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There was a jostle and he opened his eyes. The lights were on, the red circle was gone, and he could move again. Mallet was standing and stretching. "Awake, sunshine?" "Yeah," Pearson mumbled, sliding out of the bunk and scooting to the side in order to stand next to the engineer. She played with a keypad next to the door before sliding it open. The rest of the crew was standing there, ready to deboard. "Trisona?" Mallet said peering out the hatch. "Why here?" Pearson couldn't see anything but the cockpit. "They're pushing in on the DMZ and we need to debrief," Tack said. "You, Pet, Slosh, and Rika will be changing the load-outs to two Maulers and three Nightmares. Action's been cut already and they've been ordered." "Ooo Nightmares. Yes sir." "After that, do the turn around, hit the mess, then bed with the rest of us." "Didn't we just sleep?" Pearson said to Mallet. "Yeah, only for about three hours. We'll get on it sir. Would you rather we stay out here and not disturb you? You know how the load rack can be finicky. We might be here a while." He shook his head. "No. You get to the point where you're legal to fly and then I'll see about letting you take crew rest unsupervised again." "Yes sir." He stepped from the hatch, and the rest of the figures followed. Slosh was the last. "Want help?" "Nah, Pet needs to learn sometime. It might take us a while. Give Rika a hand." "Sure?" "Get the fuck away from my vessel, motherfucker." "Sounds good. Let us know if you need anything." "I will." He ducked out, and Mallet moved into the cockpit and sat in her station. Pearson looked out the hatch, and was dumbfounded. They were in a hanger, but it definitely wasn't his hanger. He could see two suited figures who he assumed was Slosh and Rika outside another Farrom that was parked immediately next to them. There was room for two more: he could see positions for the skids painted onto the floor, with the furthest position taken up by what he assumed were crates and pallets of equipment. The next closest open space he assumed was for the third farrom they had left behind. What floored him, though, was the sight of a large, cratered sphere against the speckled black sky out of the open hanger doors. "Uh, Mallet, where are we?" "Oh! Welcome aboard the Trisona!" "Trisona?!" He felt his heart start to race. "Oh god, you took me to the mothership!" Mallet stopped what she was doing, turned, and looked at him slack jawed. "Flatface, Slosh, did you copy that?" "Copy what?" "He's on to us. He knows we brought him to the mothership. Hurry up and bring the transport with the straps and the implants before he runs! I'll stun him as long as I can!" Pearson felt adrenalin flood him. He spun to dart out the door before Mallet could draw. Across the hanger he looked for the two that might try to cut him off. Slosh was there... doubled over. Rika had her hands on her knees and was in tears. His ears were flooded in laughter over the comm. Mallet grinned at him. "Farroms are like Hornets, Pet." "I fail to see how... unless they break a lot." "That too, but they are a LOT like hornets. Think about it." He gave her a blank look. "The navy doesn't use them?" His eyes got wide. "This is your carrier?" "One of them. Like the Thomas Jefferson." His eyes narrowed. "But if this is a carrier, then... out there must be the rest of a battle group." Mallet smiled, only this time it wasn't a mean smile. "Maybe you aren't stupid after all. The Trisona and her entourage are both confidential, mind you. You just reacted the way most people down there would with a, heh, mothership up here, but next patrol we'll show you why were are here. Believe me, our stuff is not pointed at Earth." There was a thump below, and she stood from her console. "Ordinance bay doors are open. Let's go refuel and turn around, and then we can get out of our hoods." He nodded, and followed her down the ladder. Below the ordinance bay doors were open, and he braced himself with a hand against the farrom's fuselage as they squatted underneath the vessel. Mallet reached up inside the ordinance bay, grabbed something and pulled. There was a loud "CLACK", heard more through his hand on the farrom's skin than anything else. She grabbed the door and shook it, pointing up as the door swung freely. "Always pull the safety handle before you walk between the doors. It disconnects the actuators so they can't close on you by accident. Make sure they hang limp like this. Got it?" "I have it." "Good: don't get cut in half. They'll have to make you look like a jellyfish before they can put you back together, IF they can put you back together." He duck-walked after her. "Yes, Mal-what the fuck?" "Hm?" Above him were five cylindrical objects as big around as a coffee can and approximately five yards long. They hung in a pattern of two, then a wide... block? -that took up the middle ten feet between the first two and another cylinder in the center, then another block, and finally another two cylinders on the other side. A slightly pointed, dome-ish cap on either end suggested that these were not something intrinsic to the space craft. "Are those... missiles?" "These?" she said, pointing to a cylinder. "Yes. These are M-355 Maulers. They're good for short range, relatively slow targets and pack one hell of a punch. Normally this center one is the pod we use that'll let the hornets "paint" us. We just change the middle one out whenever we train with 212. It's the easiest spot to change without these automated racks and doesn't change the balance much." "... You're saying you fly with live ordinance whenever you train against us." "If you mean against them, VFAS-212, yes we do." "Are you fucking serious?!" He ground his teeth. "We keep it safe'd." Mallet said. "Both Tack and I would have to arm it for it to even be usable, and at that close of range it would be suicide." "But why would you even do that in the first place? What are you planning to do?" She gave him a flat look. "Pet, we're the alert for Earth. It's reason number two nobody ever takes their suit off between zero seven in the morning and ninteen hundred. If shit hits the blower, er, fan while we're training, we ditch that squadron and go chase down Koaku- Skinnies to you." She opened a small panel on the floor, drew out a length of cable from it and plugged it into her computer. "Tack wants us to change three of these out for M-238 Nightmares. Since I like to keep things balanced, we'll do the center, and these two most outboard Maulers, even though the Maulers are slightly heavier. Stand back." She motioned for him to move to one side, and the floor under the center missile opened, flipping open on a pair of small actuators. A cradle rose out of it on several supports and stopped in contact with the Mauler. "Ok. So, now we shake the cradle to make sure it's actually in contact with the missile, 'cuz these things are pieces of shit." He grabbed the closest support and made to give it a shake. It didn't budge. "Solid." "Good. Same here. Under the