Subject: Staff Sergeant Power

Species: Human

Species Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Classified

"Oorah, staffsarnt," Corporal Simmons greeted me, then gestured for the private first class sitting next to him to move.

The PFC mumbled acceptance and obliged, likely thinking ungentlemanly thoughts as he left to find another seat. I took the seat and eyed all of the other marines around us.

"Rah. How are things?" I asked.

The Goliath-class transport shuttle they've shoved us in is about as bare-bones as it gets. Wall-to-wall seating with what can barely be called chairs. Not even windows to look out of. It's like taking a really big bus. Its only saving grace would be that it's normally be less cramped than a bus, but that's not applicable this time.

These shuttles are typically used for transporting crew from station to ship when the ship is unable to dock with the station for whatever reason. The reason is usually because the ship is too large for the station or an absolute fuck-ton of people need to be moved all at once and it's faster to use multiple docks. Sometimes, though, the powers-that-be just don't want a certain ship to appear in the docking logs of a station while they load their crew.

Instead of crew, though, this shuttle is carrying a couple hundred marines to parts unknown. Before I boarded, I clocked a few more Goliaths that were docked. That's a lot of personnel that's being moved, and that doesn't exactly bode well.

"Could be better, could be worse. There's a lot of nervous marines aboard," Simmons said.

I nodded, not needing to ask why. A ton of marines getting moved with no clue as to what's up would make anyone nervous. To top it off, though, there aren't just Marine Special Operations Command units aboard. There's plenty of rank and file marines, too. When MARSOC travels with the grunts, excrement has hit the ventilator.

"Any good scuttlebutt on where we're going?" I leaned back with a sigh.

"Not really. Not even the normies have any clue, which they aren't used to at all," Simmons said. "A normie officer gets word about something, they usually tell the whole fleet."

I rolled my eye's at his use of the word 'normie'. It's intended to be slang for a 'normal' marine. However, for such a thing to exist there must also exist some semblance of normality, which happens to be impossible in the Marine Corps. I doubt any Marine has actually experienced 'normal' since they joined up.

"There aren't any MARSOC officers aboard, either," Simmons clicked his tongue. "Can't even pester them about it."

"It's not as if they would tell you even if they were here," I said.

"I mean, there's always advanced interrogation techniques," Simmons laughed.

"That'll get you a stay in the brig. Or worse, a prison colony."

"Well, depending on what they tell me, that may be preferable. I got a bad feeling about this, staffsarnt."

"Stow it. Had enough of bad feelings. Whatever we're in for, it's either good, bad, or none of the above. But no matter what it is, it's out of our control," I turned to look him in the eye. "It's a waste of energy to worry over things you can't control, understood?"

"Aye aye, staffsarnt."

"Marines aren't wasteful, are we, corporal?"

"No staffsarnt."

I stared at him a moment longer, then crossed my arms and rested my chin on my chest. The thought was to try to catch some shuteye, but the seat was too uncomfortable. It was designed for people who weren't genetically altered, and it was digging into my ass cheeks. That combined with the vibration from the shuttles engines shaking the seat made for a very restless attempt at a nap.

"Where are the others?" I asked, giving up on resting to pass the time.

"I don't know about the sarnts, but Johnson decided to be a goody two-shoes and volunteered to help with loading cargo. Haven't seen him since," Simmons answered.

"Cargo?" I asked.

After our mission on Earth, the powers that be hadn't been able to find another use for us. We'd been placed on standby for three and a half months, then given a full month of leave. I'd say they were being uncharacteristically generous if I hadn't seen the news.

The moment we reported back we were told of our impending transfer. Of course, paperwork still accrues while you're on leave, so I had spent all day yesterday filling it out and filed it this morning. It took so long that I nearly missed the shuttle.

"Yeah, they loaded up the armory. Or most of it, I guess."

"Hmm," I thought for a moment. "That means that there probably isn't much of an armory where we're going."

"Yeah, and it means I get to keep the same rifle," Simmons chuckled. "Glad I don't have to come up with a new name."

"Holy shit, you still name your weapons?" I raised an eyebrow. "Simmons, you've got the most confusing moto ratio I've ever fuckin' seen."

"What do you mean, staffsarnt?"

