The mess hall was actually a tent, a large sprawling affair that wouldn't have looked out of place at a boy scout camp. The vast tarpaulin rippled as the sea breeze gusted onto the beach.

The mess tent was largely empty, most of the soldiers apparently being kept busier than we were. A few strays sat on the sand, eating an unappetizing slop straight out of the can.

A single long table sat in the middle of the tent, calling to newcomers like a beacon. On top of it was a set of dirty tablets, each smudged by hundreds of fingers, and a small selection of food. The menu was inspiring as any Marine would have expected on the front lines. A variety of c-ration style cans sat on top of the only table.

After grabbing a tablet, I gave in to my grumbling stomach and checked out the rations. The wording on the cans glossed for a split second as my nanobots translated it from alien gobbledygook into English.

Self Heating M-Ration

In some ways, the Imperium was no different from the Marines. The ration description was as typically generic as ever. An M-ration meant meat, but the Marines were never specific about exactly what the meat was. If you asked then, you'd be told it was 'stew meat,' but I'd never seen a stew grazing in a field.

Still, it was self-heating, and beggars can't be choosers. I took two and a small pack of what I hoped was crackers.

Hey, I'm a growing boy, besides you've got to look after yourself first - otherwise, you'll be unable to look after others.

I joined the others where they'd plopped down onto the sand. Buzz Kill took a seat next to me and examined his meal silently.

"Heroes of the fucking Imperium, and this is the slop we get to eat?" Robinson complained as he let the syrupy mixture from his can slide off his spoon with an unsatisfying splatter.

"I'll eat yours if you don't want it," Kuwta replied, tossing her empty can to the ground in front of her.

"Food is food, and I'm starving." I chipped in as I pulled the tab that removed the lid from my can. The liquid inside bubbled slightly as the self-heating element in the bottom of the can ignited. A musty meaty aroma wafted up, making my stomach grow. This wasn't a banquet, but it'd do.

Besides, the alien who designed the can is a bloody genius. When I get back to earth, I'm patenting this shit. I'd no idea how the heating is done, but the ring pull opener is far easier than spending five minutes cranking a can opener.

Upending the can, I felt the warm goo slide into my mouth. The meat was chewy and, to my surprise, tasted like chicken. I chewed enthusiastically as I fiddled with the tablet.

The screen lit up, and a pulsing light rippled across the screen as it scanned my retinas and confirmed my identity.

Welcome back, Tom Peters. You have surplus skills awaiting assignment. In addition to this, one mission briefing is available.

Moving into the skills area, the usual options appeared, I could select skills based upon my class of Researcher, General skills, or Psychic based skills.

The major's warning rang loudly in my memory, Peters, you are barred from taking any more Psychic improvements. This is for your own good as it might otherwise cause mental instability.

This wasn't a suggestion; this had been a direct command from a superior officer which should be obeyed without question.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I looked over at Sarge. The old man was the perfect Marine, loyal, and focussed on whatever mission he was assigned. I respected Sarge, but I wasn't him, and I'd never been a perfect Marine.

Besides the officer had to ask what skills we’d taken. That had implied there was no way they could check such things themselves, which made the decision easier.

My heartbeat increased as I selected to view the Psychic options. A list of skills appeared - Extra Sensory Perception, Telekinesis II, Astral Projection.

I considered each of the available options carefully.

Telekinesis had already paid dividends by allowing us entry into the bunker. Strengthening that skill was tempting. A second level would allow me to literally punch above my mental strength and give the effects a greater range.

Astral Projection would be useful for scouting. It'd be good to be able to scout a room invisibly before blundering into it.

The choice I ended up selecting, however, was Extra Sensory Perception. I'd never been the most intuitive man, and the ability to accurately feel an individual's emotions was appealing. I figured it could be used flexibly. If I sneaked into a room, then the ESP could warn me if I was spotted. If I was talking to someone, then it could warn me if someone was lying. The possibilities were nearly endless.

I flicked over to the attribute assignment and allocated another point to Psychic. I had five points now, still feeble by alien standards, but in terms of humans, I was fucking Gandalf.

Strength 10

Intellect 15

Agility 10

Psychic 5

Upon confirming the upgrade, my mind exploded into pieces once again, as my nanobots forced knowledge into my brain. I gritted my teeth, accepting the discomfort and knowing it was a necessary evil if I was to grow beyond the normal human's limitations.

"Peters, are you alright?"

As I opened my eyes again, I saw Sarge was standing over me looking down. I wasn't certain whether I'd actually blacked out or not, but the man looked concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sarge." The sound of my voice ricocheted within my skull as I spoke, and I winced reflexively. Probably not my most convincing lie ever.

I fought through the throbbing headache, and forced myself to concentrate on Sarge, willing myself to pull the thoughts from his head.

The older man paused before replying.

As he opened his mouth, a timer appeared on the edge of my vision, and a surge of disappointment and resignation washed over me as my ESP kicked in.

"You upgraded your Psychic skills, didn't you? That is disobeying a direct order."

This was a tipping point. I could feel it. Sarge was waiting for me to confess, and then he'd be forced to report my insubordination.

I was tempted. It was likely that I'd be relieved of my duties. That would exempt me from the suicide mission.

On the other hand, I had no idea what punishment the Imperial Numeri considered appropriate for insubordination. Considering their training missions could be fatal, I might not survive their disciplinary procedure.

Decision made, I replied calmly. "What? Sarge, why would I disobey a direct order? Learning new tricks is hard for some people, that's all."

Doubt was heavy in his mind. “So what upgrade did you take?”

Shit, I should have known this was coming. I needed a reasonable skill, but something which couldn’t be disproved.

Any of the military options might be easily testable. That meant Quick Draw and the like were out. What research skills might the old man find believable?

“Identify Flora,” I said far more confidently than I felt. As with most liars once the lie was said it started to take shape in my mind and I could prevent myself from rambling on. “I thought it might be useful if we’re travelling across the countryside. Just in case we come across something poisonous, you know?”

Sarge looked doubtful, but we were standing in the middle of a beach. It wasn't like there was a lot of plant life here he could enquire about.

I waited patiently, within his mind, listening to his mood. His feelings moved slowly like a glacier as he considered my words, eventually sliding into acceptance. He still doubted me, but he had no proof and couldn’t take action without it.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Disaster averted … or have I jumped from the frying pan into the fire?