Starfist: Blood Contact by David Sherman & Dan Cragg Page B

commanders were too tired to maintain the pace of training. They didn't understand why the commanders held inspections instead of simply giving extended liberty, or even on-planet leave, which they thought would have made a great deal of sense and boosted morale tremendously. After all, the inspections seemed to be more about how pretty the gear and uniforms and barracks were than about how functional anything was. Few of the Marines were concerned with how pretty their gear and uniforms were—except for their dress reds; they wanted those uniforms to sparkle when they wore them. The men were concerned with how well everything worked; their lives depended on it. And so they wondered what happened to a man when he became an officer that made him suddenly so concerned with "pretty." Many of them had known a corporal or a staff sergeant who had been as rough and tumble as any enlisted Marine, then got commissioned and suddenly was taken by the very same "pretty" he'd complained so bitterly about before. Maybe, they told each other, it had something to do with the shiny precious metal of the officers' insignia, and the fancier uniforms they wore.
    If they glittered so much, so should everything else.
    So life went; training, inspections, and liberty, as the component units of 34th FIST integrated their new men and prepared for the unknown.
    One morning, after several months of garrison routine, Captain Conorado was a few minutes late arriving at morning inspection. So were Gunny Bass and Staff Sergeant Hyakowa. Lieutenant Giordano, the company executive officer, had company Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher stand the men at ease while they waited for the company commander. Even though Owen the woo technically belonged to Lance Corporal Dean, it also served as the company mascot. Now, it sat in its formation location a few meters in front of third platoon, facing the command group. Owen's bright expression and cocked head made it look like it was wondering what was going on.
    Captain Conorado came out of the barracks accompanied not only by Bass and Hyakowa, but by Top Myer, the company's first sergeant, and that was unusual. Top Myer almost never attended morning formation. Conorado looked displeased about something, and Bass and Hyakowa didn't look happy either. Myer was glowering, but that didn't mean anything—Top Myer usually glowered.
    Gunny Thatcher didn't wait for Giordano's instructions—he called the company to attention as soon as he saw Conorado. The men waited expectantly while the captain took the company from Giordano and quickly went through the short list of business items he had for everyone. Then Conorado studied his company, looking more searchingly at third platoon than any of the others. Sharp-eyed Marines saw that the captain was nibbling on his lower lip.
    "You all know that 34th FIST is one of the most active in the Marine Corps," Conorado began. "This FIST and its subordinate elements have been on more operations, expeditions, and other missions than almost any other unit in the entire history of the Confederation Marine Corps."
    He paused a moment, then continued. "As you may know, the Bureau of Human Habitability Exploration and Investigation has research and exploration stations on numerous uninhabited planets throughout Human Space—and even beyond its fringes. One of those stations missed a reporting cycle.
    The bureau has asked the Marine Corps to dispatch a platoon to investigate. Thirty-fourth FIST is the closest to this world, Society 437, so the job falls to us. In particular, third platoon gets the call, and will mount out on a special mission in two days.
    "Some of you have gone on investigations such as this before, so you know there's probably no emergency. Usually when a Behind mission fails to report as required, it's because the scientists got so wrapped up in what they were doing that they forgot to report. Either that or there was a malfunction in the courier drone." He stifled a shrug.