cradle you'll find some straps stowed. I'm going to hold the release on this end, pull them all loose." He nodded. He peered under the cradle and sure enough, there were straps that ran from one edge to the other. He slid his finger under on and pulled, and to his shock it came apart from his side like he had broken it. It hung free, so he moved on to the next one and repeated. There were five in total, and as he jerked the last one free, she slid around to the other side of the missile. "Stay over there. I'll throw the straps over and you connect 'em. Just touch the end to the green stripe you pulled them from." He looked back down the length of the solid grey cradle. Green stripe? What green stripe? "I don't see any green, Sar- er, Mallet." The first strap flopped over the top. "Where the stripe used to be, then." Pearson looked closely, and he could make out a few flecks of green. He laughed to himself and touched the strap to the spot. It fused and shortened immediately. "It's funny?" Mallet said. "Sorry, it's just, well..." "Spit it, Pet." "I used to think our fighters were such hi-tech amazing aircraft before I enlisted," Pearson said, grabbing the next strap. "I never imagined they needed anyone to repair them unless they got shot up, and when I learned they did, I thought they must have nice equipment and never needed it often. Well, the Marine Corps taught me that jets break a lot, and they are often fixed with broken tools and old equipment. Then I saw your craft, and I thought 'Wow, I bet they don't have to work on those things often, or they have robots that do all the repairs and inspection and what not, and I bet the equipment they have works well and is either new or really well maintained. Here I am though, working on a UF fucking O, and I can't see the markings on the shitty bomb cradle because they've been worn off. It was my last hope." He touched the last strap as Mallet peaked around the end, laughing. "Sorry to have let you down." "Nah, it's nice, actually. Knowing that even on what's probably the most advanced thing in the galaxy the shit's worn and everything breaks. I saw you swapping whatever the hell that big thing was earlier. I watched you cannibalize it too." "Yep. Supply can't, so we cann." "Hah! We say that too!" "You're where we got it from! AM2 mentioned to your former shop earlier and so FlatFace asked. Sergeant Thomas explained it to Sergeant Yasoi and me the second day we were here. He passed it on to the rest of the unit, and the engineers here think it's a... violent protest? Riot. Yeah, that's it. Now those that don't even speak english know what that phrase means." She had Pet follow her to the "rear" of the missile, where she reached up and grasped a lever handle mounted to the ceiling of the bay. She struggled to turn it. "This is *urg* the lock *uhn* and it *grr* sticks." Pet reached up, grabbed the handle, and twisted. There was a 'thunk', again heard through his hand, and the cradle dipped ever so slightly as the weight of the missile fell on it. Mallet looked at him and shook her head, "Fucking monkey." "Yeah," Rika said, rounding the bay door, "I miss my upper body strength too, what little I had of it. Why don't you show Pet how to fuel and check iron; Slosh and I can finish these since if a cradle is off you'd be here all night trying to teach him how to help you unfuck it. Normal pattern?" "Yeah, normal pattern," she said. "Thanks. This way, Pet." She crouched and walked towards the rear of the jet, stopping several yards behind the ordinance bay. She held the release on her multitool, drew it and snapped the panel attachment onto it. "I need to issue these to you once you stop freaking out about shit. Stunning someone for the wrong reason at the wrong time would not only get you thrown in the brig, but might get all of us killed. So once you trust us, we'll trust you." He couldn't fault them, so he nodded. She kept explaining. "There's a base power unit, this pistol shaped thing here, and the end part," she pointed to the 'muzzle' section that now bore the panel attachment, "just snaps onto this pouch full of stuff in here." She held the large pouch on her belt open so he could see inside. "The defense tip stays in your holster as long as you hit the release. Part of our position as engineer is defending the vessel while it's on the ground or being docked. I'll show you the two-handed cannon upstairs, but this is just to keep out people who are too assertive in sticking noses where they shouldn't be. It has a range of about fifteen feet; you can turn it up higher, but your tools runs out of juice faster and if it's too strong it'll null out parts of the nervous system that are... less desirable." "Like bowl and bladder?" "I was thinking more like breathing and heart function." "Oh. That wouldn't be good." "No. Usually we want them alive because we have questions. Anyway, in here I have a drill, power scissors, a threaded fastener driver and bits, plasma cutter, a power hammer that is worthless, a... Rika calls it a welding attachment, but it's not. Similar I guess. And there's an electrical power supply. Careful what you power with it though: it can give a hell of a lot of current, but not for long. Two seconds on full, tops." "Cool! Sure beats having to haul around a compressor cart whenever you want to use something." "Yeah. We don't envy you like that. And the vessels keep their own basic tools and equipment in case something goes wrong out there. It's hard to go check out a box when you're a lightyear away from the closest anything. The downside is that because our job is to protect the vessel some big brass decided to make this tool AND the pouch part the engineer's uniform, which means we have to carry both everywhere we fucking go. And since everyone knows you have tools, everyone and their brother wants you to fix something for them." She held up her multitool. The tip had two dark grey pads, spaced slightly apart, giving it the appearance of a pair of miniature skies, or the foot on a sewing machine. "This is the panel tool. It runs a high frequency signal across the separation point, this darker grey line on the hull here, and the skin of the hull will separate there, letting the panel to flop open on the hinge section. Rika calls it unzipping, which I still don't understand, but you might. Like this:" She held down the trigger and quickly ran the tip around the edge of the panel, keeping one ski on either side of a thin dark line. The line vanished, appearing to melt to either side in a minuscule lip. The panel flopped open as soon as she finished. "Bapoo! See? Easy. I opened this one to show you something... You see this small gauge here?" Pet looked up into the panel. There was a large hole the size of a ground refueling port on the Super Hornets he worked on. Beside it was a small handle, and above that was a gauge the size of a quarter. There were characters that he guessed were numbers, a large red band that covered about half the space, a yellow band that took a third below that, and a small strip of