Each order is divided into sub-orders for further specialization. The Order of Saint Adrian, for example is broken into the Order of Saint Matthew (police and internal security), the Order of Saint Micheal (military), the Order of Saint Joshua (intel ops and special forces), and the Order of Saint Elijah (space assets). These are then divided into further sub-orders, but as one moves away from the main three orders the sub-orders become more of an administrative distinction. For example, the Order of Saint Michael has within it the Order of Saint Christopher (angel pilots) and the Order of Saint Therese (air forces), which are just branches of a larger singular force. Despite this, rivalries and friendly competitions between the sub-orders are common.
Two figures in police uniforms sat down at a table in the restaurant. It was a modestly sized diner in Sanctuary’s second ring, with the symbol of the Order of Saint Joseph emblazoned on the door as part of the logo. The staff, who were all members of the Order of Saint Michael judging by their uniforms, ran around servicing a full house. As the two policemen looked over the restaurant, they counted people from every major order and at least 20 minor orders in the middle of their meals. A waitress that looked to be in her mid-teens—likely on her first work assignment—came up and took their orders for drinks.
The first figure looked at the other. “So, how was the night? Anything I should know?” His companion laughed before answering.
“Pretty quiet. We have a couple Saint Martin boys who got in a drinking competition with some marines. A few punches were thrown, but nothing worth reporting. We have them in the drunk tank until they sober up and their officers collect them. We also had an accident, some of the construction crew that were working on that old school were showing off their work to some higher ups from Saint Andrew. One of the workers ran over one of their visitors with a forklift. Medics responded, and we should have a report to use by the end of your shift. Kinda glad medics were close, we don’t get the same level of training they do in Saint Marcellin for that kind of trauma.”
Stunned, the first man looked at his compatriot and exclaimed “HOW IS SOMEBODY GETTING RUN OVER A QUIET NIGHT!?” The second man chuckled.
“She was underneath a grate the forklift ran over, physically she was fine.” He smirked.
The first officer shot him with an angry look. “So why did they need medics?”
“Poor lady was scared shitless and needed a bit of calming down. A mild sedative and some calm words are way above my pay grade.
”The first officer buried his head in his hands. “Words, dude! You should have led off with the fact she was okay.” He barely finished his sentence before both started laughing.
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” The second officer leaned back in his chair. “Man, sometimes I think I wouldn’t give this job up even if the guys from Christopher offered me a chance to be an angel pilot.”
Now it was the first officer’s turn to smirk. “Yeah, because if you pilot the way you tell stories you’d start shooting before you were off the transport.”
The second officer laughed again. “Well, if I did, I’d be sure to tell you about it over lunch.”