a turn and he pointed at a di’Taykan near the back. “Yeah, Ayumi.”
“Sir, do the di’Taykan have to wear the hats, sir?” A pale gray toque hung off one finger and her emerald-green hair drooped at the possibility of having to cram it on her head.
“No.” Beyhn held up his own toque. “Because we’re comfortable at lower temperatures than either the Humans or the Krai, we do not have to wear the hat; the helmet liner will be enough. However,” he continued over a ragged cheer, “we do have to carry them. Just in case.”
“Sir!” Pale pink hair flipped back and forth on a recruit towering over the Krai beside him. “In case of what, sir?”
“Who the hell knows; that’s the point.”
The staff sergeant
sounded
the way Torin remembered him.
“You will all be issued two FG3s, you’re carrying the threes because they have longer det times and that lessens the chance of some idiot losing a hand. Scouts—and this position will rotate daily—will be carrying demo charges as well. And by the way…” His eyes narrowed and his hair, out from his head in a scarlet corona, stilled. “…you will be recruits moving across country in a scouting position, you will not be Scouts. If by some miracle any of you lot turn out to be among the bare sixty percent that makes it through the eighty-day Scout course, then you can call yourselves Scouts, not before. Now…” His hair started moving again. “…since we’re a little short on heavy gunners…”
Heavy gunners began their training after Basic. Vids of Marines learning to use their shiny new exoskeletons and destroying government property in a variety of amusing ways invariably showed up in the SRM.
“…the fourth member of every fireteam will be issued with the KC-9.” Beyhn reached behind his back and pulled the weapon out of a locker, blind. It looked impressive, but Torin saw he’d positioned himself to make it impossible to fail—it never hurt to give perceived omnipotence a hand. “You’ll remember this from your time on the range,” he continued. “I know you’ve only fired a few rounds, but if you’re qualified on the seven, you can fire this. Bigger and heavier than the KC-7, recruits who carry it tend to have a shortened life expectancy in combat, so you’ll be switching off daily. Some Marines like it better than the 7; there’s no accounting for taste.”
“Sir, why do recruits who carry the KC-9 end up as early casualties, sir?”
“Did you miss the part about it being bigger and heavier, Piroj?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Does it come with augmentation?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Then you know the reason. And take your hat off.” Nose ridges flushed, Piroj reached up and pulled his toque off.
Leaning close to her ear, Major Svensson pitched his voice under Beyhn’s. “Need to hear any more, Gunny?”
“No, sir. He’s about to assign fireteams, and that doesn’t concern us.”
Gathering up their gear, they left the VTA and headed back toward their quarters. Barely six paces from the hatch, the all clear sounded as the
NirWentry
left Susumi space. The background mechanical hum changed pitch slightly as the Susumi engines shut down.
“You think Staff Sergeant Beyhn decided to choose fireteams now in order to distract the children from the possibility of a Susumi equation gone wrong?”
Torin raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, Gunny, stupid question. Dr. Sloan’s gear settled?”
“Yes, sir. She’s wearing Corps combats, but the rest is hers.”
“More catalogs?”
“Apparently. And I wouldn’t mind getting a look at a couple of them; her bodyliner is the next thing to an HE suit.” According to the specs, with the plumbing connected, it would recycle waste indefinitely, maintain the wearer’s body temperature at whatever was normal for any of five separate species, protect against most types of light-to-moderate radiation, play most entertainment files, and it came in fifteen colors, including two that
“Sir, do the di’Taykan have to wear the hats, sir?” A pale gray toque hung off one finger and her emerald-green hair drooped at the possibility of having to cram it on her head.
“No.” Beyhn held up his own toque. “Because we’re comfortable at lower temperatures than either the Humans or the Krai, we do not have to wear the hat; the helmet liner will be enough. However,” he continued over a ragged cheer, “we do have to carry them. Just in case.”
“Sir!” Pale pink hair flipped back and forth on a recruit towering over the Krai beside him. “In case of what, sir?”
“Who the hell knows; that’s the point.”
The staff sergeant
sounded
the way Torin remembered him.
“You will all be issued two FG3s, you’re carrying the threes because they have longer det times and that lessens the chance of some idiot losing a hand. Scouts—and this position will rotate daily—will be carrying demo charges as well. And by the way…” His eyes narrowed and his hair, out from his head in a scarlet corona, stilled. “…you will be recruits moving across country in a scouting position, you will not be Scouts. If by some miracle any of you lot turn out to be among the bare sixty percent that makes it through the eighty-day Scout course, then you can call yourselves Scouts, not before. Now…” His hair started moving again. “…since we’re a little short on heavy gunners…”
Heavy gunners began their training after Basic. Vids of Marines learning to use their shiny new exoskeletons and destroying government property in a variety of amusing ways invariably showed up in the SRM.
“…the fourth member of every fireteam will be issued with the KC-9.” Beyhn reached behind his back and pulled the weapon out of a locker, blind. It looked impressive, but Torin saw he’d positioned himself to make it impossible to fail—it never hurt to give perceived omnipotence a hand. “You’ll remember this from your time on the range,” he continued. “I know you’ve only fired a few rounds, but if you’re qualified on the seven, you can fire this. Bigger and heavier than the KC-7, recruits who carry it tend to have a shortened life expectancy in combat, so you’ll be switching off daily. Some Marines like it better than the 7; there’s no accounting for taste.”
“Sir, why do recruits who carry the KC-9 end up as early casualties, sir?”
“Did you miss the part about it being bigger and heavier, Piroj?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Does it come with augmentation?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Then you know the reason. And take your hat off.” Nose ridges flushed, Piroj reached up and pulled his toque off.
Leaning close to her ear, Major Svensson pitched his voice under Beyhn’s. “Need to hear any more, Gunny?”
“No, sir. He’s about to assign fireteams, and that doesn’t concern us.”
Gathering up their gear, they left the VTA and headed back toward their quarters. Barely six paces from the hatch, the all clear sounded as the
NirWentry
left Susumi space. The background mechanical hum changed pitch slightly as the Susumi engines shut down.
“You think Staff Sergeant Beyhn decided to choose fireteams now in order to distract the children from the possibility of a Susumi equation gone wrong?”
Torin raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, Gunny, stupid question. Dr. Sloan’s gear settled?”
“Yes, sir. She’s wearing Corps combats, but the rest is hers.”
“More catalogs?”
“Apparently. And I wouldn’t mind getting a look at a couple of them; her bodyliner is the next thing to an HE suit.” According to the specs, with the plumbing connected, it would recycle waste indefinitely, maintain the wearer’s body temperature at whatever was normal for any of five separate species, protect against most types of light-to-moderate radiation, play most entertainment files, and it came in fifteen colors, including two that
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