F@nService Diner: Chapter 05 Jade October

Chapter 05: Jade October

“So, who’s the new guy?” Sergeant Hill asked Captain Zhisheng.

“Oh the marine? That’s Gunnery Sergeant Max Shoeman.”

Shoeman stood out from the rest of the team not only because he wore the coffee-stain desert camo of the Solar Marines in contrast to the blue-gray tigerstripe of the space force vac-suits. At six foot five he was also a head taller than most of the jump troopers. His high and tight buzzcut was shaved into a Mohawk that leaned forward over his Neanderthal forehead, mirroring his pointed beard. This gave him a profile that looked like someone had Mount Rushmored the face of a pissed off caveman into the mid portion of a crescent moon. As if he didn’t look grizzled enough, Shoeman had a nasty, pink scar that cut through the top of his right eyebrow all the way down to his cheekbone. Hill wondered what had given the marine that scar. He also wondered Shoeman’s right eye had survived the event. He was on active duty so he must still have depth perception but it was possible he wore a prosthetic eye. It was hard to know for sure since Hill had never seen the man’s eyes. He always had them hidden under aviator sunglasses or tactical goggles — kind of like the ones he was wearing now. Maybe he didn’t like people staring — kind of like Hill was now. He quickly looked away, unsure whether the marine had caught him staring.

“Shoeman’s part of the Galactic Union’s force consolidation program.” Zhisheng explained.

The Force Consolidation Program was the Baytor Administration’s way of saying, ‘After Jacinto we don’t trust you not to defect so we’re going to shuffle a bunch of people around so you don’t know who to trust either.’ Hill sighed.

“I figured as much, but why is he on this particular mission?”

“Someone in command believes Sergeant Shoeman’s skillset will be valuable in achieving your team’s goals.”

“What skillset is that?” Kale asked skeptically.

The captain drew his government issue, encrypted pen-phone from his breast pocket and clicked the tip. A holographic gesture screen projected out from the emitter at the top of the pocket clip. He swiped through some menus until he found Shoeman’s personnel file.

“Sergeant Shoeman is an expert in urban warfare, anti-armor tactics, demolitions, and close quarters combat.”

“Sounds like a badass. Do you think his squad is going to miss him?”

“Unlikely.”

“Oh?”

“His whole squad was wiped out.”

“Oh, that sucks. What happened?” Sergeant Hill asked.

The Jade Kingdom Captain shuffled uncomfortably.

“Oh well, it’s kind of funny actually. You see, he, he kill them.”

“What!” Hill blurted out.

“They were trying to defect to the enemy and well he…”

Kale’s eye twitched.

“…He killed them all, including the sergeant.”

“I thought he was the sergeant.” Hill attempted to keep his voice down.

“He is now.” Zhisheng giggled nervously.

Sergeant Hill blinked.

The captain looked away and pretended to cough to clear his throat as he re-pocketed the pen-phone.

“Now don’t worry, you will still be in command. Sergeant Shoeman may technically outrank you but you have more experience leading this squad. He is only coming along to advise and assist with the operation. You will be acting Team Leader.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Hill asked.

“Oh no, I’m staying with ship, to coordinate between your team and the drone swarm. Your state department thinks if I, a Jade Kingdom officer, were to get captured it would give the Outer Alliance a valuable propaganda tool.”

“So that’s why we’re going in with a small team made mostly of former locals.” Hill observed.

“Yes, that’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

Captain Zhisheng looked over his shoulder to see if the marine was paying attention.

Sergeant Shoeman slowly turned his Easter Island-shaped head to look in their direction. Captain Zhisheng turned away and lowered his voice.

“I’m not going to lie. Sergeant Shoeman scares the poop out of me.”

“Uh huh.” Sergeant Hill nodded slowly.

“Well, let’s start the briefing shall we.”

The jumptroopers and the marine gathered around a small hologram projector Captain Zhisheng had set up for his briefing.

