Chapter One

 

…Fifteen Years Later

 

Benin Province

Equatorial Region

Markov’s Prize

Landing Day (L-Day)

 

            Strike Trooper Lian Sessetti’s visual display seamlessly patched into one of the external cameras of the C3T7 transporter drone he sat within, allowing him to look around in awe at the crystal clear waters and sun kissed waves which flew past either side of the company as they closed on their objective. Clear turquoise skies without even a hint of cloud allowed the system’s twin suns to highlight seemingly every detail of the calm waters and the complex of islands which lay ahead of the force, made up of eight C3T7 transporters – known as ‘Dukes’ to the troopers, allegedly due to their visual similarity to the duke bird from Promoria – and their cargoes, escorted by a pair of C3M4 combat drones. He could have almost thanked the beautiful scenery that surrounded him for providing him with a momentary distraction from the fear of entering combat for the very first time.

            As soon as that realization returned to his mind and the apprehension intensified, his visual display notified him that he was now receiving external aid from the unit’s shard connection; a soothing wave of thoughts and signals were transmitted directly into his brain’s amygdala and cerebral cortex.

            “Stay focused, cupcakes!” Strike Leader Rall snapped. “Three hundred yan to the beachhead! I want a smooth egress and everybody ready for the advance on objective beta.”

            Sessetti winced – he knew the cupcake dig was aimed at him. Any administration of external aid would be automatically highlighted to the squad leader. As if in confirmation, Rall stared across the passenger hold to meet Sessetti’s gaze. His helmet’s face mask pushed back to the top of his head, Rall’s dark brown skin and eyes stood out in stark contrast to the white and green of the armored plates that covered the rest of his body. The standard armor of a strike trooper was ergonomically designed for both ease of movement and to angle away the energy of incoming shots, although the torso region was far bulkier to house the power supply, ventilation, fluids and drugs, and processors.  

            The fear of the unknown ahead eased off a little and was replaced with a cold determination to get the job done. That was the beauty of the shard; the interlocking system of nanospheres that connected every trooper to their squad leader and, in turn, further up the chain of command. Rall’s personality, strength, and experience filtered down through the shard to bolster the mental resolve of all of his soldiers. The connection was as real as a physical one.

            Rall gave a momentary thumbs up to Sessetti before turning to look across at the remaining men and women of his squad. Eight of them formed Squad Wen; only Sessetti and his childhood friend, Bo Clythe, had never seen combat before. Sessetti looked to his right to where Clythe sat next to him, but his friend of nearly two decades looked just the same as the rest of the squad; a humanoid shape wrapped in white and green armor, his face plate was down and hiding any trace which might define him from any other trooper in the company.

            “One hundred yan!” Rall warned.

            The Duke rocked a little as an electronic hum sounded from somewhere to the left of the drone transporter. It took a second or two for Sessetti to realize that it was the shields flaring up. They were being shot at. For the first time in his life, somebody was trying to kill him.  He tasted bile.

            “Sticks and stones!” Rall grunted. “These people have barely made it into space so don’t worry about their weapons! Ten seconds to egress!”

            The transporter bucked and shunted a few more times before it hit the coastline, rolled up the beach, and turned sharply ninety degrees before coming to a standstill. The doors on the left side of the drone slid open and the passenger seat belts rapidly retracted into their housing. Rall sprang to his feet and dashed across to the open doorway.

            “Out! Out! Get out!”

            Hugging his plasma carbine into his gut, Sessetti jumped to his feet and followed the line of strike troopers out of the comparative safety of the drone, dropping from the open doorway to land on the sandy beach below. The C3T7  Duke was the third to make it up onto the beach and had turned to offer protection from enemy positions in the tree line ahead; Sessetti saw only the purple waters they had traversed across as he crouched down and awaited instructions from his strike leader. Cooling air flowed across his face from his battlesuit to counter the blazing rays of the orange suns as the troops disembarked. Ahead of them, the squad’s spotter drone – a disc shaped machine a little larger than a panhuman torso – hovered at head height as it scanned for enemy forces.