green at the base. The needle was deep in the red. "I see it sergeant." "This is the bleed-off for the reactor chamber. If you opened it right now the reactor would immediately shut off, but the million plus degree plasma would come blasting out of this tube. The gauge will tell you the temperature, but for the love of the great creator do NOT do anything in this panel without one of us holding your hand until you can read this warning placard right here," she said, pointing to a paragraph of characters covered in grime and what he guessed were words painted on the inside of the door. "I don't think I'll have a problem remembering that." "Good, because right behind it is the refueling port," she said, lifting the door back into place. The grey line grew back and the panel stayed. She handed him her panel tool. "Open it up and I'll show you why we don't un-suit or even close the bay doors until we've done this. Hey Flatface, Slosh, refueling." "Ok." "About damn time." Pet lined the skies up and pulled the trigger, drawing it along the line. The panel swung open, and there was another round port. He saw a sharp ridge about a hand length in. Aft of it was a digital display showing three sets of numbers. "This is the refueling port," explained Mallet. "This top number is tank one, then two, and obviously three. It should automatically kick over to the next tank when one fills up. Each one holds about... well, twenty durgas. Congratulations, you get to learn rakkan units. These numbers are in hundredths of a durga, so you want to see a number that looks something like:" She drew a character, followed by another character three times. "But if it's a little less, that's fine." "What's a lesser number look like?" She gave him a blank look, stared down at her number, then back at him. "After the pump kicks off, get one of us to check it." He nodded, and she opened another panel in the floor. This one was about an inch thick, and she pulled a very heavy looking hose up from it by two red handles. "Take this. Hook it up." He grabbed the hose, which was much lighter than it looked, and hefted it up to the port, sliding it in until it stopped at the lip. He was about to ask how to keep it in place when he found it was very solidly attached. Go figure. She slid a clear dome up around the hose until it met the surface of the farrom. A much smaller hose ran down into the hole in the floor, and she held it in place while she pressed something in it. The dome stayed on the surface when she let go. "So," explained Mallet, "since our fuel is explosive at such low levels we can't afford to have any leaks, unlike those air breathers down there, which is why we're refueling before the hanger doors close and we re-pressurize. This dome recycles any fumes, which is also used to detect leaks. Look in here." In the hole was a single, filthy red button and a grungy red lever. "Scavange is the button, fuel is the lever. Really, really f'ing easy. If the light is on fuel is flowing. It won't disconnect until you shut the lever off, even though the pump will kick off automatically. Start it." He reached in and twisted the lever. Nothing happened. He pulled. The lever slid out about an inch and stopped. The large hose jumped and a green light came on. "What do you use for fuel?" Mallet grinned. "The tears of children." "I'm not that bad, Mallet." "Liquid hydrogen." "Oh. OH. Oh holy shit." "Yeah. Now you know why everyone is still suited up and we're in vacuum." "No kidding. I'm uncomfortable just being here. And I if I had known this before I would have stayed far away when you guys were fueling on the flight line." "Oh, outside is safer. It can't build up like it does in here since there's *usually* a breeze and we do it down wind." "Still." "Yeah, not safe. At least it doesn't stick to you like jet fuel does. It flashes and if you're still alive and in once piece you'll probably make it, and your fur is sometimes enough to save you from actual harm. Petroleum though," she shuddered, "it just sticks to you and keeps burning. I still can't believe how badly your aircraft leak and you don't do anything." They crouched in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the quiet rushing of the hydrogen from where his arm touched the deck. Suddenly the hose kicked and the rushing stopped. "Shut the fuel off first, and then kill the vacuum." He obeyed, and she caught the dome as it came loose. "Now push the nozzle in, twist, and wait for it to come loose." He pressed the nozzle and tried to twist it. It didn't budge for a few seconds, then suddenly spun. He pulled it out, and it retracted into the hole in the floor. Mallet read the numbers, then looked at Pet. "So, you and I both have ten fingers and ten toes, which is why we both use base ten math. We usually don't take a full twenty durgas, since there's always a small vapor head in the bladders. So look at these numbers. That first digit is a one, this is a nine, this is a nine, and this is... well, this is a seven, but we usually want it to be an eight or nine, too. It's all downhill tomorrow, and we won't use much spanking the human pilots." "Down hill?" "Towards the Sun," Flatface said, duck-walking up with Slosh beside her. "Sun has a gravity well, so does the Earth. It takes a lot to get away from it, but little to fall towards it. A lot like a hill." "Oh. Makes sense." "Done?" Slosh said. "Nope. Need to check the iron." "You've got about three fourths a durga," he said. Mallet turned to Pet. "Don't ever crew another vessel unless the engineer invites you. If the pilot or weapons officer ask you to do it, unless you are in combat, you need to find some excuse not to. It's more forgivable to murder his mother. Now we have to find out everything this... butt jester?" "Ass clown," Rika said. "Ass clown did, and redo or reinspect it." "Because you have to ride in it and not him?" "No. Because your vessel is a representation of yourself, not him, and because it's insulting to have someone not trust your work, and because it takes the vessel out of readiness again, making the commander loose twice the ready time he normally would. Verification is one thing, to completely tear a repair apart after it's been inspected is another; so of course we tear everything apart again. It also gets the point across to the vessel commander something he should already know." "Isn't it illegal to open it back up after it's been inspected?" "Being the engineer of this vessel means its serviceability is my responsibility. I can write up any maintenance I feel is necessary. 