds but he understood that his perspective client did not simply dislike – he hated the tank. There were enough vehicles in this garage and all were beautiful factory builds, therefore he was a bit surprised when the tank reviewer complained:

“See, Morison... I wanted to like this tank, I really did! But it was designed by someone, a simpleton who lacks skill and knowledge. Look at the rough edges of that armor plating, even the turret is crooked! Seriously, how can one even begin thinking of building such a dreadful thing?”

The man nearly shoved his scanner in Morison's face and, pointing at the tank's interior, resumed his rant:

“There is absolutely no structure here! Every internal system placement looks rushed and the crew would be troubled by this during battle. Also, what kind a simpleton positions inner armor layers like that?! Again, we have more crooked edges, and if that wasn't enough, the main gun assembly is out of alignment by 0.0002 microns!”

Annoyed and panting, the buyer shuffled away from the tank.

“Had the engineer taken his time to polish his creation and fix these errors, that machine might've been of quality high enough to pass my inspection! But as it is, no.”

Morison nodded and smiled, his left eye twitching, as he was listening to someone complaining about something that he didn't fully understand. He gently nudged the buyer away from his personal collection and guided him towards the back end of his garage, where all of the ready for sale vehicles stood upon their displays.

With a huge, well-practiced grin, Morison tapped the brand spanking new armor of a factory made Tank. The supply ship had dropped off this batch a week before and they were selling like hot bread. Manufactured by one of the heavily industrialized colonies, “Halberd Mk3” followed an old and established design, put together by a whole team of experienced engineers. They relied on the help of VI software and their large automated factory to fix any imperfections, had any of these even existed within the original design.

Nodding and smiling, the tank reviewer shuffled around this machine, waving his scanner at it, before he exclaimed:

“Excellent! That is exactly what I want to buy! Why the hell are you even wasting garage space, keeping that old scrapheap over there?”

Morison's eye twitched again and he could no longer keep his mouth shut:

“Because it is my fucking garage. Yes, from your perspective you are absolutely correct, that old tank over there is far from perfect. It is rough around the edges, its armor is not layered properly. The turret is a bit crooked and the main gun assembly is off by a whopping '0.0002 microns'!”

“However, despite its many flaws, the colonists loved it to bits. The one who built it, not that you even thought about it, was a self-taught engineer. This vehicle was the first that he built; alone, sick as a dog and on a tight deadline. He didn't have a shiny robotic factory to fashion perfect parts, but his two hands and only the basic of tools. There was nobody there to tell him the 'bestest ever' way how to craft things... he had to think on his feet.”

Morison pointed at the shiny factory made “Halberd” and, his face a stone-cold mask, said:

“Sit on a chair and glue both your feet on it. With your right hand tied behind your back, while vomiting your guts, I want you to build me a tank like this one!”

“What?! Are you crazy Morison! I am not an engineer...” - the man turned around and threw another scornful look at the decrepit tank.

“Wait, waaaait just a goddamn minute Morison! You are pulling my leg here. You want me to believe that ackshual people went to war in it? Really?! This is madness!”

“No, not madness, but a hero of the Sirius War. This machine is called 'Defiance' and destroyed more than twenty enemy tanks in one battle alone. Yes, many brave colonists died in it, but they pulled the tank after each battle, fixed it, and continued fighting. Its main gun is off, but they knew about it and corrected their aim. The fucking armor plating is not layered with perfect precision, so they always positioned the tank to compensate. It was everything that they had, and their families survived because of it. Once after the main turret was blown off, they used it as an ambulance and evacuated hundreds from the battlefield. This ugly, imperfect tank saved thousands of 'ackshual' people! You are absolutely right when noting all of its shortcomings, the rushed construction and... everything.”

Morison pointed at the “Halberd” tank with a crooked smile:

“This shiny new tank, fresh off the assembly line, is exactly what you need. In fact, it is the only thing you can ever be satisfied with. You are a man who values perfection above all,” - and the merchant of life made a dramatic pause before he stated - “Take it or leave it!”

The stunned buyer waived a thick credit chit over Morison's PDA buying not one, but all three “Halberds” and promptly left. Later, before closing down for the day Morison checked his fully refurbished “Defiance.” He jumped inside and, hands shaky, traced old battle scars and well-known to him dents. Left unpolished, a great many plasma welds spoke of the terrors which this vehicle and her many crewmates had to suffer.

Morison's breathing became raspy, his eyes watery, and he flipped the mainframe key. Programmed with the vocal patterns of the long-dead engineer who had so lovingly crafted it, the computer reported:

“All systems on, I am ready to fight!”

Years had rolled by since the War ended, yet his soul was overwhelmed by the stench of burned flesh, fried vacfoam, and molten metal. He may have left Sirius long ago, yet Sirius never left him. Eyes open, ears ringing with explosions and the hiss of beamfire, the Morison of before was fighting for his life...

***

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The story of Morison continues here!