“I trust you’ve all met Dr. Grau at some point during our voyage.” Captain Zhisheng gestured to the tall, thin, gray man to his left. Dr. Grau was not gray in the figuritive sense; a man who could blend in and go unnoticed. A head taller than everyone in the room, except Sergeant Shoeman, with bone structure that resembled an art deco statue he would have trouble going unnoticed even if he weren’t literally gray. Both his skin and slicked-back dark hair were shades of monochromatic blue-tinted silver. His piercing ice-blue eyes were the only part of him that showed any color. This guy was either a Cathurian or a Thaalarian, probably the latter. Hill decided. Neither the doctor nor Captain Z had brought it up and the jumptroopers definitely weren’t asking but it seemed pretty obvious. The guy practically oozed Thaal. Most Cathurians have a certain no-nonsense, working class approachableness to them. When you talked to one you got the sense that what they were telling you perfectly matched what they were thinking. When talking to a Thaalarian, well — you’re lucky if you can get one to make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation. But if for some reason they deemed you worthy of their time you would get the sense that they were telling you exactly what they thought you wanted to hear. Meanwhile their internal monologue was somewhere far away, plotting three moves ahead.

Dr. Grau stepped forward.

“Thank you Captain.” Grau spoke with a subtle, aristocratic Hetraxi accent. Apparently he had learned the language from the people who invented it. “You all know me…” They really didn’t. “I’m not a man of many words.” Also not true. “Now due to circumstances beyond my control there are certain details of Operation Jade October that I am not permitted to tell you but rest assured, what you do here today will be of historic importance. It is here, on this tiny, red planet that the tides of war will shift in our favor. Your actions today will lay the groundwork for a united galaxy, an orderly galaxy, a peaceful galaxy, a galaxy focused into one divine force of will.

The troopers looked at each other nervously. How were you supposed to focus an entire galaxy into one will? You couldn’t even get the people in this room to agree on a pizza toppings. Grau continued, oblivious to his audience’s discomfort.

“When we are united nothing will be impossible for us. — It, it really is tragic that you are all going to have to die.”

Everyone was deathly silent. A trooper broke the silence by spitting up the cup of water he had been drinking but now suspected was poisoned. The rest jumped to their feet and drew their knives.

“Oh, sorry — I meant eventually. It’s a shame you would have to die eventually. You know? Because Solari are not immortal —like me.” The gray man clarified.

The troopers warily scanned the doctor, the captain and the dark corners of the room before sheathing their blades and sitting back down. The captain breathed a sigh of relief. Grau appeared slightly embarrassed but mostly unphased as he continued.

“You are not going to die today. — And who knows? You do well today, and The Union wins this war —” The doctor appeared to be fighting back a laugh. “It is not hyperbolic to say that perhaps none of you need die — ever.”

The troopers exchanged puzzled looks.

“Oh — I’m afraid I may have said too much.”

Captain Zhisheng squirmed nervously.

“Maybe I should give the briefing.” He suggested.

“No no, it’s okay. I’ve got this.” Grau activated the holographic projector with a flick of his silver pen-phone.

The hologram showed a uncannily photogenic dark-haired man in his early twenties wearing a white, armor-plated jumpsuit. Both jumpsuit shoulder pads were inset with glowing, blue, Omni corporate logos.

He had his arms thrown out to the sides as if he was holding back the storm of explosions and floating bullets that filled the air around him. Whatever he was doing appeared to be working because the fire, shockwaves and projectiles were deflected around spherical force fields that seemed to be emanating from his hands.

“Your target is Hiro Nishimoto. He is a powerful kinetic in the employment of the Outer Alliance’s OmniStellar Corporation.”

The red-bearded Senior Spaceman Loyd Jenkins whistled. “He’s pretty.”

The other troopers snickered.

“Really Jenkins?” Spaceman First Class Martinez punched him in the shoulder.

“Well he is. Just look at him.”

“If you’re into that sort of —

Jenkins raised a mischievous eyebrow.

“Oh — right. I see where you’re going with this.” Martinez smiled.

Jenkins turned to the doctor.

“Sir, does Hiro have a sister?”

“That is not relevant right now.” Captain Z answered on Grau’s behalf.

“Actually it’s doctor. He’s a Sir.” Grau nodded in Zhisheng’s direction. “Not that I’m sensitive about it. Everyone’s a doctor on my world.”

“So he does have a hot sister.” Martinez inferred.

Grau rolled his eyes and the captain face-palmed in frustration.