'Suspect blah blah repair performed incorrectly' is a perfectly valid write up from the vessel's engineer. On my vessel Flatface is the only person who has open permission to touch it. If you see anyone else working on it, run them off." "Yes, sergeant." "I didn't do anything but run the post flight BIT and swap missiles with Flatface." Slosh said. "Results are uploaded to your profile and stored at your console. I know better than to do anything else." "Go check iron," Flatface said. "I'll do the post flight walk around and then we can get the fuck out of here. I'm hungry. Slosh can have the bay handlers close the doors and give us pressure." Mallet nodded and closed the fuel door, then typed some things into her computer before moving back another few feet. She handed Pet her panel tool and pointed up. "Open it." He did, and a dinner plate-sized panel swung down, revealing another round port. This one was the size of a large soup can, and there were small flakes of blue crusted around the rim of it. A gauge similar to the reactor was above it, along with a release handle. The needle was still in the red, but much closer to the yellow. Beside the gauge a digital readout had numbers on it. He recognized a "9" and a "2". "So this is the iron storage," Mallet explained. "It can hold about two durgas of iron and nickel. That's another temperature gauge, and next to it is our mass. It's still a liquid, which is fine since we're not taking any out. The reactor produces the metals, and we use them to store and get rid of heat, among other things. That means if we always want to keep at least a half a durga empty, because we can't always vent it depending on our situation. I'll teach you the nuances of heat dissipation later. The important thing is that we have at least two thirds of a durga, and no more than one and half. We're good." She flipped the panel back up and waited for it to seal. She looked at Pet. "Never leave before it's finished sealing. If there's a problem, even a small hole, it can cause the hull to come apart and kill everyone in flight." He nodded. Missing a screw in the wrong spot on one of the hornet's panels could result in the same thing. She tapped on her computer a bit. "Alright. Just waiting on Rika now. I'm going to wait to down it until tomorrow so we're not working on it all night trying to get it back up and ready again. Not playing that game any more. Not if he's going to use other engineers." There was a solid thud that rippled through the floor, and Pearson noticed as his suit squeezed him ever so slightly more. [Bay has pressure,] a deep voice said, [All hands: Bay is safe to remove helmets. Bay has pressure.] "What was that?" "Bay control announced that they bay is pressurized again and we can removed our hoods. Green lights illuminated around the walls of the bay. Mallet tapped a few more times on her computer and his face shield came loose. He watched Mallet lift hers up and slide it back onto her head and mimicked her. "Done Rika?" she called. "Almost." They crawled out from underneath the craft and walked towards the nose. Rika ducked out of the nose wheel well, hood off, wiping her gloved hand on her leg. "Good?" Mallet said. She nodded. "Yeah. Your nose strut up-lock roller is getting some play in it, but it'll be good 'till next phase at least." She tapped on her computer a bit. "Done. Kicked it to ya." Mallet started working her computer again. FlatFace reached over and hooked a claw into Mallet's hood's release. "Thanks." "No problem." "Are you going to do Pet?" "Nope." Mallet looked up her. "He did apologize. You need to let it go." "It's not about that." "It's not?" "Etsh-" And with that they fell into an alien conversation. Sergeant Yasoi kept pointing at him and did most of the talking, while Sergeant Yasoud kept giving him dirtier and dirtier looks. By the end of it her hands were clenched and she was turning red. "Your maintenance officer intended this to be a punishment, did she not?" He nodded. He had a funny feeling that wasn't what had gotten Sergeant Yasoud so worked up. Was Sergeant Yasoi making stuff up to piss her off at him? "Yes, sergeant," he said. "I am going to make you hurt." "Yes, sergeant." "When I get done with you, you'll be one of the best engineers out there, and you're going to learn so fucking fast that every last piece of who you are in there," she stabbed her finger into his forehead. "Will be destroyed and burned away. When you go home your parents will know you by your scent and sight alone. The person you are now will cease to exist." She stormed off towards the hanger door, Flatface behind her. He sighed in relief. That wasn't too bad. "Be careful," Slosh said, appearing beside him. "Those two are close as hell, even by our standards. I miss it. What did you do? What's he going to do?" "I don't know what I did, other than what I was FAP'ed for. She said she was going to train me to be the best engineer before my FAP is up. That doesn't seem like a punishment." "In a year? You do realize it takes us two years of school, and usually another six months to a year in the fleet to become fully qualified, right?" "Still, it doesn't seem that bad. I mean, boot camp was a bunch of hazing, this is just learning." Slosh held up his hand and began ticking off fingers. "Three tiers of calculous, one of differential equations, four tiers of thermodynamics, three tiers of physics, and one of chemistry. That's not including learning craft systems, basic crewing procedures and skill, and did I mention all of this will be done in a new language and while working full time maintaining and crewing this thing. AND, that's just to bring you up to a trainee. Then you have to learn things like maneuvering, iron management, maintenance, and heat dissipation in maneuvers. Like she said, either it will burn the rest of you away, or it'll break your mind." "I guess I can see that, but if I just simply can't learn then-" "Then he'll make sure you have a terrible 'accident', and the only way they can save you is to hold up here, and possibly transfer to the schoolhouse for the rest of your fap where you will have to go through it all again... maybe push to extend your fap until you've passed. Or he'll just make you vanish, claim you walked out of an airlock or something." They had been slowly walking towards the personnel door out of the hanger. He stopped so fast he nearly skidded. "That's crooked as fuck! I'll tell my unit-" "You mean the same one that said: 'Do with him whatever you want'? I don't think you'll get much traction there. Obey your sergeant. You did something bad, apparently, and he's willing to baptize you with fire, not make you his bitch or an 'accident'. He could easily do the latter two- that's what your FAP billet is meant to be, after all. You would spend the next year straight in your suit, either playing errand runner or spare hands and attached to your seat n' waiting for someone to release you the rest of the time. His crew would condone it in a heartbeat. If you 'accidentally' walked out of an airlock, well, it's not like you weren't warned not to do that. Despite if you were helped through it." He sighed and Slosh opened the door out of the hanger. The engineer's computer chimed. He pulled it out of his pouch to look at it as they stepped into the hall. "I guess I shouldn't complain then," Pearson said. "Throw yourself at it with everything you have and he'll respect you for it. Half-ass or try to avoid things and both of them will have your tail for lunch. Fuck. Lube wants to talk with you."

