Empire Of Man 3 - March to the Stars by John David & Ringo Weber

shook his head.
    “He's good, Smaj. Very good. But he won't stay focused on defense.”
    “He's too used to having us do that for him,” Despreaux pointed out. “He's used to barreling through the opposition while we cover his back. Now you're barreling through the course, and he's supposed to cover your back.” She shrugged ever so slightly. “He can't get used to it.”
    “Yeah, but a big part of it is that he's one aggressive son-of-a-bitch,” Julian said with a quiet chuckle. “No offense intended to Her Majesty.”
    “There's that,” Kosutic agreed, tugging at an earlobe. “I don't really want to switch him out for somebody else, either. He's got the moves to be better than just about anybody else in the company, if we can ever get them harnessed and coordinated, and only Macek might be able to equal him as it is. But I'm not going to get whacked because he's not covering his sector.”
    And that was exactly what had happened, three times so far.
    When the helmet systems came on and their connection to the team's toots kicked in, the hold became a virtual shoot-house, and Kosutic had set the difficulty level very high. That meant that enemies weren't just in plain sight, on the route that the team took. Which, in turn, meant there had to be eyes turned in every direction . . . and Roger insisted on facing forward, along the line of assault. Not only did that permit the “enemies” he would otherwise have neutralized a clear shot at the team, but in one case he'd managed to “shoot” the sergeant major in the back.
    Something had to be done, and Despreaux furrowed her brow as all three of them considered the problem.
    “We could . . .” she said, then stopped.
    “What?” the sergeant major asked.
    “You won't like it,” Despreaux replied.
    “I've done a lot of stuff I don't like,” Kosutic sighed. “What's one more thing, by His Evilness?”
    “All right,” Despreaux said with a shrug. “We could put Roger on point.”
    “Uh,” Kosutic said.
    “Hmmm.” Julian rubbed his jaw. “She's got a point. I think he might do pretty well.”
    “But . . .” the sergeant major said. “But—”
    “ 'But that's my spot!' ” Julian finished for her with a faint, humorous whine.
    Kosutic looked daggers at him for a moment, then shook her head sharply.
    “It's more than that, Adib. Do you really think the captain isn't going to use us? He put us together for more than just to show how it's done. My guess is that he's thinking of using us for something, as a team.”
    “What? His company's sergeant major, two of his squad leaders, and the prince?” Julian laughed. “You're joking, right?”
    “No, I'm not,” the sergeant major said seriously. “Just take it as a given that that might happen. Then think about putting Roger on point.”
    “Oh,” Julian said.
    “I can see your objection, Sergeant Major,” Despreaux said carefully. “But I'm not sure it matters. Perhaps we should get Macek or Stickles instead of the prince. But if we are going to use him, I still think he should be on point. Frankly, I think, with all due respect, that he might be . . . a touch better even than you.”
    Despreaux gazed calmly at the sergeant major, waiting for the explosion, and Kosutic opened her mouth again. Then she closed it with a clop, fingered her earlobe for a moment, and shrugged.
    “You might be right.”
    “I think she is, Smaj,” Julian said with equal care. “The pocker is fast.”
    “Is that any way to talk about the Heir Tertiary to the Throne of Man?” Kosutic demanded with a grin. “But you're right. The pocker is fast. And he can shoot, too. But I hate to seem to . . . reward him for screwing up.”
    “You think point is a reward?” Julian shook his head.
    * * *
    Roger stood with his right elbow just touching the wood of the bulkhead, his head and body hunched and turned to his left. The wood was real, but just to his right was a large doorway that had been cut into it