            Rall was the last out of the Duke, crouching down amid his squad as the next two transporter drones shot across the water and peeled away from each other to take their places along the beachhead. Puffs of sand leapt into the air in the open spaces between the stationary Duke transporters and ripples appeared in the otherwise calm waters behind them. Sessetti stared at the evidence of enemy fire in silence, hoping that the shard would administer another round of anything to calm his nerves. The shallow turret on top of the Duke span around to face up the beach before its plasma light support weapon opened fire, sending lines of superheated matter sweeping through the vivid trees at the far end of the beach.

            “Squad Wen, advance to my marker!” Rall ordered as a waypoint appeared on Sessetti’s combat array; a pale grey oval marker highlighting a seemingly arbitrary point where the beach met the trees of the dense, multicolored jungle ahead.

            Gant, the squad’s most seasoned trooper, hauled himself up to his feet and led the move up the beach, the hyperlight shields which cocooned his physical armor flashing purple a mere hand span from his torso as unseen enemy soldiers targeted him from amid the trees.

            “Come on, buddy,” Clythe urged as he ran past Sessetti, “let’s go get stuck in.”

            The eight troopers struggled through the fine sand, their armored feet slipping as their shields flared with every impact from an accurate enemy shot. Above their heads, the plasma light supports of the transporter drones cut swathes through the blue-green foliage, sending branches and leaves twirling up through the air and snapping tree trunks in half. Off to the right, a C3M4 combat drone advanced toward the enemy position, its turret mounted plasma cannon firing shots so loud that Sessetti’s earpieces struggled to filter out the deafening cacophony.

            Jemmel, the squad’s plasma lance gunner, dropped to one knee and raised her support weapon to her shoulder before firing a long burst into the trees.

            “Keep moving!” Rall barked as he grabbed her by the exhaust unit on the back of her armor and dragged her to her feet. “Don’t stop!”

            Cycling through every visual channel at his disposal, Sessetti stared in confusion at the tree line up ahead where lines of enemy fire continued to stream down from.

            “Where the hell are they?” Jemmel asked. “I can’t see them! No visual, no thermal, nothing!”

            Before anybody could answer, a high pitched whistle sounded from the skies above, and then an earth shaking explosion detonated to the far left of the beachhead. A moment later, a second whistle followed, and the C3M4 combat drone on the left flank was torn apart in a colossal fireball.

            “On the deck!” Rall yelled as he dived down to the sand.

            Sessetti reacted to the command instantly, hurling himself to the ground as he frantically searched for better cover in his immediate surroundings. The ground shook with each explosion as projectiles continued to rain down from the bright turquoise skies above. A projectile landed close by, shaking Sessetti with enough force for him to bite his tongue and taste blood. Clumps of sand rained down on the squad, half burying them where they lay as enemy fire continued to sweep over their heads.

            “Command! Squad Wen!” Sessetti heard Rall yelling into his communicator even through both of their helmets. “We’re pinned in the open with indirect fire and rapid fire weapons in the trees at our objective! Request intentions!”

            Sessetti looked over his shoulder at the waterline, just in time to see an enemy projectile slam into the sand next to one of the Duke transporter drones, the explosion lifting the huge vehicle up and onto its back. One of the transporters from the last wave drove up the beach but could not react to the flipped Duke in time. It plowed into the first vehicle and slid off its side, nosing over into the surf. Its doors slid open and its embarked strike squad all but fell out into the water, their squad leader grabbing troopers and manhandling them quickly out of the water.

            “Off the beach!” Rall yelled. “Get in the trees!”

            Struggling up to his feet, Sessetti followed Clythe as they continued to advance toward the colorful trees and foliage up ahead. Gant was at the front again, diving to the ground near the trees before hurling a plasma grenade into the dense foliage. A staccato crack sounded and clumps of earth and vegetation flew out from where his grenade had landed.