“Haha! Sweet!” Jenkins and Martinez high-fived.

“Alright stow it Jenkins.” Ordered Kale, barely attempting to hide his amusement. “It’s time to play space force.”

“What do you think we’re doing Sarge?” Jenkins replied and the rest of the team erupted into laughter.

Doctor Grau frustratedly waited for the laughter to subside before he tried to force his way through the rest of the briefing.

“Your target is Hiro Nishimoto. He is a kinetic and he is vital to the Alliance’s war effort. Now our drones currently have him under surveillance but they are programmed not to engage until we are in position.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. We’re not going to kill him, are we?” Martinez asked.

“No, killing Hiro is not part of the plan.”

“Fwew! that’s a relief.”

Grau pushed forward with the briefing. “Like I said, they will not engage Hiro until your team is in position. They are programmed to keep their distance but maintain line of sight.”

Martinez interrupted him. “Because that would make it super awkward for Jenkins. I mean, how is he supposed to ask out Hiro’s hot sister if we killed her brother.”

“Martinez!” Sergeant Hill half-heartedly scolded while Captain Zhisheng bit his lower lip in embarrassed rage. Grau took a second to compose himself and continued.

“Once we are in position the drones will engage Hiro with nonlethal stun-blasts. This should keep him distracted and give us an idea where his shield vectors are so we can shoot around them.”

This time Hill interrupted. “Okay, two questions; first off, you keep saying ‘we’. What’s all the ‘we’ talk about? Second, I thought you said we weren’t going to kill Mr. Nishimoto.”

“I keep saying we because I’m coming with you.”

Hill took a second to process this.

“But Captain Zhisheng said the state department had decided sending foreign military personnel was too much of a PR risk.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of their objections but that won’t be a problem because I am not military. And even if I were it is highly unlikely that the enemy would be able to capture me. I’m a Thaalarian, in case you hadn’t noticed. If the operation goes poorly and I see the walls closing in all I have to do is put a bullet in my head and respawn on Thaal. Don’t worry about me — and don’t worry about Mr. Nishimoto either. You’re not going to kill him. You are going to shoot him with this.” Dr. Grau motioned to the captain who produced what looked like a metal cigar box containing 3 chrome cylinders.

“These were custom made for the operation. They are long distance smart-darts designed to be fired from a 50 caliber rail-rifle. The main projectile travels like a conventional fifty caliber magnetic slug as it closes the distance to its target. When it is within braking distance the aerodynamic casing opens like a parachute, producing drag that slows the projectile’s velocity to subsonic before it is jettisoned.”

The hologram projector played a 3D render of the smart-darts firing sequence.

“From here the smart-dart’s stabilizer fins take over, making minor course corrections that guide the dart to its target.”

“Sounds expensive.” Hill commented.

“They are.” Replied the doctor.

“What’s in the dart?” Hill asked.

“Two things.”

“Oh?”

“One is a quantum entanglement tracking beacon. It’s signal has infinite range, cannot be blocked and is only detectable by it’s matching receiver.”

Grau nodded and the captain handed Hill a sturdy looking brick of a device consisting of an olive drab steel casing, an inset display screen, a rubberized keypad and a shielded trigger switch.

“Aww thanks Doc.” Grau’s right eye twitched slightly at the nickname ‘Doc’. This made Hill smile on the inside. “Sounds really expensive.”

“It is. Which is why I will be holding on to it. You only need to shoot the kinetic with the dart.” Grau held his palm open and waited for Hill to hand it to him.

Hill pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the device. “What’s this ominous looking trigger switch for?” Hill asked.

“That is for the second thing the smart-dart carries — a powerful sedative.”

“So we’re going to sedate Mr. Nishimoto. Wouldn’t the dart do that on its own? Why does it need a switch?”

“Because it is not a normal dart. The sedative is encapsulated, only to be activated at a time of our choosing.”

“Seems like it would make more sense to just grab him there. What is this, time of our choosing?” Hill asked.

“Your team is just one part of a larger operation. That is all you need to know for now.” Grau said coldly before stepping forward and snatching the receiver out of Hill’s hand.

“Alright, got it. Ours is not to wonder why.” Hill replied. “There’s just one problem I’m noticing with your plan.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Grau raised an eyebrow.

