truck somewhere...
or someone's water pipes start leaking and they don't have to gear to fix 'em.
So what do they do? Well, they pretty much call us, is what they do.
"We're
the go-to fix-it guys and gals of the Defense Force. You need someone to
deliver something, we do it. You need someone to guard the edge of a mine field
to keep the kiddies and morons out, we can do it. You need someone to drag some
soldiers out of a pleasure-house but don't want to call the MPs, we can do it.
"Basically,
whatever the job is, we can do it. It's not glamorous. Holy shit, it's not
glamorous," Dave said, smiling. "But there's no chicken-shit military
crap here, and without us... Well, it's like a machine without lubricant. It
seizes and doesn't fucking work. We're the oil that keeps the Defense Force
machine running."
"Yes
si... I mean, OK, Dave," Cal said.
"Right,"
Dave grinned. "You're getting it. Now you can see the down-sides pretty
easy, huh? But the upside is, the sort of people we get as mostly the ones who
don't want to have a military discipline stick shoved up their asses, and
frankly, that sort of people are a lot better to hang out with than the other
sort.
"You'd
be amazed how many people we've had in Auxiliary who wound up really rich and
successful after their stint was up; non-conformist creative types, you know? I
mean, isn't that what Arcadia is supposed to be all about?" Dave grinned.
Call
laughed. "Sure."
"Right,"
Dave said. "So that's how I figure it. We're the purest embodiment of
Arcadia. And even though everyone thinks we're the dregs, they all need us,
man. I mean, what we do matters. All the other Corps are all getting ready for
some day when the UEN comes back... even though we control the gate and they
can't come back unless we let 'em. Or maybe waiting for space aliens to attack,
or some shit like that. And let me tell you, if space aliens ever attack, we're
going to be fucking glad to have those guys and gals. But in the meantime,
we're the ones who do things. They just train and wait.
"Anyway,
that's my pep talk, Cal. If you want to tell me it's bullshit and just settle
in and be miserable for a couple of years, I'll understand. But I'm not
bullshitting you, and if you want to step up and help the mission, me and the
other guys and gals will be happy to have you."
"Wow,"
Cal said, shaking his head. "That's not... I mean, that's not bad. For a
pep-talk, I mean. Well, I'm here, so I might as well step up, like you
said."
"OK,
then" Dave said, holding out a hand. "Welcome aboard."
"Right,"
Dave told him, as they finished the "tour" of the station. The
barracks weren't actually that bad, Cal had realized. They were full of
scrounged and improvised amenities... including, almost unbelievably, a working
swimming pool made out of the bottom half of an ancient UN patrol boat that
must have been as old as the colony... or older.
"So
one thing to remember, Cal. We're only twenty kilometers from the nearest
refugee camp, and once in a while, some of those fellows hike all the way up
here. Sometimes they're OK, you know? Just want some help that we can give
them. But if they were really OK, they'd just move out of the camps and stop
being refugees, right? And sometimes, it's some local gang-lord's boys; the
sort of hard-core gangsters that really run the camps. So we never, and I mean
never, go anywhere unarmed.
"Here,"
he added, pressing his palm to the lock plate of a cabinet and taking out a
compact H&K G60 rifle.
Cal
had seen rifles like it in vids before, and some of the MP guards at other
Defense Force installations had carried them. They were meant for
anti-personnel use at close ranges and weren't too much use past five or six
hundred meters, or against any serious armor. Infantry frames had made them
more or less obsolete.
"Carry
it with you, man. Keep it with you. The G60 is a sweet gun. Germans build the
best guns, man. 6.7mm, light-weight, accurate, reliable. No smart-sight crap or
anything,
or someone's water pipes start leaking and they don't have to gear to fix 'em.
So what do they do? Well, they pretty much call us, is what they do.
"We're
the go-to fix-it guys and gals of the Defense Force. You need someone to
deliver something, we do it. You need someone to guard the edge of a mine field
to keep the kiddies and morons out, we can do it. You need someone to drag some
soldiers out of a pleasure-house but don't want to call the MPs, we can do it.
"Basically,
whatever the job is, we can do it. It's not glamorous. Holy shit, it's not
glamorous," Dave said, smiling. "But there's no chicken-shit military
crap here, and without us... Well, it's like a machine without lubricant. It
seizes and doesn't fucking work. We're the oil that keeps the Defense Force
machine running."
"Yes
si... I mean, OK, Dave," Cal said.
"Right,"
Dave grinned. "You're getting it. Now you can see the down-sides pretty
easy, huh? But the upside is, the sort of people we get as mostly the ones who
don't want to have a military discipline stick shoved up their asses, and
frankly, that sort of people are a lot better to hang out with than the other
sort.
"You'd
be amazed how many people we've had in Auxiliary who wound up really rich and
successful after their stint was up; non-conformist creative types, you know? I
mean, isn't that what Arcadia is supposed to be all about?" Dave grinned.
Call
laughed. "Sure."
"Right,"
Dave said. "So that's how I figure it. We're the purest embodiment of
Arcadia. And even though everyone thinks we're the dregs, they all need us,
man. I mean, what we do matters. All the other Corps are all getting ready for
some day when the UEN comes back... even though we control the gate and they
can't come back unless we let 'em. Or maybe waiting for space aliens to attack,
or some shit like that. And let me tell you, if space aliens ever attack, we're
going to be fucking glad to have those guys and gals. But in the meantime,
we're the ones who do things. They just train and wait.
"Anyway,
that's my pep talk, Cal. If you want to tell me it's bullshit and just settle
in and be miserable for a couple of years, I'll understand. But I'm not
bullshitting you, and if you want to step up and help the mission, me and the
other guys and gals will be happy to have you."
"Wow,"
Cal said, shaking his head. "That's not... I mean, that's not bad. For a
pep-talk, I mean. Well, I'm here, so I might as well step up, like you
said."
"OK,
then" Dave said, holding out a hand. "Welcome aboard."
"Right,"
Dave told him, as they finished the "tour" of the station. The
barracks weren't actually that bad, Cal had realized. They were full of
scrounged and improvised amenities... including, almost unbelievably, a working
swimming pool made out of the bottom half of an ancient UN patrol boat that
must have been as old as the colony... or older.
"So
one thing to remember, Cal. We're only twenty kilometers from the nearest
refugee camp, and once in a while, some of those fellows hike all the way up
here. Sometimes they're OK, you know? Just want some help that we can give
them. But if they were really OK, they'd just move out of the camps and stop
being refugees, right? And sometimes, it's some local gang-lord's boys; the
sort of hard-core gangsters that really run the camps. So we never, and I mean
never, go anywhere unarmed.
"Here,"
he added, pressing his palm to the lock plate of a cabinet and taking out a
compact H&K G60 rifle.
Cal
had seen rifles like it in vids before, and some of the MP guards at other
Defense Force installations had carried them. They were meant for
anti-personnel use at close ranges and weren't too much use past five or six
hundred meters, or against any serious armor. Infantry frames had made them
more or less obsolete.
"Carry
it with you, man. Keep it with you. The G60 is a sweet gun. Germans build the
best guns, man. 6.7mm, light-weight, accurate, reliable. No smart-sight crap or
anything,
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