"You name your weapons like a boot, but won't help load cargo. You'll go on extremely dangerous top-secret missions and perform admirably, but I don't think I've ever seen you correctly wear your uniform. And you'll PT until you pass out but you won't listen to a damn thing Sapient Relations tells you. You see what I mean?"

"Oh, uh..." Simmons thought for a moment and then shrugged. "That's just me, I guess. Never really thought about it that way."

"You're like half moto and half shit-bag. It's confusing," I shook my head. "Well, whatever. What's your weapon's name?"

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"Charles Bourgeois the Third," Simmons grinned. "He's all classy and shit."

I stared at him awkwardly for a moment, blindsided by this completely unexpected revelation.

"Oh... Uh... Yeah, classy," I stammered. "Nice choice for a name."

He noted my reaction and his grin faded, "I know what you're thinkin', but I'm not into men staffsarnt."

"Simmons, I mean this with all sincerity, your preferences in regards to your sexual partners are of no concern to me. So long as those preferences are in line with the Uniform Code of Military Justice and relevant local legislation."

"Okay, but I like women though."

"Didn't say you don't."

"Like, I get that they tell you to treat your weapon like a lover and whatnot, and on some level I even understand why, but guns are totally guys. You know?"

"How do you figure?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Well just their shape alone is enough to go off of," he laughed. "But think about it, how many women do you know that-"

"And that's enough of that," I interrupted. "Wouldn't be doing my job if I let you finish that sentence."

"Oh... Shit, I just had a meeting with SR about that..."

Before I could reply, a gentle thud reverberated throughout the shuttle, along with my ass cheeks, and the sound of its engines died out. I shook my head in disapproval at Simmons as one of the bay doors of the shuttle opened. A marine in dress uniform holding a tablet stepped up the ramp.

"Oorah, gents. MARSOC is gonna be the first to unload," she said.

A wide variety of groans and swears spread throughout the shuttle.

"Yeah, yeah. Once you leave the shuttle, find your CO and form up where they tell you to. Again, MARSOC goes first. Move it."

Simmons and I, along with several other MARSOC agents, stood and proceeded to make our way off of the shuttle. A quick glance around told me there were at least thirty other MARSOC marines, but didn't reveal where Corporal Johnson or Sergeants Hanson and Smith were. Maybe the sergeants caught an earlier shuttle and Johnson caught a later one.

We exited the shuttle into an extremely large bay. Before a sense of agoraphobia could kick in, another marine in dress uniform gestured at us and pointed toward a door. While we walked, I looked around the bay and nearly stopped dead. An entire ship was in the bay with us, and it's always awe-inspiring to see one this closely. We must be aboard a carrier, then.

The exit led to a corridor that had guide-lights flashing on the floor, indicating that we should follow them. We did so until we found Major General Holt and Colonel Steel. I had to fight not to raise my eyebrows, it's not every day you see your battalion CO wearing dress-reds. We exchanged salutes, Steel gestured to the nearby wall, and we all lined up against it in the position of attention.

"Oorah, gentlemen," the colonel said.

"Oorah, sir," we replied.

"Parade rest," Holt ordered, and paused while we complied. "We've got more groups incoming, so we're gonna make this quick. Welcome aboard the USSS Thanatos. This will be your home for the time being."

Holt nodded at Steel, who began to explain where we would be eating and sleeping. While he spoke, I tried to piece together what we could possibly be doing aboard a diplomatic vessel. Even if the entirety of the United Systems senate and directorate were going to be aboard, there's far too many marines for this to just be guard duty.

"Alright, that's where things are," Colonel Steel said. "Check with the duty officer for your bunk assignments. We don't have any word on what exactly you'll be doing, so don't get too comfortable. Keep your ears open for further orders. Sir?"

"Thank you, colonel. Marines, if your squad has a handler, check with them for your welcome packet. If you don't have a handler, hang out in your bunk and a lieutenant will be by to deliver it," Holt explained. "This packet will include your squad designations and call-signs, as well as your training schedule. Things are getting a little rearranged for this mission, so the packet will also brief you on your new chain of command. As is frequently the nature of being a member of MARSOC, this information is considered classified. Memorize and dispose of the packet accordingly. Questions?"

Only background noise answered the major general.

"Yeah, I thought not," he chuckled. "Alright, dismissed."