            An unseen hand grabbed Sessetti by his back and flung him up into the air, his hyperlight shields flaring pale purple all around him as he was tossed across the beach like a discarded toy. All sounds were replaced by a shrill, even tone as he stared up at the bright sky, branches and leaves fluttering silently and seemingly in slow motion above him and landing all around him. His vision blurred, he looked carefully around in an attempt to locate his carbine. Staggering up to his elbows, his hearing and vision suddenly drew back into sharp focus as his battlesuit sent a shot of chemicals into his bloodstream to assist him.

            “Casualty! Casualty!” Clythe was screaming from behind him, his old friend lying in a smoking crater with steam rising from blackened holes in his armor. “Get a medi-drone over here!”

            Fearing for his friend’s safety, Sessetti staggered over and slid down into the darkened sand beside him. Next to Clythe lay the decapitated body of one of their squad. Sessetti stared in disbelief for a second before grabbing his shocked friend by the upper arm.

            “He’s dead, Bo! He’s gone! We need to get into the trees!”

            Struggling to drag Clythe to his feet, the two limped on toward the jungle. It was only as they were approaching the trees that Sessetti realized it was over. The bombardment had ended, the enemy fire had stopped. Up ahead, Rall and Gant crouched over a smoking gun and tripod. Rall looked up at the two troopers as they approached and shook his head.

            “Sentry guns,” he spat. “The bastards were never even here.”

 

***

Operations Room

Concord Warship, Aurora II

 

            Mandarin Owenne watched the warship’s captain out of the corner of his eye. The tall, thin woman walked slowly from terminal to terminal, pausing by each individual crewmember who crouched over a holographic projection in front of them, monitoring a variety of ship’s functions ranging from scanners and propulsion to weapons systems and long range communications. Owenne wondered why the Ops Room was so dark – probably some ludicrous naval tradition stemming back to the days when warships had portholes and light emissions would alert the enemy. He found ‘ordinary people’ awkward to deal with at the best of times, and Captain Uin was no exception.

            Scratching one eyebrow with a long, pale finger, Owenne turned away from the two dozen naval personnel clustered in the center of the Ops Room and stared at the metal grate plates which formed the floor beneath his feet. The carrier Aurora II was the flagship of Task Force 1312, a Concord fleet of some thirty warships and minor war vessels, which was charged with establishing naval supremacy across twenty designated systems of Determinate Space near the Concord border. For the most part, this meant breaking off small groups of two or three warships to safeguard assaults on planets whose governments refused the Concord’s invitation to join with them. The most recent of these was the assault of Markov’s Prize, a relatively advanced planet in the adjoining Do System.

            The mandarin looked up as Captain Uin approached him.

            “Word from HQ, 44^th Strike Formation, sir,” the stern woman said impassively. “Our forces have a foothold on Markov’s Prize. The landing has been a success with only light casualties.”

            “Yes, I know,” Owenne continued to stare down, perplexed as to why a woman of Uin’s seniority and experience would wait for verbal confirmation of that information, rather than just use a shard connection and find out herself.

            Owenne knew precisely what was going on at Markov’s Prize. He had monitored the landing, the assault, and was now monitoring the units establishing their perimeter. All of this was achieved via a simple transfer of information from shard to shard – trooper to leader, on to company command and then formation command. From there it was transmitted more conventionally to the Task Force, but then Owenne, as a NuHu, could utilize his vastly superior ability to manipulate nanites to grab that information straight from the warship’s shard before even the communication technicians had dealt with it.

            “Do you wish to initiate landings on Andenn?” The warship captain queried.

            “No,” Owenne replied simply.

            Now was not the time to conduct two simultaneous planetary assaults across a four system spread of real estate. Owenne was one of three NuHu mandarins employed in Task Force 1312, and it was more logical to pool their collective experiences before making strategic decisions. In addition to that, a frigate in the Zolus System had detected something which concerned Owenne. Greatly.