"He's what?!" "Charging you with impaired crewing of a vessel," Lost said. "What the fuck?" Rika said. "I worked my ass off for those fucking sorties: he KNEW I hadn't slept. Hell, you three drugged me. You knew I had three hours, no more, no less. I had orders to crew. My commander knew. I was ordered to crew! What the fuck was I supposed to do?!" "I have two charges here," Mallet said. "I only crewed once, this other one is for the latest flight. Pet and I slept in back." "And he's written up too." Lube said. "What the fuck for?" "Crewing without adequate rest, same as you." "He checked in and went to fucking bed. I know: I was there." "He departed as a non-passenger with less than six hours of sleep in the twenty-four preceding it." Mallet stewed. "That's fucked up. He didn't have a choice." "Look, Shave and Tack are the ones who are pushing this. Smokey and Brakes argued until they were blue in the face. Lube and I did the same. So we had to write you up." "Look," Lube said, "sign the form so it stays in unit. It's not saying you agree with it, just that you know you're charged. If you want to escalate it to a court marshal you can when that time comes. You know you'll have the rest of us backing you." Pet picked up the pen and scribbled his name on the line. "I can't even stay out of trouble while being punished," he muttered, "And why the hell isn't this in english?" "Oh shit!" FlatFace said. "Don't sign anything you can't read!" He froze, looking worried. "What if I already did?" "Shred it. Lost, his needs to be in english." "Corporal Pearson, do you trust Sergeant Yasoud to translate for you?" Lube said. "Don't do it!" FlatFace said. "Last time I signed something without reading it-" "Was in bootcamp," Mallet said. "I had to do all your paperwork because you couldn't read." "That's not my point. Pearson, I didn't read when I signed my enlistment papers. I had no clue what I was signing; I didn't even realize what language they were in. I just signed the stack of shit the lawyer threw in front of me before I went to court. That's why I'm here. Rip it up. Unless you can read it: Do. Not. Sign." Lube snatched the paper away from Pearson. "Too late. We're not playing this game." FlatFace lowered her head. At first Pearson thought she was being submissive, until the low rumble of a growl grew quietly. Mallet elbowed her. "Not here. Not now. You can shred him when the military won't get involved. There are more natural predators on Earth. Ones that might take blame." FlatFace went quiet and turned to her stack of papers. "This is a fucking novel!" "You crewed six times, Flatface." Lost said. "Mallet, you did three." They grumbled as they signed the papers. FlatFace shoved her stack at Lost. "I want to beat that fucker to death in his sleep." "Don't we all." She jumped at the voice. They turned to see Smokey. "Hey. What the hell is up with this?" FlatFace said. "I just finished talking with Shave, now that he's not on his high and mighty anymore. He wants to argue that a punishment that impairs mission readiness is counter productive, and he needs the paperwork to show it. He said these are going to be shredded after he makes his point. Nothing will go on your record." "It better not!" "It won't," Smokey said, "or you and Mallet will have so many radar, targeting, and weapons write-ups to fix we won't fly for the next six months. Brakes and I'll ground those Star Darts so hard you'll need a shovel and a crane to get them back up." "You'll take your time doing it, too." Lube said, "because Lost and I will have extreme difficulty in procuring the correct parts. Might even take a year." "Yes sir," she said relaxing into her seat. "Are we dismissed then, sir?" Mallet said. "You've signed?" Smokey said. The three nodded. "Yes sir." "Go." "Yes sir." They quickly got up and scrambled for the ready-room door. Slosh was waiting out side, and together they headed towards the mess.

"Holy shit," Pearson said, slowing to walk slightly behind the three sergeants. Mallet chuckled. "What's wrong? Did you think we were the only ones aboard?" A group of about thirty tired and dirty rakkan were about ten yards in front of them, coming down the passageway in their direction. "It's not that, it's just..." "Disillusioned about what we're really like?" "Um..." The group was upon them. They were smiling, unit patches indicating they were from one of the fighter squadrons that used several bays intertwined with their own unit: CMP-3466. The friendly banter began immediately. [Well if it isn't the over grown photons,] the one in front said, smiling. [Hey! Who let the burditch balls on board?] Slosh said. [Pretending to be human still?] [Nah,] Flatface said. [I'm still pretending to be rakkan. Pet's a spoilsport, he's refuses to pretend.] [Pet?] She jerked a thumb at Pearson. A few member of the group stopped. The inquiring rakkan's eyes wandered over Pearson's name patch, rank, and unit on his suit, then leaning in a sniffed him. [Holy shit. Couldn't get enough, and had to drag one up here, huh?] [He hates rakkan,] Mallet said. [So his unit gave him a temporary assignment to my vessel for maintenance.] [Hah! Flatface, now that's ironic. I like his unit. They sound like their good people.] [They are. Going to take him to the mess. We've been ordered to go to bed. We all just got written up for violating crew rest.] [They actually enforced that? That's a first.] [I got six accounts of it,] Rika beamed. [Consecutively.] One of the rakken stared at her in shock. [Well, in that case you fucking earned it. Be alert.] [Be aware.] They moved on. They walked in silence for a few minutes. "What, no comments or questions? You're not nervous, Pet, are you?" Slosh said. "I know you know they were talking about you." Pet's face was blank. It was his clenched fists that betray his unease. "No," he said. "It's just..." "-you're realizing that you're the only human board?" Rika smirked. "Yeah." "Don't worry, you're not-" Matt nearly landed on them coming down a ladder well. "Sorry- oh! Hello Macksan, Gamun. Hey kid!" [Hi dad.] He was wearing unmarked, dirty coveralls. He smelt of hydraulic fluid and structural sealant. Rika had a sneaking suspicion he was wearing "comfortable" civilian clothes under the coveralls instead of his uniform, which wasn't allowed. "Who is-" his eyes fell on Pearson. "Well, now this is interesting. Long time no see, Max, what brings you up here out of all places?" Pearson, who had held his bearing the best he could thus so far, broke down. He began to tremble. "Oh shit," he whispered. Matt smiled. It was a cruel, creepy grin that crept across his face. Rika felt her hackles raise as a chill swept her back. She hadn't seen this side of her dad and she was glad of it. "What's wrong, Max? Don't remember me?" He nodded. "I do, Mr. Bendrin." "Then why are you so nervous?" Grenkle, and then Bar came down the ladder well behind him. They wore cheerful expressions at the sight of Rika and Gamun until their eyes fell on Pearson. It was almost predatory. "I..." Pearson said, "I didn't realize you were a..." "Oh, I'm not rakkan, Max, rest