Memory transcription subject: Specialist Richard Tiller, United Nations Special Assault Command

Date [standardized human time]: August 15th, 2136.

I don’t handle boredom well.

My mother always told me it was hard to buy gifts for me. As much as I loved making things and trying new hobbies I always quit as soon as I was good at it. Then, it was on to the next new and interesting thing to try. It really was an endless cycle, one which made long stints of time with little to do wear on my nerves.

The monotony of a month aboard the Arrow of Mars had finally driven me to near insanity. Every day was the same: wake up, eat, classroom lecture, lunch, more lectures, eat again, sleep, repeat. Every moment was filled with rote information memorization on a completely unrealistic scale. I was beginning to remember why I dropped out of college and signed the enlistment paperwork for the USSF; at least there wasn’t any homework to do.

In the UN’s defense, the intelligence they were cramming down our throats with a ramrod was mission critical and it was impossible to determine what would and would not be relevant in the coming weeks and months. To that end, we were expected to have at least a superficial understanding of everything; from species names and appearances to what military technology and tactics we may encounter.

Honestly, it wasn’t all bad. I greatly enjoyed the three days of classroom instruction dedicated to starships and I opted to accept the supplemental operator’s manuals on every ship that could be flown solo. It took me less than a week to read them all, though, and now they were little more than another passing interest. If it were up to me, I would be flying one by now instead of just reading about them.

As exhausting as the lectures were, I could barely enjoy my downtime either. In the race to get off Earth and into a holding pattern for deployment we had been given little time to gather personal effects. I managed to cram a game system and a handful of video games into a bag, but they lost their appeal over the last couple of days as well.

The ship’s recreation facilities and gyms were of little use. With multiple nations’ militaries and dozens of UN advisors and specialists aboard, the ship was packed beyond capacity. Every place I tried to find entertainment was already crawling with others trying to do the same.

For the first week or so I was able to run a fairly lucrative racket buying up everything in the vending machines aboard (they all took US currency only) and trading the goods for things from foreign servicemen and women. That, too, came to an abrupt halt when the items in the machines dried up and quit being restocked.

I cut a quick glance across the barracks assigned to our Team. Lewiston was dead asleep, snoring happily and laying face-down on his bunk. For the briefest moment I considered alleviating my cabin fever by finding some way to screw with him, but even I knew that was a death wish. The bigger man was, well, bigger, but also much more patient than me. There was no telling how long he would wait to exact his revenge, and it would be righteous.

Under normal circumstances it would be easy to amuse myself by terrorizing Captain Holiday and Sargeant Ransom. Holiday was easy to perplex by my uncanny ability to feign ignorance to the obvious. My heart was filled with joy watching him wince and groan at a misnomer or intentional mispronunciation. Ransom was even more straightforward to bother; the ornery redneck could be worked up into a blind fury with minimal effort.

However, I had barely seen our two valiant leaders for more than a couple of minutes over the last few days. Any downtime they would have normally had themselves was taken up by a myriad of leader’s only meetings to inform them of God knows what. Despite the fact these additional engagements are most certainly political in nature, I’m sure it’s better than sitting around here considering pouring shaving cream on the strongest man in the room.

A sudden knock at the door of the bay almost made me jump out of my chair. Everyone in the unit had a keycard to the door, and if either Ransom or Holiday lost theirs the other would simply open the door with their own. Whoever was outside didn’t belong here.

My mind wandered briefly to the other military units aboard the Arrow and how many of them we had pissed off during training over the years and who might hold a grudge for wars past. A tinge of paranoia moved me to action and I retrieved my nine millimeter service pistol from the weapon locker.

The standard issue handgun of the IRT was a custom Merle and Pierce Interdictor. The polymer frame and carbon fiber slide assembly of the Interdictor made it lightweight and easy to maneuver in the cramped compartments of a spacecraft. They came equipped with a low profile under barrel tactical light and a frameless hologram projected sight for fast target acquisition in any lighting condition.

I press checked the weapon and ensured a round was in the chamber; satisfied that one was, I stowed the gun in my waistband and draped my shirt over it.

I crossed the short distance to the door, cutting a momentary look back over at Lewiston, who was still asleep. If someone was here to cause trouble we would make enough noise to wake him up. I shrugged my shoulders and cracked the door just enough to speak through the gap.

“Who’s there?” I challenged.

A hesitant voice replied from the hallway, “I- um… I’ve been assigned here… I think?”

Well that is strange. Cap hadn’t said anything about a new addition to the Team, and even if there had been one we were in the middle of space. My suspicions worsened instantly and I made the decision to take drastic and preemptive action.

With a swift motion I jerked open the door with my left hand, and grabbed the wide-eyed man on the other side of the threshold with my right. I pulled as hard as I could and yanked him through. As the door slammed shut I spun and hurled the invader over the coffee table. He shouted in protest as he toppled four old soda bottles and a plate which used to have a hamburger on it.

Lewiston woke up with the commotion to find me holding a stranger at gunpoint in our living room.

“What in the holy Hell are you doing, Till?” the big man bellowed as he got to his feet.

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“Ask this guy. Everyone on this ship already has an assignment, did you think that excuse would work?”

The discombobulated possible assailant was flailing about on the floor between a pair of chairs and with one leg still on top of the table. He was smaller than me, which was saying something, and he looked completely stupefied. His brown eyes locked on the muzzle of my Interdictor and he stammered out a defense,

“We just warped in! I’m here from b- basic IRT training!” He continued trying to scramble to his feet, covering himself in leftover mayonnaise from the now broken plate. Gaining his footing, he stood up, squaring off to Lewiston and I, “Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you, man?!”