“Well I don’t know about you but if I was just minding my own business and someone shot me with a dart, the first thing I would do is go the hospital to find out what was in it.”

“Don’t worry, we thought of that. We engineered the dart casing to vaporize on impact leaving no evidence except for a small welt and the injected capsule. Mr. Nishimoto will probably think he was stung by a bee.

“Oh, okay — I guess you guys have thought of everything.”

“It comes with experience.” Grau said condescendingly. “Now after you have successfully tagged our target we will temporarily part ways. Your team will change into civilian clothes and covertly move to grid location Delta 4 where you will rendezvous with the Yuzhao and wait for my signal.”

Sergeant Hill spoke up. “I know it’s probably none of our business but where will you be while we’re playing space force back at the ship?”

“I will be leading The Heist Team.”

“Oooo — What’s their specialty?” Hill smirked.

Spaceman first class Franklin Kilroy tapped Jenkins on the shoulder and whispered. “I always wanted to be on a heist team.”

Jenkins nodded in agreement.

“That is, none of your business.” This time the Thaalarian almost cracked a smile

The room grew eerily quiet. Each jumptrooper was terrified of revealing what they all were thinking. After parting ways with the good doctor they would have the perfect opportunity to disappear and be done with this damned civil war. There was still the issue of how to lose that scary marine. No doubt, keeping his JT’s on task was the real reason command had added Sergeant Shoeman to his team, Hill thought. But he was confident he’d be able to figure out some way to lose the guy.

Sergeant Hill decided the silence was getting a little too suspicious. “So, you have anything else for us Doc?” He asked the Thaalarian.

“Well I don’t, but your captain does.” Zhisheng returned from one of the room’s corners carrying an opened cardboard box. He handed it to the nearest trooper. “Take one and pass it down.” He instructed in the sing-songy cadence of a bored school teacher.

“Dog collars?” Jenkins asked, holding it at arm’s length like a dead snake.

“Yes, according to our intel all the kids are wearing them these days. You’ll blend right in. It won’t be that weird.” Zhisheng assured the skeptical spaceman.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Jenkins objected.

“It is.” Zhisheng insisted flatly.

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”

Jenkins’ and Zhisheng’s little exchange gave Spaceman First Class Franklin Kilroy second thoughts and he tried to remove the collar he had just clipped on. “Hey it won’t come off!”

“He wears the cone of shame!” Martinez pointed and laughed, seizing the opportunity to make an UP reference.

“Don’t worry. It is as designed.” Captain Zhisheng reassured the panicking trooper.

“What does that mean?” Asked Kilroy, still clawing at his own neck.

“The tracking collar is designed not to come off without the passcode. If someone tries to forcibly remove the collar without first entering the passcode it will detonate a small explosive charge, killing the wearer and sending out a lethal ring of steel bearings killing anything standing too close.”

“Why the vreck would anyone make this?” Sergeant Hill demanded.

“The collars were developed during the Crescent Wars, back when your government was fighting the Cult of Golden Jihad.” The captain explained.

“Oh, ok that makes sense.” Said Hill.

“It does?” Now Captain Zhisheng was confused.

“Yeah, if I got captured by those psychos and rescue wasn’t coming I’d rather blow up and take a few of them with me. It’s better than having your face cut off to make one of their stupid masks. Just one question.”

“Yes?”

“We’re not fighting Golden Jihad here! So why are we wearing suicide collars?”

“There was a surplus.” The captain answered sheepishly.

“What?”

“The collars were developed in response to the situation on the ground but entered production too late. By the time they were ready for field issue your command had pulled most of its troops out and pivoted to a strategy that focused on drones and contractors. So there were a lot of these tracking collars lying around and your command decided to put them to use. The collars have a built-in GPS that is very precise. Or at least that’s what command told me.”

“Well isn’t this just magical.” Sergeant Hill remarked while loosening the collar on Kilroy whose face was turning red.

“Oh thanks. That's much better.” He thanked Hill after catching his breath.

“Don't mention it.” Hill turned to the captain. “I don't suppose there is any other way to deactivate the collar’s explosive charge? You know, for safety reasons. ”

“It was deliberately designed to be impossible to…”

“Ha-ha! Of course it was!”