 

***

 

            Another series of staccato explosions sounded as engineering drones felled another row of bulbous, blue trees to make way for the new base. At the far end of the beach, the destroyed M4 combat drone was already being towed to a more suitable recovery site whilst repair drones set to work on the overturned T7 transporter; their efforts augmenting the slower, invisible repairs being carried out by the shell of nanobots which swarmed over the damaged drone. Semi-opaque kinetic barricades had been set up to form a perimeter to protect the soldiers and drones as the routine of setting up accommodation and messing areas, command and briefing facilities, and transmat pads was carried out with well-drilled efficiency.

            His plasma carbine still held at the ready as his eyes scoured the northern horizon to his right, Rall walked over to where the six surviving members of his squad sat only a few paces from the water’s edge. The midafternoon suns were high in the sky, and with his helmet removed, Rall felt the full force of the suns’ rays on the back of his head. The closer of the two suns, Aen, blazed proudly in the clear sky whilst its twin, Boa, sat higher but many millions of yan further away, a more faded yellow next to Aen’s burning orange. Sessetti and Clythe, the two new boys, stood up and dusted themselves down as soon as Rall approached.

            “I’ve talked to the boss,” Rall announced to his strike troopers. “That barrage that tore us to bits, it was an orbital artillery battery. And then there’s the sentry guns they left here for us; no intelligence, just simple, automated weapons with a tracking system – cloaked, though. Turns out that the natives aren’t quite as primitive as we were told. Their cloaking technology is better than we expected.”

            “Orbital artillery?” Gant exclaimed. “How the hell did they miss that? We’re not talking about a hidden sniper here, we’re talking about a massive floating platform in space with half a dozen guns as big as a house on it! Drop troopers or navy aerospace or some idiot who gets more credit than us should have taken that out days ago!”

            Rall nodded but kept a stern stare locked onto Gant’s dark eyes. Gant had five years combat experience under his belt and should have made strike leader already. A tall, swarthy man with curly hair, he had joined C3 straight from school, just as Rall had.  Just as all the best troopers had before the war against the Isorians had intensified to the point of the C3 recruiting citizens for short stints of a few years. Citizens like Clythe and Sessetti.

            “Navy aerospace took out the platform within minutes of it being detected,” Rall replied. “Even them pretty flyboys can’t kill the bad guys unless somebody tells them where to go.”

            “Wasn’t quick enough to save Weste, though, was it, Lead?” Jemmel said, staring up at him from her crouched position in the center of the group. 

            Another experienced trooper, Jemmel’s short stature and shaven head made her instantly distinctive from the other women of the company; her previous trade as a tattoo artist was evident in the line of stylized stars which were visible along one side of her neck.

            Rall leaned forward to address the short woman. “He knew the risks, same as the rest of us. We lose people with every planet we assault. I don’t like it, but there it is. We’ve established a perimeter, we’ve done the first part of our job. The operation is proceeding as planned.”

            “Lead?” Clythe cleared his throat.

            Rall looked down at the freshly qualified trooper, his blue eyes unable to meet Rall’s stare.

            “What happens to Weste now? I mean, that explosion took his head off. Can he really be regen’d? Or is that it? Is he dead?”

            “Don’t know,” Rall shrugged, “I’ve seen troopers come back from some pretty incredible stuff. If not, there’s always a chance that his back-up consciousness can be successfully ported into a clone body. But whether or not we’ll see him again? Don’t know. C3 knows what is best. If the best is for Weste to rejoin us and the activation of his clone is successful, we’ll see him in a couple of weeks. He won’t remember you because the last time we all checked in for a consciousness save point was about six months ago; so if we get him back, his clone will only remember everything up to the save point. I’ve even known C3 to decide a guy’s no longer fit for military service and so sends his clone back home with no memory of his war time.”

            “Or there’s option three,” Gant shrugged, “C3 decides that population control of the Concord takes priority and just leaves him dead. That seems to be happening a lot more these days. Seven out of our last ten dead, isn’t it?”