assured. But that's not really why, is it? Come on, don't hide it, I'm hurt. Why the fear?" "Be... because your with them. And if you're with them, then... then" "Then they, not just Bar and Grenkle here, but the entire North America Liaison Team kept track of my daughter. Is that what you're trying to say?" Pearson swallowed. "Yes-s, Mr. Bendrin." "Well you're right. But that's not why you're three sips from pissing yourself, is it? No. It's what that means. And it means-" "That- that you know." Matt closed his mouth and smile. "That's exactly what it means. And now, irony of ironys, you're" "He doesn't know," Rika said. [He doesn't?] Bar said. [He doesn't recognize me,] Rika said, [and I haven't let him know.] "He's speciesist as fuck," Mallet said. "You should have heard the shit that came out of his mouth. To FlatFace of course. I was standing right there, but go off on anyone else? Oh no: he unloaded at her. His unit kicked him to us so we could, and I quote, 'do with him whatever you want'." "Ho ho ho!" Bar said, braking into a smile. "Well, if you ever find some spare time, bring him over. We'd like to visit for a while. Maybe change his mind about everyone." Grenkle nodded. "Oh yes, we have a great solution to fears and hatred regarding us." He mimicked injecting the air with a human-like syringe. Mallet grinned. "How kind of you to offer your counsel to him. I'll bring him by sometime. Right now, though, we need to eat and rack for tomorrow or our commanders will have our hides." "Great! Looking forward to it." Matt said. "You'd better be on your way then," Bar said. "Stay frosty," Grenkle said. Rika waved good bye over her shoulder before following the other three up the ladder. Cresting the top of the ladder well she nearly ran over Pearson, who was two shakes away from being on his knees, begging Gamun for mercy. "Please! Please don't make me go see him! I don't care what I have to do, but not that! I'll do every wash and grease job for the next year for every bird you have! I'll clean the whole cockpit with my toothbrush! Anything! Just please don't send me in there alone!" Gamun was in shock. "What the hell is wrong with you? It's not like he'll kill you. He can get away with a lot, but I seriously doubt that." "No, he'll do worse than that." "Oh?" Macksan looked amused. "Like what, an ass chewing? I love that phrase." "I wish! He'll break out the blow torch and tongs! He'll bend me over a desk and let the whole bunch ruin me! He'll... he'll... Jesus! You have to know that man is twisted as someone can be!" "Oh believe me," Rika said, " I know. Actually, Mallet, he might need to go through Arlon Amed Forces indoc before he can really work with us. The liaison team usually handles that. We can hand him over to-" He spun around to flee, but Macksan caught him, and held up one himself. "How terrible," Rika, glaring at him. "They might do all sorts of horrible stuff to you. Somehow I think you're deserving." He held eye contact with her for a moment, then lowered his head. "I can't say anything about what they'd do to you if they caught you alone," she said. "They have a reputation and there's a lot more than those three, so be a good boy and stay on Mallet's leash." "As long as you behave you'll be fine," Mallet said. "The only time someone will do something, uh, well..." "Alien weird," Rika said. "Yeah. The only time we'd to do that kind of stuff is if you were about to, Punt the pail?" "Kick the bucket." "Yeah. That. To keep you from dyeing." Slosh nodded. "Yeah, all bets are off then. Especially if you end up under a corpsman. Who knows what crazy shit he'll come up with." A short while later they had arrived and made it through the line at the mess. Pet slid into a booth opposite of Slosh. Mallet suddenly smashed into his side, forcibly shoving him over as she slid her tray on the table. Slosh began to laugh, but was interrupted by Flatface ramming into him in a similar maneuver. They were grinning. "Nice of you two to save us seats!" Slosh coughed and rubbed his arm. "Yeah, any time. Shit your elbow is hard." Pet fumbled with his sticks. "Where do they keep the forks? Is this all they have?" "That's it," Mallet said. "You'll get lots of practice if you ever go to Asia." He nodded. "We're supposed to do a westpac not long after you guys leave, but I'm still attached to you after that." "Interesting," Mallet said. "What happens when you go? I just return to my squadron, right?" "Returning when?" Lube said, sliding into the booth. "Move over you two. Brakes is coming too." Lost appeared. Rika and Slosh moved until Slosh was against the wall. "Return to your squadron when?" Lube repeated. "When you depart at the end of the deployment, sir." "Oh. I'm pretty sure Flick plans to keep you until your attachment is up." "What?!" Brakes and Smokey sat down, filling the now packed booth. "How does that work, sir? How do I get back?" "How does what work?" Smokey said. "Pet wants to know what happens at the end of our deployment since his fap is for a year, sir," Slosh said. "Oh." Smokey winked at him. "Don't worry about it." Pet wilted slightly. "Yes sir." He fished something off his plate with chopsticks. Despite his attempts to conceal it, he looked worried. They ate in silence for only a could of minutes before Shave showed up, holding a small stack of papers in place of a tray. He sorted them into two piles: one about twice the thickness of the other. He held up the smaller stack and looked around the table. [Flick revised our punishment. Two months instead of one. No days off. Only one mission a day.] There were a myriad of cheers from the table, and he tore the papers in half and slide them to Mallet. He held up the second stack and looked at Rika. [This is unacceptable. I appreciate your dedication and determination, Flatface, but you will not endanger the crew again. You will give me an up craft, and I will down it for crew if you can't fly unless it's an emergency. You will not take short-cuts in your work, you will not fly without the required rest, and I will not replace you for needing it. Can you do that?] Rika nodded. [Yes sir. Thank you, sir.] Shave tore the papers in half and slid them to Rika. He passed a small medicine bottle to Lost. [If she doesn't sleep that vessel had better be broken or you're in trouble too.] Rika glared at Lost, who gave her a disarming smile and put the bottle away. [If you have trouble ask me,] he said. [No more doping coffee.] [I'm not trusting it anyway.] Shave turned to go, then backed up, reached over and yanked Smokey's rank patch off of his uniform and threw it on the table before walking away. "Sweet!" Rika said, tearing her own patch off and throwing it on the growing pile. "What's going on?" Pearson said. Mallet tore his patch off and threw it in the pile. "Patches off meal. Formalities are gone. Hierarchy and authority are not. Dig in, relax, and ask any questions you can. Tonight is the last night any of us will speak to you in english." "And before he tore the patch off?" "In short, don't crew it you're not legal. Or else," Brakes said. "Oh."

