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 only recently. In his helmet systems, the doorway was visible only as an outline sketched on the wall with explosives. And the wall wasn’t wood; it was plascrete. And in just a moment, the “explosives” were going to go off and blow a new door through it. And they would be going off less than a half-meter from his arm.
It was going to be an unpleasant experience. Roger rather doubted that even the sergeant major appreciated the full capabilities of his own toot. All the Marines were accustomed to using their implanted computers as both combat enhancers and training devices, and their toots’ abilities in those regards far exceeded those of the hardware available to most citizens of the Empire. But Roger’s toot was at least as much more capable than theirs as theirs were than the average civilian model. Which meant that the training simulation was even more “real” for him than for anyone else in the team. He’d considered kicking in the filters in an effort to spare himself some of the sergeant major’s simulation’s . . . energetic programming tricks, but he’d decided against it. He’d come to embrace the wisdom of another of Kosutic’s beloved axioms: “Train like you’re going to fight.”
He pushed that thought away and concentrated on the moment at hand. Other than the initial walk-through of the simulated rooms, this was his first time on point, and he suspected that the sergeant major was going to be making a statement. In fact, it would be just her style to make the course unsurvivable. That would fit her passion for making training harder than real life could possibly be, and he’d already discovered from painful personal experience that she had an undeniable talent for doing her passion justice. On the other hand, this was supposed to be training for her, too, so whatever was waiting for him was waiting for her, as well. Of course, to get to her, it probably had to go through him first, and he couldn’t help wondering what the simulator AI was going to throw at them. He hadn’t bothered even to attempt to wheedle any more information out of the sergeant major. She wouldn’t have told him, of course. But even if she might have, she probably couldn’t. The way she’d set things up when she punched the basic scenario parameters into her computer to generate the simulation, not even she should know exactly what was on the other side of the wall.
But it was bound to be bad.
Despreaux quietly laid in the last bit of the simulated breaching charge and stood back. The explosion should fill the room beyond with flying fragments, along with a world’s worth
“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 only recently. In his helmet systems, the doorway was visible only as an outline sketched on the wall with explosives. And the wall wasn’t wood; it was plascrete. And in just a moment, the “explosives” were going to go off and blow a new door through it. And they would be going off less than a half-meter from his arm.
It was going to be an unpleasant experience. Roger rather doubted that even the sergeant major appreciated the full capabilities of his own toot. All the Marines were accustomed to using their implanted computers as both combat enhancers and training devices, and their toots’ abilities in those regards far exceeded those of the hardware available to most citizens of the Empire. But Roger’s toot was at least as much more capable than theirs as theirs were than the average civilian model. Which meant that the training simulation was even more “real” for him than for anyone else in the team. He’d considered kicking in the filters in an effort to spare himself some of the sergeant major’s simulation’s . . . energetic programming tricks, but he’d decided against it. He’d come to embrace the wisdom of another of Kosutic’s beloved axioms: “Train like you’re going to fight.”
He pushed that thought away and concentrated on the moment at hand. Other than the initial walk-through of the simulated rooms, this was his first time on point, and he suspected that the sergeant major was going to be making a statement. In fact, it would be just her style to make the course unsurvivable. That would fit her passion for making training harder than real life could possibly be, and he’d already discovered from painful personal experience that she had an undeniable talent for doing her passion justice. On the other hand, this was supposed to be training for her, too, so whatever was waiting for him was waiting for her, as well. Of course, to get to her, it probably had to go through him first, and he couldn’t help wondering what the simulator AI was going to throw at them. He hadn’t bothered even to attempt to wheedle any more information out of the sergeant major. She wouldn’t have told him, of course. But even if she might have, she probably couldn’t. The way she’d set things up when she punched the basic scenario parameters into her computer to generate the simulation, not even she should know exactly what was on the other side of the wall.
But it was bound to be bad.
Despreaux quietly laid in the last bit of the simulated breaching charge and stood back. The explosion should fill the room beyond with flying fragments, along with a world’s worth
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