“You weren't planning on getting captured were you?” The captain asked suspiciously.

“Ah ha-ha! No! Just, what happens if the battery runs out?”

“The battery is good for 35 days.”

“Yeah but — what happens when it runs out?”

“You won't be there 35 days.”

Sergeant Hill and the captain had a staring contest.

The tense silence was broken by the sound of an electric crackle. The room turned to see Sergeant Shoeman gliding his fingertips a fraction of an inch above the lit end of his energy-cig lighter / stun-gun and letting the static jump to his fingers. Shoeman stopped when he realized everyone was starring at him.

“Sorry, nervous habit.” The marine grunted.

“I love this plan! I’m excited to be a part of it!” Tech Sergeant Kale Hill made a Ghost Busters reference and clipped the explosive tracking collar around his neck. He felt both sick and strangely relieved, like a man who has made peace with a terminal illness. The rest of the JT’s followed his example. Finally the marine looked left, looked right, shrugged and put on one of the collars.

Captain Zhisheng breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now that that’s out of the way you will be issued your kit for the operation.”

He said as he passed the nearest trooper another cardboard box, this one filled with black, anodized steel cubes.

“Sweet! Omnibags.” Martinez plucked one of the metal devices from the cardboard box.

“Wrong.” Dr. Grau corrected him. “”These are EDSCs.”

“EDS what now?” Staff Sergeant Freeman asked.

“Extra Dimensional Storage Containers.” The Thaalarian elaborated.

“Omnibags.” Martinez commented.

“He just told you, these are not Omnibags!” Zhisheng restated.

“Okay fine, Omnibag knockoffs.” Martinez added.

Captain Zhisheng gave him a dirty look.

“If you want to get technical, Omnibags are actually the knockoffs. It was Thaalarian science that made their creation possible in the first place. All OmniStellar did was develop a practical application for it. We simply re-appropriated the technology.” Grau explained.

Hill furrowed his brow as he examined one of the metal containers.

“A practical application for storing things in another dimension? — What else were you guys doing with the tech before Omni decided to turn it into a sci-fi bag of holding?” Hill asked.

“I don’t — it’s classified.” Dr. Grau muttered uncomfortably as he adjusted his tie.

As a rule most Thaalarians came equipped with genius-level intelligence but, unfortunately for them, they seemed to be somewhat lacking in the common-sense department. What little common sense they did have frequently got overruled by a compulsive flair for the theatrical. So Hill could only imagined what sort of over the top, supervillainy purpose the tech had served before Omni got a hold of it.

Captain Zhisheng took over the briefing after Grau turned to walk away with no explanation.

“You heard the man. Now find the EDSC with your name on it. There will be a manifest taped to the back. Make sure all your kit is working and accounted for.”

The team spent the next 10 minutes pulling weapons, ammo and other equipment from the lunch-box sized portals of rotating storage compartments and checking them against the packing lists.

Some items on the lists were missing but then turned up as extras in another team member’s bag, typical. ‘Taking your job seriously really is a lost art.’ Thought Hill.

In addition to the equipment typical to special forces; silenced JR 300 Jump Rifles, 50 caliber Basilisk rail-rifles, an assortment of frag, plasma, stun and smoke grenades, the team also found some specialized equipment to help even the odds against the plasma rifles carried by OmniStellar Peacetroopers. Magnetized Dust Grenades were designed to fill the air with polarized iron particles that eroded a plasma bolt’s magnetic containment field. This greatly reduced its speed, accuracy and the amount of super-heated plasma that would reach the bolt’s intended target. That is if the plasma bolt even managed to hit its target. Still even at greatly reduced speed and power, a plasma bolt was still hotter than the surface of the sun and at least as lethal as a conventional assault rifle round. If you got hit by one you would probably still die but at least you wouldn’t explode in a cloud of pink mist.