Lewiston chuckled to himself in a low tone, “It would be a shorter list to tell you what’s not wrong with Tiller. Dude has some serious damage.”

I gave John a look of contempt for his not necessarily inaccurate assessment. My aim wavered and I lowered the weapon, looking back at the indignant and condiment-covered man in front of me.

“Sorry.” I offered with half sincerity. “Nobody told us we were expecting a new member. I sorta thought the Russians or someone were raiding us.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“That’s what makes him a good pilot.” rebutted Lewiston. The operator sauntered over to the newcomer and extended a hand, “Specialist John Lewiston, Team breacher.”

“Daniel Hart.” he replied, shaking John’s hand.

I chewed my lip while watching the exchange and finally decided to stuff my gun back in my shorts. “Richard Tiller,” I stated flatly while holding my own hand out for Hart.

He looked at my hand like he’d sooner cut it off than shake it. Reluctantly, he conceded and took my hand with a firm grasp. “You need help, dude.”

I let go of his hand quickly. “Yeah, well, you need a shirt with less mayo on it.”

“Goddamnit.” He pulled at the tail of his shirt, assessing the damage caused by the sauce. “I left all my shit in the hangar. Wanted to make sure I went the right way before lugging it all over here.”

“Tiller will help you get it. Won’t you Till?” Lewiston volunteered with a wink.

A hateful stare was all I was willing to return. “Yeah, I’d be glad to.”

Without waiting for any additional orders I turned and headed out of the bay door and into the corridor. Hart was hot on my heels, doing his best to keep up with my hurried pace. I eyed him over my shoulder,

“So, what are you good at, Hart?”

“I got Top Shot in my class and qualified for designated marksman.”

“Ha! No the fuck you did not.”

“Swear it. Got nothing to lie about.”

“What was your best weapon then, hotshot?”

“Beowulf Anti-Material rifle. Longest cold bore shot was 2,150 yards.”

I skidded to a halt, spinning around to face Hart head on. Everyone in the IRT had gone through the same training, at the same location, since the program was developed. The range wasn’t even close to that long, not even if you drove another 900 yards past the berm and put a target on top of a truck.

“That’s some horseshit. You’d have the furthest shot in unit history, except the range at Patrick caps out at a thousand yards on the long distance side. So how about you tell the truth buddy?”

A sharp glare shone in Hart’s eyes and a snarl turned up at the edge of his mouth. “Never said I shot it at Patrick. I shot it back home in Montana.”

“You stole a Beowulf?”

“I own one, douchebag. Built it myself to the same specs as the Space Force. Better even, after I was done with the trigger tune. I’d prefer a heavier bullet, you get better sustained velocity from weight on a long-distance shot, but why train with something we don’t use?”

Hart hadn’t broken eye contact over the course of his rebuttal. I found myself without anything else to add and no more gotchas to sling, but I was too deep now to apologize. “Ok, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Hart shook his head and passed by me, continuing toward the hangar. I followed after him, having to keep up with him now as he led. The military was full of ribbing and hazing, but I was starting to feel like I had taken things beyond the usual and made it personal. Maybe my cabin fever was worse than I originally thought.

My uneasy thoughts evaporated instantly when we entered the hangar. A dozen small transport craft designed to carry twenty or thirty troops as well as a cargo hauler or two had landed in the wide open space. Men and women from multiple agencies, both military and civilian, were unloading their gear and looking for where they needed to go and who they would report to. I recognized emblems from at least eight tactical units while the gaps between were filled with blue UN insignia.

I also caught a glimpse of IRT-6 and IRT-9, bringing the total number of Teams aboard up to five once you counted us and IRT-2 and IRT-7.

Great, as if the ship wasn’t crowded enough, they just added two-hundred more people to take up space! If I was lucky I might be able to con a couple of these dudes out of some cash or trade for some supplies from back home. Come to think of it, maybe Hart brought some stuff with him he didn’t need.

I turned back to Hart and found he had completely disappeared. He was sneakier than I thought; In a couple seconds of gawking at the fresh arrivals he had managed to slip away without a sound. He would still need me to get back in the bay since he didn’t have a keycard, but that was neither here nor there. As yet another cargo vessel passed through the projected airlock and into the hangar it dawned on me that not every ship had reached its destination and more must be entering the airspace.

I broke into a jog across the hangar to get a better view through the windows which lined the walls on either side of the airlocks. What I saw out in the void was breathtaking.

Over a hundred ships were locked in docking patterns between the Arrow of Mars and Thor’s Hammer. Most were small, large enough for a single pilot and copilot and appeared to be lightly armed. Many were drifting while waiting their turn, but the ones still making maneuvers did so effortlessly and with grace.

Humanity was fielding some of the first spacefaring fighter craft of their kind. Jealousy grew in my chest at the realization that these pilots were living my finest dream. Flying the newest technology on the fringes of a planet we had only just discovered. I hoped more than anything that some would land on our ship, maybe I could get one of the pilots to talk with me and finally break up the boredom.

“Ready to head back?” Hart’s voice asked from behind me.

A pang of sadness struck me as I was forced back into reality. “Yeah. I guess I’m ready.” I led the way as we made the walk back to our quarters.