            “You stow that subversive crap!” Rall spat, his narrowed eyes darting from soldier to soldier in accusation. “If the system wants a guy to stay dead, then there’s a good reason! Population control, c’mon! There’s easier ways to do that then starting wars, so forget your conspiracy theory crap! We’re part of something bigger here, and you guys aren’t sitting around crying about how unfair life is, not while I’m calling the shots! Now dry your eyes and get it together because there’s an entire jungle to the north which needs patrolling, and we’ll be part of that, soon.”

            Shaking his head, Rall turned his back on his soldiers and walked back toward the command post. He had only taken a few paces when Sessetti and Clythe caught up with him.

            “Lead? I just wanted to say sorry for…”

            Rall had felt Clythe’s disappointment and embarrassment through the shard already. Similar emotions were feeding back from Sessetti. He held a hand up to stop both of them from speaking as he continued to walk away from the rest of the squad.

            “You were already topped out on shard mental assistance, which is pretty normal for a trooper’s first time in combat,” Rall explained, his tone almost soft,  “but your suit was ripped to shreds by that explosion. That’s what stopped your intravenous injection flow and that’s what left you next to a mate with no head and no drugs to control how you felt. That’s why you froze. Don’t feel bad, Clythe, learn from it. Battlesuits get damaged and break down, now you know what happens and next time you’ll do better. Just think about those poor sods we’re facing who have to deal with this every day. No battlesuits, no shard mental assistance, no combat drugs, and if we kill these guys, they stay dead. Don’t let Gant and Jemmel get you down, those guys just need a proper break and it’s showing. You did alright.”

            “I didn’t even fire my carbine, Lead,” Sessetti exhaled. “I didn’t do anything.”

            “You didn’t run away, so you did better than me first time out,” Rall said as he forced a smile. “Cheer up. It’s sunny and we’re not being shot at. Life ain’t so bad.”

            “Lead?” Gant called from a few paces behind. “Senior’s here.”

            Rall drew a breath before turning around again to stomp through the sand back over to his squad. Van Noor, the company senior strike leader and second-in-command after the boss, was crouched down amid Rall’s troopers. Nobody had asked Van Noor how long he had been soldiering for, but it certainly preceded any member of the company. The veteran trooper’s blonde hair was beginning to grow back through after a long period of shaving his head, but it was the wrinkles around his eyes which spoke volumes about his time served. Most of the temporary, citizen soldiers would only serve for three, perhaps four years before being released from military duty. Career soldiers, far rarer, would last longer; but in an era where dying of old age would happen after perhaps two hundred fifty years, all soldiers looked young. Those grey temples and handful of wrinkles put Van Noor at at least one hundred years old; and with his experience of soldiering, Rall wouldn’t be surprised if most of his life had been in the military.

            “Weste was a good guy,” Van Noor nodded slowly as Rall, Clythe, and Sessetti approached, his tone soft. “We’ve just gotta hope that C3 wants him back with us and that his clone activation goes smoothly. I’m sorry you guys lost one today, it never gets easier.”

            “Thanks, Senior,” Gant nodded slowly, his sentiments echoed by the other members of the squad.

            “Any more news?” Rall asked as he approached.

            “’Bout what?” Van Noor stood up.

            “Why we’re getting bombarded from orbital platforms by cavemen whose technology shouldn’t be giving us problems.”

            “Intelligence is looking into it. As soon as I know, you’ll know. In the meantime, we learn from this and we don’t underestimate these guys. They’re not cavemen, they’re determined fighters defending their homes. They don’t realize what we’re bringing to them, they see us as a threat to their way of life rather than the future coming to embrace them. We’ve seen it before, and we’ve had surprises like this before. Don’t let it throw you off your game. Anyhow, it’s you I’m here to see, Feon. Let’s go for a walk.”

            Feeling his brow furrow, Rall walked away from his squad to catch up with Van Noor. Ahead of them, engineer drones were digging underneath a shelf of rock, already making way for what would most likely be the accommodation area.

            “You’ve been with these guys for a while,” Van Noor began.

            “They’re good,” Rall said. “Gant should have got that last slot as strike leader. The two new boys seem okay so far.”