Cpl. Pearson sat on a parts crate in the engineer's corner of the airframes shop, face shield open, eating a sandwich at the large common work table in the middle of the room. There was a ladder actuator out of a farrom to his left and an aileron off of a Super Hornet to his right. Sergeant Thomas walked in and was half way across the shop before he did a double take at him. "Whoa! You're here early: it's not even six thirty!" "Yeah," he said, taking another bite. "We just landed about an hour ago. They went to get something to eat. I had leftovers in the 'fridge, so I stayed here to enjoy some time by myself." "I see they got you one of their uniforms with your name and rank." "Oh, this," he said, looking down. "Their uniform is different, actually. This is a space suit. They've just never worn anything else around here." "Ah. It looks crowded in there. Feeling like becoming a dancer yet?" "Hah! No. Mallet says it being this tight is what keeps your blood from boiling if you get a hole, but it also lets you move easily. Well, 'cept for the four inch thick life support in back and the armor plating." "No thanks. It looks uncomfortable. I'll take a nomex flight suit. I was issued one when I got my turn up qual. They're like fucking pajamas. I think that's why pilots wear them everywhere." Pearson gave the sergeant a thoughtful look. "You know, right now I'm more violated than I ever thought possible. What's worse is how comfortable it is once you have it on. Sweatpants aren't this great. And it's got fucking A/C built into it." "You're shitting me." "Nope. Now putting it on on the other hand... not sure if it's worth it. Taking it off isn't much better." Sgt Thomas shook his head, opened the logbook and read the previous shift's entry in the pass down. The door opened and Corporal Huizinga, PFC Duncan, and Lance Corporal Pipes walked in. Corporal Huizinga tossed Pipes the keys to the toolboxes, who began pulling them out from under the table and opening them for the Corporal to inspect. "Have a good night? Was the flight cool?" Sgt.Thomas said. "Flight was pretty fucking sweet, I will say that. The Earth looks incredible from up there." "I figured. How was the rest of it?" Pearson look him dead in the eyes. "You have know idea the amount of weird I've been through in the last twenty-four hours." The shop laughed. The door opened again and Mallet, Flatface, and Slosh came in, shortly followed by Lost. "So don't tell me you were zipping around in orbit the whole time," Thomas said. "You and the others look a little rested to have been up all night. What did you do? Get a hotel in Australia?" "Well..." "Farroms are a lot like hornets," Lost said. "Like hornets?" Sgt Thomas said. "You mean they break a lot, sir?" Duncan said. "That too, but I mean they are like hornets, and those are the only words Pet will say about that, and if the rest of you are smart, the only words you will say about it too." The mechanics looked at each other in half puzzlement, half unease. "Oh," Sgt. Thomas said, suddenly brightening up. "Gotchya. Like hornets. Who is Pet?" The three engineers and navigator all pointed to Pearson at the same time, who was turning a deep shade of red. "Pet?" Cpl Huizinga said. "From what he called Sgt. Yasoi the other night," Mallet said. The shop broke into jeering and laughter. "That's awesome! Perfect! I'll have Tuloski change the name on your cranial and have Flight-E make you a new coverall patch for when you come back," Sgt. Thomas said. Mallet dropped a large textbook in front of Pearson and pulled out her PDA. "Any last jeering? I'm about to take his hearing away." "We're not on the flight line, Sergeant," AM2 Sanders said, who had just stepped in from the hanger. "we don't need to use hearing protection in here. High five daycrew!" "He's right Mallet," Sergeant Thomas said. "No, it's so all he hears is us speaking Arlomic over the comm. He'll learn the language faster that way." She brought out her computer, tapped on it a few times, and then Pearson's world went silent. "God damnit," he said. He could see all of his shop mates clearly talking to him, but he ignored it. They were only trying to get a ruse from him. [So,] Mallet said, pushing the book in front of him. It was worn and well used. He read the cover. "Essential Calculous" [You will do three of these sections a day,] she said, pointing to the first three subsections of a chapter, then pointing to the day on the calendar, then pointed to three more sections in the text book, then tomorrow, then three more, then the day after. [Got it?] "I do three chapters a day? No? Three sections?" "Etsh." He sighed, having learned the meaning of that word before the left the Trisona. Mallet turned to the first set of problems after the first section and ran her fingers down the numbering, then pointed at him. [All of them.] "You want me to do every one?" "Etsh," she said dropping a very thick notebook on top of the book, then a pack of cheap mechanical pencils. Then she flipped through to the back of the book, flipped to the next month on the shop calendar and pointed to the date one month later. "If you pass the test I give you before this day," she said, "I'll let you out of your suit for one day." "WHAT?! You can't just make me stay in here for a fucking MONTH?!" Mallet reached up and slapped Pearson's face shield into place. "I can, and I will." Rika was grinning. His shop mates were in complete shock. Gunny, who had just walked in, was beaming. He said something to Mallet, who smiled, said something to Gunny and pointed at him. Gunny laughed. Pearson swore he wouldn't cry. A month without hearing another human being. A month of learning calculous at a frantic pace. A month without touching his face, eating solid food, or taking a shit. And if he failed his exam, what then? He didn't want to think about it. He sighed, opened the book and the notebook, took out a pencil, and began to read. "Chapter 1, Section 1: Functions and Limits"

"Don't you think that's a bit harsh?" Echo said. "Nope," Mallet said. "He was sent to us as a punishment, and so I'm making it a punishment." "A month without hearing english is one thing, but to make him study like that, and keep him locked in there for a month, only to let him out for a day? That's just cruel." "It's an incentive," Flatface said. "Every rakkan here has spent at least a month in suit at one time or another. I've done two, same with Mallet and the rest of our crews. He's not alone, just isolated from english until he can speak fluently, then we'll let him hear outside his hood. On the other hand, after he's done with calculous he'll have to learn differential equations. Now that is punishment." Echo cringed. "Yeah, I won't argue with that." "But if he does well on that exam too," Mallet said, "I'll let him out for another day. It should only be a week or two for that course instead of a month. Then it's on to physics for a month, then chemistry for a couple of weeks, then thermodynamics for... a long time." "Jesus christ! How long is he going to be in there?!" "Assuming he keeps this pace, passes everything, and doesn't loose his mind: about four months before he assumes the same schedule we do." "And he's not going to die doing that?" "Nope. It's designed to keep him alive for a month at a time without servicing. He'll fly with us on the weekends, so it'll give the vessel a chance to service his life support at least weekly. He can get a haircut on his day out. Worst that'll happen is his face will itch." Rika winced. "Yeah, I HATE that. Always in a vacuum too." Echo shrugged. "Well, at least the MO will be happy about it." Across the shop a suited figure sat doing math problems and checking his answers in the back of the book. In Gamun's ears there was a sigh. She smiled. Music

