We Only Need the Heads by John Scalzi Page B

at this for a moment. “I don’t think you should risk being caught doing something like that,” she said, eventually.
    “I understand you entirely, ma’am,” Schmidt said. He turned to go.
    “Schmidt,” Abumwe said.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Schmidt said.
    “You understand that earlier I was implying that they left you with me because you were largely useless,” Abumwe said.
    “I got that, yes,” Schmidt said, after a second.
    “I’m sure you did,” Abumwe said. “Now. Prove me wrong.” She returned her gaze to the Clarke .
    Oh boy, Harry, Schmidt thought as he walked away. I hope you’re having an easier time of things than I am right now.

     
    The shuttle from the Tubingen hit the atmosphere of the planet like a rock punching into an earthen dam, throwing off heat and rattling the platoon of Colonial Defense Forces soldiers inside as if they were plastic balls in a child’s popper.
    “This is nice,” Lieutenant Harry Wilson said, to no one in particular, then directed his attention to his fellow lieutenant Heather Lee, the platoon commander. “It’s funny how something like air can feel so bumpy.”
    Lee shrugged. “We have restraints,” she said. “And this isn’t a social call.”
    “I know,” Wilson said. The shuttle rattled again. “But this has always been my least favorite part of a mission. Aside from, you know. The shooting and killing and being shot and possibly eaten by aliens.”
    Lee did not look impressed with Wilson. “Been a while since you’ve dropped, Lieutenant?”
    Wilson nodded. “Did my combat time and then transferred into research and technical advising for the diplomatic corps. Don’t have to do many drops for that. And the ones I do come down nice and easy.”
    “Consider this a refresher course,” Lee said. The shuttle rattled again. Something creaked worryingly.
    “Space,” Wilson said, and sank back into his restraints. “It’s fantastic .”
    “It is fantastic, sir,” said the soldier next to Lee. Wilson automatically had his BrainPal query the man’s identity; instantly, text floated over the soldier’s head to let Wilson know he was speaking to Private Albert Jefferson. Wilson glanced over to Lee, the platoon leader, who caught the glance and gave another, most infinitesimal of shrugs, as if to say, He’s new .
    “I was attempting sarcasm, Private,” Wilson said.
    “I know that, sir,” Jefferson said. “But I’m being serious. Space is fantastic. All of this. It is awesome.”
    “Well, except for the cold and vacuum and the unbearable silent death of it,” Wilson said.
    “Death?” Jefferson said, and smiled. “Begging the lieutenant’s pardon, but death was back home on Earth. Do you know what I was doing three months ago, sir?”
    “I’m guessing being old,” Wilson said.
    “I was hooked up to a dialysis machine, praying I would make it to my seventy-fifth birthday,” Jefferson said. “I’d already gotten one transplant, and they didn’t want to give me another because they knew I was going to leave anyway. Cheaper to hook me up. I barely made it. But I got to seventy-five, signed up and a week later, boom. New body, new life, new career. Space is awesome.”
    The shuttle hit an air pocket of some sort, tumbling the transport before the pilot could right the ship again. “There’s the minor problem that you might have to kill things,” Wilson said, to Jefferson. “Or get killed. Or fall out of the sky. You’re a soldier now. These are the occupational hazards.”
    “Fair trade,” Jefferson said.
    “Is it,” Wilson said. “First mission?”
    “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said.
    “I’ll be interested to know if your answer to that is the same a year from now,” Wilson said.
    Jefferson grinned. “You strike me as a ‘glass half-empty’ kind of guy, sir,” he said.
    “I’m a ‘the glass is half-empty and filled with poison’ kind of guy, actually,” Wilson said.
    “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said.
    Lee nodded suddenly,