            “I’ve recommended to the boss that it’s time to rotate you round to a new squad. He agrees with me.”

            “Why?” Rall demanded, stopping in his tracks. “What’s the problem? We’re at the front, getting stuck in every time! I’m looking after them, our casualty rate is no higher than anybody else’s! There’s nothing I can do to stop an orbital…”

            “It’s not about that, Feon,” Van Noor said softly, “it’s about the effects of your personality on the squad shard, and through it, what’s being projected onto every one of those guys and girls over there. You’re what the boss calls a ‘polarized character’. Most strike leaders can stay in place, but people like you, you achieve a hell of a lot in combat but your drive and grit can have real effects on your people.”

            Van Noor paused, his piercing eyes fixed on Rall’s, as if waiting for a reaction. Rall met his gaze evenly but bit back a response.

            “Listen to them!” Van Noor continued. “They’re angry, pissed off, outspoken – they’re like you. We need leaders like you front and center, but occasionally our people need a change or we lose variety in our ranks, and with it we lose flexibility.”

            “That’s all just management buzz-word crap,” Rall shook his head. “You’re fobbing me off with psychology. If the boss agrees with this, why isn’t he down here telling me himself?”

            “Because it was my idea, and I said I’d talk to you,” Van Noor’s tone was a little less amiable. “If you’re not up to acknowledging my authority as senior strike leader of this company, we can go see the boss right now.”

            Rall froze. The strike captain was an approachable and fair man, but he had seen what he was capable of. Worse, he had heard rumors, stories about the boss before he joined the military.

            “That won’t be necessary,” Rall took a breath. “I’ll tell my squad that I’ll be moving on, and I’ll be ready to follow your direction as soon as you have a new squad for me.”

            “Good man,” Van Noor smiled, slamming an armored palm against Rall’s shoulder. “It’s not a criticism, just routine. I’ll give you a shout as soon as we know who you’re swapping with.”

 

***

            The din of construction continued to recede as the engineering drones moved further underground to work on the accommodation block. The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the smooth sand was accompanied by the cawing of large, almost skeletal thin sea birds with vibrant coats of red and green feathers. A gentle onshore breeze rustled the scattered, spikey patches of blue vegetation that sprouted up from amid the rocks which occasionally punctuated the long stretch of sand.

            “How about ‘call’,” Clythe offered, “that should be easy enough to work in.”

            The two sat alone on their stretch of beach, looking out to sea as Sessetti prodded half-heartedly at the datapad that lay across his lap.

            “I dunno, Bo,” Sessetti winced. “I can see that end up a bit… contrived.”

            “What you guys up to?”

            Sessetti looked up to see Ila Rae, another relatively new trooper from their squad, walk over to sit down next to them. Rae had been the squad’s most junior trooper until he had arrived with Clythe. A young woman of average height with mousy brown hair, she had mainly kept herself to herself. Nonetheless, Sessetti was not entirely sure he wanted to pour out his heart and soul to a woman he barely knew, so he opened his mouth to come up with a convincing lie to respond to her question. Clythe blurted out a response before he could.

            “We’re writing song lyrics. We were in a band back home before we were called up. Today was a pretty big day, so I guess it’s been kind of… thought provoking.”

            “A band?” Rae exclaimed as Sessetti sighed and shot a look at Clythe, “Wow! This must be quite a change of pace, being out here. You guys okay after this morning? I know the shard helps a lot, but seeing your first dead squadmate, there’s only so much that can be repressed by those friendly brain waves they send to us. Before we go on leave, they’ll wean us off the external assistance and the drugs and give us proper therapy, and we can talk it through then.”

            “Yeah, I’m feeling a bit better,” Clythe nodded.

            “I thought we’d lost you, too!” Rae blinked. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

            “Thanks,” Clythe shrugged uncomfortably, pausing for a moment before continuing. “So… what did you do before all this?”