To deal with the dying problem each team member was issued a plasma-resistant assault vest. The vests were nowhere nearly as effective against plasma fire as magnetically shielded, full-body, powered armor. But they were rated to block up to 3 plasma hits before exploding in a shower of boiling plasma coolant that may or may not cause cancer. The keywords being UP TO, which meant that was the upwards limit of what the vests could take and there was a good chance they would fail before that. ‘It must be great living the life of a government contractor.’ Hill thought. ‘You make products for use by people who have no say in the matter and then sell them to people who pay you with someone else’s money. It’s a hell of a gig if you can get it.’ At least they got vests designed to stop plasma. Hill half expected them to get sent out with nothing but lanu-fiber and ceramic plate jumpsuits. The jumpsuits were great against bullets and shrapnel but plasma would go through them like a laser pen through butter.

Upon further inspection Hill discovered the ESDC’s weren’t just filled with weapons and armor. There were a few unassuming everyday items mixed in as well.

In addition to the uniforms the team was already wearing, each man was also issued two sets of civilian clothes. Unfortunately, most of the civies were the wrong size and seemed to have been selected with the deliberate intention of embarrassing the wearer. The team was informed they were to wear their new civies under their uniforms so as to make it easier to blend in after they hit the ground. A frantic bout of trading and haggling broke out as each man attempted to trade with his teammates for something that fit better and didn’t misrepresent him as a person. After they had finished trading the t-shirts featuring hated sports teams, ironic catch phrases and children’s cartoons with men willing to wear them — some having to be bribed with extra ammo or grenades, they put their uniforms and jump jets back on over the civilian disguises.

The JT’s retested their jump jets as they had been trained to do every time they put them on. Sergeant Shoeman who had only recently been trained on their use decided to follow their lead.

His helmet’s HUD displayed the status of the Icarus Jump Jet’s system test. First the onboard computer ran multiple simulations to ensure the software was functioning normally. Then the backpack mounted jet turbine would spool up, rising in pitch as it was tested at various RPMs. Thankfully the helmets had selective noise canceling headphones. The sound of eight jump jet rigs being tested inside a cramped metal cylinder would have been deafening to say the least. After each jet and its associated tubing passed the test it would flash on the holographic heads-up-display with a happy, green checkmark next to it. Finally the whole rig flashed and a computerized female voice, speaking in an aristocratic Hetraxi accent, announced.

“System checks complete. All systems are operational and ready for jump.”

The Jump Troopers were trained by the space force to check everything twice, with two sets of eyes. So next they paired up and double checked their wingman’s rig for frays in the jet’s tubing or any other external damage the computer might have missed. Nobody found anything but, better safe than sorry. The computer had missed things before.

Sergeant Hill noticed that both Dr. Grau and Sergeant Shoeman didn’t have wingmen and seemed to have no intention of pairing up. It looked like it was up to him to play space force. First he approached Grau to see if he needed help.

“I’m afraid that won’t be required.” The Thaalarian answered coldly. “This is a Thaalarian model jetpack. You wouldn’t be familiar with its highly advanced design. Why don’t you go help your marine friend. He’s using one of your Solari jetpacks and he seems to be having some trouble with it.”

As annoyingly condescending as the doctor was Hill hated to admit that he was right. Hill didn’t know the first thing about inspecting that Thaalarian biomechanical monstrosity. And it did look like Shoeman needed help. ‘Did they use jump jets in the marines?’ Hill wondered.

“First time doing a jet jump?” Hill asked as he motioned for Shoeman to let him see the helmet that seemed to be putting up a fight.

“No, it’s just been a while since the last one. I think they might have changed the software since I last used one of these.” Shoeman shrugged.

‘That was odd.’ Hill thought. The Icarus’ operating system hadn’t been changed, or even updated, since he had gone through space force tech school. How long had this guy been in? He didn’t look that old.

“Old experience is better than no experience.” Hill quipped as he removed a checkbox from one setting in the helmet’s heads-up-display and moved it to another. “There, see if that helps.” Hill handed Shoeman back the helmet.

“Thanks.” The marine put the helmet on while Hill moved on to check the rest of the rig.

“You remember the drill?” Hill asked.

“Keep your head facing the arrow on your HUD and your arms and legs swept back and away from your body. The computer will steer towards the drop zone.” Shoeman answered.