All thirty plus MARSOC marines snapped to attention and saluted, then started on their journeys to find the duty officer. Simmons and I hung back for a bit to look for the rest of our squad. After a quick check of all the faces, we came to the realization that Hanson, Smith, and Johnson must have been aboard a different shuttle.

"Should we wait for 'em, staffsarnt?" Simmons asked.

"No," I replied. "Let's go see the duty officer and get settled in. They'll find us later."

We followed Colonel Steel's instructions to find the duty officer, and ended up in a series of maze-like hallways. Even though the hallways were clearly marked, we almost ended up like a butter-bar in a land-nav course. In a word, lost.

The curvature of the ship led to some interesting design choices when it came to the corridors. Some corridors were curved to the left or right, which messes with one's sense of direction. Others have this optical illusion that make you believe that you're going down a hill. None of this is helped by the fact that gravity is always straight down due to the artificial gravity generators.

I had just given up on my sense of direction and had started mindlessly following the signs when we ran into an alien. A humanoid reptile, relatively short but muscular in build. An urakari, if properly recall my briefings. I gave it a friendly nod as I passed, but Simmons stopped.

"Ship-Head Uleena! Long time no see," the corporal said.

I was shocked for a couple of reasons. First, because I hadn't expected him to know the first alien I've ever seen. And second, Simmons remembering the face of an alien? Hell must be going through a cold snap.

"Corporal Simmons. Glad to see you again. Yes it has been quite some time since we've last seen each other," the reptilian said. "I trust you've been well? How did your meeting with... um... SR go?"

"I see your reputation extends beyond the United Systems," I said to Simmons without a single note of humor.

Simmons laughed nervously, "I guess so, staffsarnt. Yeah, uh, the meeting went okay, ship-head. Anyways, I heard they've got you and the Lowelana pulling diplomatic duty these days."

"You must have really good hearing," Uleena chuckled. "Yes, they had us take a training course and assigned us to the Thanatos. Even so, I feel alien, pardon the term, in this position and wish to return to my previous duties. And you? I was under the impression that your duties had taken you elsewhere."

"Yeah, they did, but both Johnson and I are back aboard the Thanatos. Don't really know why, though. Oh, this is my new squad leader, Staff Sergeant Power. Staffsarnt, this is Ship-Head Uleena. Johnson and I helped pull him and his crew off of his ship back in Sol. Before all this started."

"Pleasure to meet you, Staff Sergeant Power," Uleena said, offering a handshake.

I nodded and gave the reptilian ship commander a firm yet gentle handshake. His grip was remarkably tight for someone his height.

"Nice to meet you, too, Ship-Head Uleena," I said. "I hope Corporal Simmons behaved himself during your interactions."

Uleena laughed, "Well-"

"I think we should be heading out," Simmons quickly interrupted. "I'm sure that as a diplomat, you have plenty of important tasks to get done."

"Oh, I'm sure he has time to give some feedback," I grinned.

"Of course," Uleena said, playing along. "Feedback is very important for one's growth. Certainly more important than my day-to-day minutia."

"I... uh..." Simmons stammered, trying and failing to come up with a way out of this hole. "Shit. Fine, I referred to Intel-Officer Kriin as a lizard lady. I already got shit from SR about it, though, so you two don't need to pile on."

"How did sapient resources hear about that, anyway?" Uleena asked. "Kriin said she didn't report it."

"Nah, Johnson did."

"Your friend reported you?"

"Oh, Johnson and I are battle-buddies, not friends," Simmons laughed. "Hard to explain the difference. Like, we'll die for each other and kill for each other, but won't risk our careers for each other, you know what I mean? If Johnson's nose wasn't so clean I'd have probably reported him for something by now, too."

Uleena and I stared blankly at Simmons. I nearly argued with him because of how often they'd been paired together, but then I recalled that they didn't exactly hang out when they were off duty. Nor did they request assignment to this squad. Just luck of the draw, I guess.

"Well, anyway, we really should be going," Simmons said. "As I said, we don't know why we're here and should probably go find out."

"Right, nice seeing you again," Uleena said. "And nice to meet you, staff sergeant."

"Pleasure meeting you too, ship-head," I replied.

We watched as Uleena continued down the corridor, and we began heading in the opposite direction. We walked in silence for a while, but a question kept burning in my mind. Something that didn't make much sense, and I desperately needed clarification on.

"You and Johnson really aren't friends?" I asked.