            “I was a junior fashion designer, believe it or not, which was something I really loved. Not much to say about it, really.” Rae raised her brow and exhaled, as if disappointed in the lack of a response from her statement, before turning her head and nodding back in the direction of the base. “Anyway, here come the rest of the guys.”

            Sessetti looked over his shoulder as Gant, Jemmel, and Qan made their way over from where they had stopped to talk to the members of Squad Teal. As was standard away from combat, all three troopers had removed their helmets and replaced them with the black beret of the 44^th Strike Formation.

            “Hey, did you know these guys are in a band back home?” Rae announced as the three approached.

             Sessetti bit his lip and looked angrily across at Clythe. The shorter man shrugged in confusion.

            “What kind of music?” Jemmel asked as she flopped down on a small rock next to them.

            “We started off doing the same heavy strings stuff everybody does in their teens,” Clythe answered, “but dance stuff was more popular, so we ditched the angst and went across to keys.”

            “Nevermind,” Jemmel narrowed her eyes in disapproval, “you can always reverse that rather unwise decision with a bit more maturity.”

            “Oh, wind your neck in!” Gant snapped. “The dude is telling you about his art form, and you’re just going looking to pick holes! We’ve all got different tastes and there’s nothing laid down that says you’re right and he’s wrong.”

            “Alright!” Jemmel held both hands up. “It was a joke!”

            “Well to me, some things are sacred,” Gant said seriously, “and I don’t joke about things back home.”

            “Have you heard the good news?” Qan remarked dryly. “We ain’t getting catering out here. We’re on food capsules for the foreseeable.”

            “Things could be worse,” Rae pondered. “I mean, look at the view.”

            The six troopers sat in silence for a few moments as the suns continued their slow dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in horizontal bands of oranges and purples. The onshore breeze picked up just a little more.

            “Who d’you think we’re getting as our new strike leader?” Jemmel asked as she scratched the back of her shaven head. “Can’t say I’m too bothered to see the back of Rall.”

            “Any chance we’ll get Van Noor?” Sessetti asked. “He seems like a good guy to work for.”

            “No, doesn’t work like that,” Gant replied. “As senior strike leader, he always works in the command squad, with the boss. Rotating him back here with us would effectively be a demotion.”

            “I reckon it’ll be Heide,” Qan said, making an unsuccessful attempt to skim a flat stone across the glistening water. “He’s a good egg.”

            “Any chance we’ll get that hottie from Squad Jai?” Clythe asked excitedly. “She is literally the perfect woman.”

            “Good to see equality is still alive and well where you’re from,” Rae murmured under her breath. 

            “Rhona?” Jemmel spat. “The least experienced strike leader in the entire Concord? Yeah, good choice.”

            “He’s right though,” Qan mused as he failed to skim another stone, “she’s the hottest woman ever.”

            Sessetti found himself glaring at Clythe, his old school friend, wondering how he had managed to lower himself to overtly blurting out sexist comments. It seemed to Sessetti to be one of many disadvantages of living life within the C3 military shard; some darker elements of panhuman nature were allowed, even encouraged to move to the fore. Comments such as these would have been stamped out before the brain had engaged the mouth back in the Concord civilian shard.

            “It’ll be Yavn from Squad Teal,” Gant declared. “It’s the most logical choice. Half of you have barely fired a shot – no offense guys – and Yavn’s one of the most experienced strike leaders we’ve got.”

            “No such luck,” Jemmel rolled her eyes before nodding at a point further up the beach. “Speak of the devil.”

            Sessetti turned to see Van Noor walking across to them with a second trooper accompanying him. The senior strike leader turned to face the shorter trooper and exchanged words for a few moments before giving her an encouraging shove to one shoulder and a thumbs up. The squad’s new strike leader walked away from Van Noor and over to the six troopers on the beach. She stopped by the squad and flashed a lazy smile, her black hair falling over a tatty purple bandana tied around her forehead. 

            “You guys are with me now,” Katya Rhona beamed. “Y’all make sure you get a good night’s sleep. We’ve got first patrol tomorrow morning.”