“Those are the basics. If it looks like you’re going to hit the ground remember not to panic, this is normal. At the last second the back and leg jets will fire, tilting you upright for landing. It will feel like someone hit you between the shoulder blades with a baseball bat. Then the majority of the thrust will be shunted to the leg jets slowing your descent. As soon as you feel your feet touch the ground just start running and the exoskeleton will take care of the rest. You probably wont break your legs.” Hill half joked as he finished inspecting the high pressure tubing on Max’s rig. “Okay, everything checks out. Looks like you’re good to go.” Hill patted the marine on the back.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do after you agreed to trade shirts.”

“Don’t mention it. That one didn’t fit me anyway. — Just one thing.”

“Sure what?”

“You said Rainbow Dash was a band right?”

“Uhhh — yeah.”

“What kind of music do they play? The shirt looks a little — flamboyant.” Shoeman observed as he pinched and stretched the logo.

“Oh — yeah. It’s a death metal band. It’s supposed to be ironic, like a hipster thing.”

Shoeman sighed.

“Kids these days.”

Meanwhile at the front of the cabin Captain Zhisheng held a hand up to his headset, listening very intently before making an announcement.

“Crew is telling me we are only a few minutes from the jump zone.”

Outside the ramp the dark of space had given way to bright blue. The tops of clouds raced by like fluffy white trees. Far below a mosaic grid of city blocks and farmland peeked out from between gaps in the cloud cover.

This was a mistake. They should have inserted while it was still dark but there was no use in bringing it up now. Hill thought. It’s not like they could just hit restart and get here a half hour early. They just needed to play the cards they were dealt and hope Alliance air defenses were too distracted by the swarms of drones to notice them.

“Are there any last questions?” The captain asked.

Hill refrained from asking why command had not seen fit to make this a night-op.

Jenkins raised an overly enthusiastic hand. The captain sighed and braced himself for the inevitable trollery.

“Sir, I have a question.”

“What is it Jenkins?”

“Why is the operation called Jade October?”

The captain made the mistake of allowing his relief to show.

“Oh, it’s because…”

“Sir, is it because it is currently the month of October?” Jenkins interrupted.

“The naming of operations is decided by a classified algorithm.”

Next Senior Spaceman Raul Martinez raised his hand. “Sir, is it because you’re a huge Sean Connery fan?”

“As I just told your teammate, I had nothing to do with naming the operation.” The captain replied.

“Still Sir you can’t deny that it sounds suspiciously similar to the title of the Tom Clancy myth Hunt For Red October — are we stealing a submarine?” Martinez smiled like a kid that just learned he was going to Disneyland.

“It’s not a submarine, uh, I mean, you aren’t. — No. — Dammit.” The captain appeared to be accidentally answering and quickly denying a question only he was aware of.

“Yay, need to know.” Martinez smiled sarcastically.

“Who’s Sean Connery?” Asked Kilroy.

“You make me very sad.” Martinez gave Kilroy a disappointed look and sighed before answering. “He’s an actor — from a myth.”

“Oh, okay. Is Tom Clancy an actor too?” Kilroy asked.

“Are you serious? No, he’s an author. He wrote the novel version of the myth.”

“I see.” Kilroy turned to the captain and raised his hand. “What’s a novel?”

Martinez punched Kilroy in the side of his raised arm.

“Hey! No hitting!” Zhisheng ordered, suddenly feeling like an overworked kindergarten teacher.

“Oww! What? I wanna know.” Kilroy maintained an air of sincerity the rest of the team had learned to take with a grain of salt.

“A novel is like a book, only more expensive.” Staff Sergeant Charles Freeman explained deadpan.

“Yeesh okay Martinez, you didn’t have to hit me.”

“Oh but I did Kilroy.”

“If you two are done playing around does anyone else have any mission-relevant questions?” Asked the Captain.

“Sorry Sir. We’re done.” Martinez apologized.

“Yes, please continue.” Added Kilroy.

The captain raised an eyebrow. Kilroy didn’t take the hint and proceeded to ham it up.

“The sooner we can get out of here the better. Time is money and I’m kinda anxious to get going so we can hook up with Hiro’s hot sisters.”

Captain Zhisheng’s right eye twitched in frustration as he watched the conversation get hijacked back to the subject of Hiro’s not-currently-mission-relevant but still undeniably, smoking-hot sister.

