Team Scarlet was the third-to-last squad to arrive at Red Base on Planet Telum. They disembarked their Zeta-Class Patrol ship to check in with officers at the military spaceport. Even though Telum was barely half-terraformed, with full spacesuits required outside of ships and habs, the human presence on the planet was substantial. The spaceport alone was easily the size of those Nic had encountered on densely populated, terraformed worlds; it housed a small fleet of comparatively tiny Patrol ships with taller Epsilon-Class Corvettes parked in the back, the gray spaceport ceiling looming high overhead. The Frigate, Nic knew, was already somewhere over their heads, orbiting Telum like a silent sentinel.
Nic hated this part the most.
Nic stifled a sigh; it was like holding in a sneeze. He held that heavy breath waiting at the base of his neck, that instinctive stress reflex, and put on his Squad Leader voice. “You heard the AI,” he told his squadmates. “Let’s suit up.”
They filed down the narrow corridor to the Patrol’s cargo hold. The AI had already positioned all four suits of vac-armor, their arms and torsos splayed open like dissected animals. Nic was the last to climb into his; despite the flexible nature of the reactive impact foam layer, the armor was always a claustrophobic prison.
“I don’t know about you guys,” said Jarek, “but I always hate getting in these things. Too many bad memories.”
Nic envied Jarek for his ability to speak his heart. Maybe it was the fact that Jarek wasn’t officially in a position of leadership, although he’d always been the de facto second in command. Maybe Jarek was just more at peace with his inner self. Nic had always been a roiling whirlwind on the inside for one reason, now another, and he didn’t dare let his squadmates know what he really thought. How his thoughts were forever stained with death now. His vivid dreams—even Perri didn’t know the half of them. But leadership meant not affording himself the same luxuries as his subordinates.
Nic led the way, clunking down the airstairs and across the wall-to-wall astrosteel floor toward two NCOs standing at the check-in station. They held speckled gray holotablets in their hands and swiped side to side on notifications projected just centimeters off the screens. He stood in front of his squad, hands folded behind his back respectfully, standing at attention.
“Red Base RTIFIS has you cleared,” said one of the NCOs. “Right this way. Please keep your armorsuits on until otherwise instructed.”
One brief decontamination later, the interior door of the airlock opened. They were then ushered into a small white atrium with a handful of officers milling around a little less hastily. These officers carried clear briefcases full of translucent tablets with them and spoke to each other in curt, hushed tones, nodding sharply.
One such officer approached Team Scarlet from across the room, the only one moving with clear purpose. Like the others, he was dressed in non-Red Battalion apparel, the more official speckled gray denoting someone enlisted with the Galactic Defense Force proper. “Team Scarlet,” he addressed them, and Nic and his comrades saluted in response. The man looked to be in his early thirties with a high and tight haircut and a benign look in the eyes. “I’m Lieutenant Reeve. Welcome.” He opened his briefcase and dispensed four translucent tablets to them out of his stack. “You have some tabwork to fill out and then you’re needed inside right away. Instructions will follow.”
“Yes sir,” each member of Team Scarlet answered, Nic and Jarek at an appropriate volume, Perri and Maqsud muttering as always. They both have their own issues with authority, Nic thought, but at least she doesn’t usually cause problems about it. Or maybe I’m biased...
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Nic accessed the tablet with this thumbprint and began typing information manually. Most of it seemed unnecessarily bureaucratic, like his educational history, total missions served in the Contact War, previous Wargames experience, chronic injuries or illnesses, allergies—information that he thought should have already been on file somewhere. He wouldn’t dare to question it openly, though, and filled it out dutifully as his squadmates were doing.
“Teams Cinnabar, Scarlet, and Ruby are our last arrivals,” said Lieutenant Reeve. “One just arrived. The other two are now entering Telum’s atmosphere. We should all be able to make the next round of field training exercises. You’re needed—move up front ASAP, please.”
“Yes sir,” said Nic. He went to set down his tab.
“Not you, son.” Nic noticed Lieutenant Reeve had actually been speaking into a receiver on his lapel. Now he addressed Team Scarlet. “You four, stay where you are until you fill out this tabwork. Make it quick. Welch, meet me in the atrium if you would.”
“Affirmative,” said a voice through a small speaker on Lieutenant Reeve’s lapel. “On my way.”
Lieutenant Reeve stood with his hands folded in front of him, one wrapped around his briefcase handle, staring straight ahead with discipline. He was unusually tan for someone with his job description; Nic could tell that it wasn’t his natural skin tone, that he had to have acquired it from radiation. Lieutenant Reeve must have seen duty on a terraformed planet. Based on the Hexadians’ proclivity for attacking remote colonies and weapons facilities—military installations that usually were not fully terraformed yet—Nic guessed that Lieutenant Reeve must have seen some easier assignments recently. Peacekeeping, he thought. Crowd control. Something like that. These days, human colonies were a nascent danger all their own, ever since humanity learned that it had company in the cosmos. Fizzled uprisings and failed coups had become footnotes in the news of late.
“Squad Leader, we’re burning starlight,” said another lieutenant, fists pumping aggressively as he walked across the atrium. He was chewing on something small but sturdy—gum, or maybe a stimulant. “You missed lunch, but I won’t let you miss FTX. Where’s your fifth?”
Nic looked up. He was too taken aback to answer right away, even to an authority figure. By the time he collected himself, opened his mouth, the conversation continued without him. “Uh,” said Reeve, “Lieutenant Welch, this is Team Scarlet. They were the ones who just arrived. Cinnabar and Ruby are still inbound. Should have clarified.”
“Oh, Team Scarlet,” said Welch, as if reacting to a mildly interesting bit of trivia. “Didn’t see your faces through the visors.” There was an almost imperceptible twitch of his brow, but he otherwise maintained his stoic expression. “Honored to have you four here. Now, hurry with that tabwork. Field training starts in twenty.” He scanned the room, chewing again, and stomped away importantly to the front of the atrium.
I already hate it here, Nic thought. “This has got to be the most state-of-the-art Red Base I’ve seen,” he lied to his squad with a tone of sincerity. “Can’t wait to check it out! I think we’re going to be well taken care of here, Team Scarlet.”
“The GDF wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lieutenant Reeve said cordially. He collected their tabs and then pointed them through the next doorway into the base. “You’ll want to take a Centaur to field immediately. RTIFIS will direct you to the spaceport garage. Welcome to Telum, Team Scarlet.”
Nic led the way out of the atrium through an automatic door. They stepped through an expansive, empty room, dimly lit in its disuse, into a narrow hallway that fed into another section of the spaceport. It opened into a garage filled with vehicles, the vast majority Centaurs.
“Straight into FTX, huh?” Jarek said when they were out of earshot. “That takes at least half a day. So that means our schedule is at least a couple hours behind. It’s gonna be a late night tonight, y’all.”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep tonight won’t fix,” Nic replied optimistically, and he was right. An extremely flexible and adaptable circadian rhythm was one of the many benefits modern humans enjoyed thanks to genetic engineering. It didn’t make the first overnight adjustment enjoyable, but it was doable.
In three weeks tops, this mission will be over, Nic told himself. In three weeks tops, this mission will be over.
In six months, our contract will be up.