even the NavMil’s off-duty fatigues for trainees came with active camo.
She was shaking her head, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Even Fassin, who’d pretty much shucked off the whole boy thing of obsessive interest in all things military and alien not long after the onset of puberty, knew about the Voehn. They were usually described in the media as living legends or near-mythical warriors, which kind of blanded what they really were; the crack troops and personal guards of the new galactic masters.
The Voehn were the calmly relentless, highly intelligent, omni-competent, near-indestructible, all-environments-capable, undefeated uber- soldiers of the last nine or so millennia. They were the martial pin-ups of the age, the speckless species peak of military perfection, but they were rare, few and far between. Where the new masters, the Culmina, were, the Voehn were too, but not in all that many other places, and - as far as anybody knew, Fassin had been given to understand - in all those millennia not one had even entered the Ulubis system to visit Sepekte, the principal planet, let alone come near Nasqueron, or deigned to have anything to do with its little planet-moon ‘glantine, even in death.
There was, of course, a further resonance for humans in the Voehn name and reputation, whether one was aHuman or rHuman. It had been the actions of a single Voehn ship nearly eight thousand years earlier which had made the distinction and the two prefixes necessary in the first place.
‘Voehn,’ Sal said defiantly to Taince. ‘Voehn remains. That’s the rumour.’
Taince narrowed her eyes and drew herself up in her NavMil-issue fatigues. ‘Not one I’ve heard.’
‘Yes,’ Sal said, ‘well, my contacts are a few levels above the boot locker.’
Fassin gulped. ‘I thought they all got smeared in this thing, anyway,’ he said quickly, before Taince could reply. ‘Just paste, gas and stuff.’
‘They were,’ Taince said through her teeth, looking at Sal, not him.
‘Indeed they were,’ Sal agreed. ‘But Voehn are real toughies, aren’t they, Tain?’
‘Shit, yeah,’ Taince said quietly, levelly. ‘Real fucking toughies.’
‘Takes a lot to kill one, takes even more to paste it,’ Sal said, seemingly oblivious to Taince’s signals.
‘Notoriously resistant to fate and the enemy’s various unpleasantnesses,’ Taince said coldly. Fassin had the feeling she was quoting. The gossip was that she and Sal were some sort of couple, or at least fucked now and again. But Fassin thought that, given the look in her eyes right now, that particular side of their relationship, if it had ever existed, might be in some danger of being pasted itself. He looked for Ilen, to catch her expression.
She wasn’t where she’d been, on the far side of the flier. He looked around some more. She wasn’t anywhere he could see. ‘Ilen?’ he said. He glanced at the other two. ‘Where’s Ilen?’ Sal tapped his ear stud. ‘Ilen?’ he said. ‘Hey, Len?’ Fassin peered into the shadows. He had night vision as good as most people, but with barely any starlight and only the soft conserve-level lights of the flier resting in its declivity, there wasn’t much to work with. Infrared showed next to nothing too, not even fading footstep-traces on whatever this strange material was.
‘Ilen?’ Sal said again. He looked at Taince, who was also scanning the area. ‘I can’t see shit and my phone’s out,’ he told her. ‘You able to see any better than us?’
Taince shook her head. ‘Get those eyes in fourth year.’
Shit, thought Fassin. He wondered if anybody had a torch. Probably not. Few people did these days. He checked his own earphone, but it was dead too; not even local reception. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. When did the archetype of this storyline date from? Four kids getting the use of dad’s chariot and losing a wheel just before nightfall near the old deserted Neanderthal cave? Something
She was shaking her head, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Even Fassin, who’d pretty much shucked off the whole boy thing of obsessive interest in all things military and alien not long after the onset of puberty, knew about the Voehn. They were usually described in the media as living legends or near-mythical warriors, which kind of blanded what they really were; the crack troops and personal guards of the new galactic masters.
The Voehn were the calmly relentless, highly intelligent, omni-competent, near-indestructible, all-environments-capable, undefeated uber- soldiers of the last nine or so millennia. They were the martial pin-ups of the age, the speckless species peak of military perfection, but they were rare, few and far between. Where the new masters, the Culmina, were, the Voehn were too, but not in all that many other places, and - as far as anybody knew, Fassin had been given to understand - in all those millennia not one had even entered the Ulubis system to visit Sepekte, the principal planet, let alone come near Nasqueron, or deigned to have anything to do with its little planet-moon ‘glantine, even in death.
There was, of course, a further resonance for humans in the Voehn name and reputation, whether one was aHuman or rHuman. It had been the actions of a single Voehn ship nearly eight thousand years earlier which had made the distinction and the two prefixes necessary in the first place.
‘Voehn,’ Sal said defiantly to Taince. ‘Voehn remains. That’s the rumour.’
Taince narrowed her eyes and drew herself up in her NavMil-issue fatigues. ‘Not one I’ve heard.’
‘Yes,’ Sal said, ‘well, my contacts are a few levels above the boot locker.’
Fassin gulped. ‘I thought they all got smeared in this thing, anyway,’ he said quickly, before Taince could reply. ‘Just paste, gas and stuff.’
‘They were,’ Taince said through her teeth, looking at Sal, not him.
‘Indeed they were,’ Sal agreed. ‘But Voehn are real toughies, aren’t they, Tain?’
‘Shit, yeah,’ Taince said quietly, levelly. ‘Real fucking toughies.’
‘Takes a lot to kill one, takes even more to paste it,’ Sal said, seemingly oblivious to Taince’s signals.
‘Notoriously resistant to fate and the enemy’s various unpleasantnesses,’ Taince said coldly. Fassin had the feeling she was quoting. The gossip was that she and Sal were some sort of couple, or at least fucked now and again. But Fassin thought that, given the look in her eyes right now, that particular side of their relationship, if it had ever existed, might be in some danger of being pasted itself. He looked for Ilen, to catch her expression.
She wasn’t where she’d been, on the far side of the flier. He looked around some more. She wasn’t anywhere he could see. ‘Ilen?’ he said. He glanced at the other two. ‘Where’s Ilen?’ Sal tapped his ear stud. ‘Ilen?’ he said. ‘Hey, Len?’ Fassin peered into the shadows. He had night vision as good as most people, but with barely any starlight and only the soft conserve-level lights of the flier resting in its declivity, there wasn’t much to work with. Infrared showed next to nothing too, not even fading footstep-traces on whatever this strange material was.
‘Ilen?’ Sal said again. He looked at Taince, who was also scanning the area. ‘I can’t see shit and my phone’s out,’ he told her. ‘You able to see any better than us?’
Taince shook her head. ‘Get those eyes in fourth year.’
Shit, thought Fassin. He wondered if anybody had a torch. Probably not. Few people did these days. He checked his own earphone, but it was dead too; not even local reception. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. When did the archetype of this storyline date from? Four kids getting the use of dad’s chariot and losing a wheel just before nightfall near the old deserted Neanderthal cave? Something
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