“Dude there is only one hot sister we know about and Jenkins already called dibs.” Martinez explained to Kilroy.

“He did not. I never heard him call dibs.” Kilroy objected.

“Hey we all understood it. By deliberately ascertaining the existence of said hot sister, and in the process expressing interest, he has called dibs by default. It was a common-law dibs.” Martinez elaborated and the other spacemen nodded in assent followed by the marine who also agreed with Martinez’s spirit-of-the-law interpretation of The Bro Code.

“He’s got you there Kilroy.” Ruled Sergeant Hill.

“Crap! Well we still don’t know for a fact that there is only one sister.”

“You really think there’s more than one?” Martinez laughed.

“It’s totally possible. Think about it. Maybe Hiro is the youngest of multiple siblings. Maybe his parents wanted a boy but kept getting girls. Maybe there are enough hot sisters for all of us.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, or some other fitting analogy. Captain Zhisheng bent over to take off his right boot. He then aimed it like a baseball pitch at Kilroy’s head.

“That’s it! I’ve had it! Mr. Nishimoto only one sister and she’s the enemy! So you can forget about Hiro’s smoking hot sister!”

Zhisheng hurled the boot and Kilroy barely leaned out of the way just in time. Unfortunately Shoeman was sitting behind him and took the full force of the boot to the face. As far as the marine’s face was concerned the boot might as well have been a Nerf ball. The unflinching warriors head didn’t budge an inch. His goggles on the other hand had been knocked up off the right side of his face. Hill only saw the eye for a split second before Shoeman covered it up but he could’ve sworn he saw a glowing yellow-orange iris surrounded by a silver scar. An audible gasp coming from Jenkins told Hill he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

“Oh no. — Uh sorry.” The captain apologized just as Dr Grau looked up from his pen-phone’s holoscreen.

The Thaalarian narrowed his glowing, ice-blue eyes at the marine. He was about to ask what was responsible for the sudden change in mood when he was interrupted by a blaring buzzer as green ramp lights switched on and the hydraulic tail ramp opened all the way down. Captain Zhisheng breathed a sigh of relief and held his hand up to his headset as he listened to the flight crew.

Eager for a change of scenery the team donned their half-bubble helmets and walked towards the ramp. Dr Grau chose to forego the dome-helmet in favor of a Gigeresque facemask that covered his mouth, nose, eyes and ears in what looked like an oily-black ribcage and spinal column.

“Flight crew has just informed me that we have entered the jump radius! You may disembark when ready!” The captain shouted over the sound of rushing wind.

“All right! You heard the man! Time to go! Any last questions?” Hill added.

“No wait!” The captain objected but it was already too late. Jenkins raised his hand.

“Jenkins.” Hill acknowledged.

“Agh, here we go.” The captain grumbled while rubbing his temples.

“Who’s the bassist in Primus?” Jenkins asked, barely holding back his laughter.

“Wait, what, seriously?” Zhisheng looked up. He must have heard that wrong.

Hill shook his head at Jenkins in a half hearted warning he did not heed.

“It’s been bugging me all day and my phone doesn’t have data out here.” Jenkins continued.

Captain Zhisheng rolled his eyes before bending over to untie his remaining boot. This time Sergeant Shoeman saw what was about to happen and preemptively took a step away from Jenkins. Just to be safe he took a second step backwards just as the ship hit some turbulence and the sudden change in the angle of the floor caused him to fall out the tail ramp. The team gawked for a split second.

“Did he just…?” Jenkins asked.

“Yeah, we should go after him.” Martinez added.

“GO! GO! GO!” Hill shouted as the JT’s poured out the ramp like suicidal lemmings.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Grau said coldly.

Hill had enough trouble reading the gray man when he wasn’t wearing a voice amplifying mask. In the interest of maintaining a friendly workplace environment he chose to interpret that as a joke. He grabbed the Thaalarian by the upper arm as he made his way to the edge of the ramp.

“Come on Doc. Time to go.”

Hill stopped at the edge and turned to face Zhisheng.

“Goodbye Captain! I’ll miss you!” Sergeant Hill waved before back-flipping off the ramp, taking the Thaalarian with him. The last he saw of the dropship was Captain Zhisheng grimacing in disbelief.