way.
The squad, save for Mason, had fabric badges stitched to the shoulders of their uniforms. The badges were an old Army tradition – awarded for achievements as simple as basic combat training, or more complex accomplishments like capsule-dropping or courage under fire. My original team members had a large variety of awards – topped by the Lazarus Legion badge, giving our official Alliance Army designation.
“Absolutely not,” Kaminski said. “No fucking way. She’s only got seven transitions under her belt.”
A holo-patch on the chest indicated the number of transitions each of us had made. Whilst the Alliance Army had medals and honours and everything in between, the patch was the closest thing that Sim Ops Programme had to a dedicated decoration. It was the only statistic that mattered between operators.
“So? She did good.”
“The regs are quite clear,” Kaminski continued, “and she has to prove that she’s Legion material before she gets the badge.”
“Fuck off, Kaminski,” Mason said.
She cocked her head in his direction. She was a good deal smaller than the rest of the group, and stood rubbing her elbows, arms crossed over her chest. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied up behind her head, making her neck look painfully slender.
“She knows how to handle you already, ’Ski,” I said. “And I thought I was Lazarus? Why are you the one making up all the rules?”
“Look, we can’t have every wet-behind-the-ears, greener-than-puke, freshest recruit, claiming that they’re Lazarus Legion. Take the guy before her – what was his name?”
“Omar,” Jenkins said. “He was nice.”
“Yeah, well nice doesn’t cut it with the Legion. How long’d he last?”
“He managed two ops,” Mason said. “I read all about him. He dropped out.”
“Couldn’t keep up with the A-game,” Kaminski said. “So you have to prove you’re good enough.”
I said nothing. It was just a bit of fun; something to keep Kaminski engaged between operations. Although she’d done a good job on Maru Prime, in truth I wasn’t sure whether Mason was Legion material either. She had the makings of a decent trooper but I’d been there. I wanted to make sure she was stable enough to stay on the team before I made her permanent.
“We did show them our A-game, mano ,” Martinez said, shaking his head. “But I got questions.”
“Such as?” I asked. Although I was tired, the circumstances of the last mission didn’t sit easy with me.
“Like why do the Krell keep coming into the QZ?” Martinez said. “Since we got back from Helios, we’ve been there too often. The QZ isn’t exactly quarantined any more.”
“I’m quite sure that Command know exactly what they’re doing,” Jenkins said, adopting her most cynical tone of voice. “And that grunts like us shouldn’t ask questions.”
“Well, it’s good to be back,” Kaminski said to the group at large. “Nothing like recycled air and bad beer.”
The docking doors chimed and the tube opened to Liberty Point . I gathered up my duty gear in a canvas bag and stalked down the ramp. The air felt and tasted familiar, more metallic than that on the Mallard . There was a slight gravitational shift as well: just enough to let me know that I’d stepped between artificial gravity wells.
“Do you ever hear from Tyler?” Jenkins said.
Jenna Tyler was the sole civilian survivor from Helios. She’d been gone for months; back Corewards after our debrief, to be settled somewhere nice and quiet, with a decent severance package, where neither the media nor the Directorate could get to her.
“She went to Alpha Centauri, I think,” Kaminski said. “For a civvie, she was okay.”
I fell in step beside Martinez, cricked my neck painfully. I didn’t yet feel completely at ease in my own skin. Each breath was alien, each heartbeat foreign. I knew that it would get better with time, but the acclimatisation back into my real body was unpleasant.
“You
The squad, save for Mason, had fabric badges stitched to the shoulders of their uniforms. The badges were an old Army tradition – awarded for achievements as simple as basic combat training, or more complex accomplishments like capsule-dropping or courage under fire. My original team members had a large variety of awards – topped by the Lazarus Legion badge, giving our official Alliance Army designation.
“Absolutely not,” Kaminski said. “No fucking way. She’s only got seven transitions under her belt.”
A holo-patch on the chest indicated the number of transitions each of us had made. Whilst the Alliance Army had medals and honours and everything in between, the patch was the closest thing that Sim Ops Programme had to a dedicated decoration. It was the only statistic that mattered between operators.
“So? She did good.”
“The regs are quite clear,” Kaminski continued, “and she has to prove that she’s Legion material before she gets the badge.”
“Fuck off, Kaminski,” Mason said.
She cocked her head in his direction. She was a good deal smaller than the rest of the group, and stood rubbing her elbows, arms crossed over her chest. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied up behind her head, making her neck look painfully slender.
“She knows how to handle you already, ’Ski,” I said. “And I thought I was Lazarus? Why are you the one making up all the rules?”
“Look, we can’t have every wet-behind-the-ears, greener-than-puke, freshest recruit, claiming that they’re Lazarus Legion. Take the guy before her – what was his name?”
“Omar,” Jenkins said. “He was nice.”
“Yeah, well nice doesn’t cut it with the Legion. How long’d he last?”
“He managed two ops,” Mason said. “I read all about him. He dropped out.”
“Couldn’t keep up with the A-game,” Kaminski said. “So you have to prove you’re good enough.”
I said nothing. It was just a bit of fun; something to keep Kaminski engaged between operations. Although she’d done a good job on Maru Prime, in truth I wasn’t sure whether Mason was Legion material either. She had the makings of a decent trooper but I’d been there. I wanted to make sure she was stable enough to stay on the team before I made her permanent.
“We did show them our A-game, mano ,” Martinez said, shaking his head. “But I got questions.”
“Such as?” I asked. Although I was tired, the circumstances of the last mission didn’t sit easy with me.
“Like why do the Krell keep coming into the QZ?” Martinez said. “Since we got back from Helios, we’ve been there too often. The QZ isn’t exactly quarantined any more.”
“I’m quite sure that Command know exactly what they’re doing,” Jenkins said, adopting her most cynical tone of voice. “And that grunts like us shouldn’t ask questions.”
“Well, it’s good to be back,” Kaminski said to the group at large. “Nothing like recycled air and bad beer.”
The docking doors chimed and the tube opened to Liberty Point . I gathered up my duty gear in a canvas bag and stalked down the ramp. The air felt and tasted familiar, more metallic than that on the Mallard . There was a slight gravitational shift as well: just enough to let me know that I’d stepped between artificial gravity wells.
“Do you ever hear from Tyler?” Jenkins said.
Jenna Tyler was the sole civilian survivor from Helios. She’d been gone for months; back Corewards after our debrief, to be settled somewhere nice and quiet, with a decent severance package, where neither the media nor the Directorate could get to her.
“She went to Alpha Centauri, I think,” Kaminski said. “For a civvie, she was okay.”
I fell in step beside Martinez, cricked my neck painfully. I didn’t yet feel completely at ease in my own skin. Each breath was alien, each heartbeat foreign. I knew that it would get better with time, but the acclimatisation back into my real body was unpleasant.
“You
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