#### "You wanted to see me in private, Gunnery Sergeant?" Shepard said. "Yes, ma'am, I did." "Well then, what is it?" Gunny Owens bent over and began untying his boot. "It's about the tracking band on your wrist ma'am." She took a deep breath and slowly, silently let it out. She thought better of Gunny Owens. Hell, she even liked him as a Staff NCO. He was one of the more competent and least political of any of them in the maintenance department. And he sure as hell knew better than to horn in on something as personal as- He planted a foot on the edge of her desk. His laces undone he folded the top of the boot down, then pushed the sock down. There around his ankle was a strip of blue that matched the shade around her wrist. She sat in shock. "Both of my sons," he said. "You?" "Daughter." "Big picture?" "Yes. That's why." She stared at the ankle; dumbfounded until he put his foot back on the ground. Questions, foggy, staggered things meant to be internal, burst out. "When? Why? Who did you meet?" "Okinawa, during the Skinny attack. They'll answer anything you ask of them just to earn your trust. It's only afterwards that you learn the consequences of what they tell you." She stared at him for a few seconds. "There is a Koaku armada out by the astroid dome," she said. "-the one that's a good ways past Pluto, not the close one- and if you pull it up on radar the padlocks look like a galaxy of red. What are you allowed to share?" "Only an abbreviated history story and what I've seen, ma'am." "Which is?" He told her about Matt, the history of the Rakkan and the dead skinny. He mentioned nothing about the interest in humans, which in part made her wonder if he really knew the grand scheme. "And you believe it?" She said. "After seeing the dead skinny I have no reason not to, ma'am." "What about the hush stuff?" "I don't know if I do or not," he said, reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a bundle of leather and unwrapped it. Inside were two preloaded injector pens, one white, the other red. He held them out in his open hand. "You know about Sergeant Yasoi, ma'am?" "Oh yes. He, or she, is the one who rescued me out of the desert." "Do you know about her heritage?" "You mean what she was before..." Her eyes fell on the syringes. "That's what does...?" She nodded towards the hanger. "Supposedly. It sounds too fantastic to believe." She looked at him in contemplation for a moment. "There's a way to find out." "That won't get our minds erased?" She picked up her phone. "Hope so," she said, dialing. "Yes ma'am?" Sgt. Yasoud said. "Please come to my office." "Be right there, ma'am." She hung up and put the phone back on her desk. Less than a minute later it sounded like someone was trying to beat down her door. "ENTER!" she yelled. The two engineers burst through the door, closing it behind them. "Sergeants Yasoud and Yasoi reporting as order-" Rika's eyes fell on the syringes in Gunny's hand. "HOLY SHIT!" she said. Gamun started and turned, following Rika's gaze. Her eyes grew huge. "Those are extremely dangerous. How did you get ahold of that?" Gunny snatched it away as she reached out to grab it. She glared at him while Rika pulled out her PDA. Gunny looked at Shepard, who was observing with interest. "I guess he wasn't lying," he said. "I'll say. I hope this doesn't bite us." Lost's voice came out of Rika's computer. "Etsh?" "We have a problem sir. We need Smokey, Shave, Brakes or Tack in the MO's office quickly." "On it." "Do you have any idea what that is, Gunnery Sergeant?" Mallet said. "I was told. I didn't know if it was true until now, but I do." There was loud thumping at the door. Shepard smiled. "Come in!" Lost stepped in, shortly followed by Smokey. "What's going on?" Smokey said. Rika merely pointed to Gunny's hand. His eyes went wide, but he quickly regained his bearing. "That is property of the Arlon Armed Forces. Surrender that immediately." "I was given this by one of your officials as a token of good faith. It is my personal property." "Really? By who?" "Your liaison team in Okinawa, Japan." Smokey pulled out his computer and tapped the screen a few times. "Name of the person?" he said, looking up. "Sergeant Bendrin. Or Sergeant Voramn. They seemed to be used interchangeably." His jaw went slack. "Flatface..." "It beats me," she said. "I never left the continent and none of them mentioned going anywhere other than North America." Smokey went back to his computer, then waited. An irritated male with a northern midwest accent began speaking. "What did she do now? And why isn't your lower link making this call?" "Sergeant Yasoi is not of concern here-" "Well that's a relief. Then why-" "This has to do with your profession." "... ah. Well then, sir, how may I be of service?" "Someone claims you gave them something a few years ago, and it's something that's rather sensitive and dangerous for a human to possess." "I've given a lot of things to a lot of people... many of whom would like to give them back. You're going to have to be more specific, sir." [A translation kit, during the Koaku conquest on the Island of Okinawa, given to-] "Owens! Yes! I handed him a kit and told him if he didn't believe me to try it out for himself. We let him keep it after the conflict was over... Don't remember why, but there was a reason. Great guy. I wondered what happened to him." "Just like that?" "No. No, to at all. We had to explain a lot to earn his trust. His, well, what was left of his platoon supported us in pushing out Koaku ground forces, great guys his group, but we told him too much to just leave him be. We tagged him and let him know if he ever gets out of the Corps and wants work we have a job for him. As far as I know the kit was never administered. Why, did he use it?" "Your commander authorized this?" "Yes!" His voice sounded muted "...Ma'am, th' kid's second seat, what's his name, wants to have a work with you." There were a few minutes of silence where Smokey closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. "This is Commander Voramn. What did she do now? And why isn't her husband calling?" Smokey's eyes popped open wide and he stiffened up. "Nothing to do with her, ma'am," Smokey said. "Well?" "Did you authorize giving a United States service member a... red and white kit, ma'am?" "We would never authorized administering something like that while someone was still in the service." "Not administering, ma'am, giving. As in handing the injectors over." "No... well. There was a marine on Okinawa. He wasn't trusting but we were in a time crunch and needed his help, or at least not against us. Our Liaison gave him injectors and a lot of information before he relented, but I'm glad he did so. Their support was immensely helpful in drawing the enemy out." "Do you remember his name, ma'am?" "I take it someone has a kit?" "Yes ma'am." "Hmmmm. Owens. Check him for a tag. I'll make you an administrator and you can verify the ID by activating it." "Thank you ma'am." "No problem. Out." Gunny already had his sock down again. Smokey looked at it, then Gunny's face, then tapped twice on his computer, then sighed and put it back in his pocket. "I swear that man is mischief himself," Smokey said. "Yeah," Gunny said, retying his boot. "I had that feeling from him too, sir. Like he was Coyote incarnated." Smokey moved to the door and motioned for Lost to follow. "Sorry to interrupt Ma'am. I hope you understa-er, hold on. I don't know what conditions you are under, Gunnery Sergeant, but if you and Lieutenant Commander Sadok share confidential information with each other know that you are still bound by your conditions for whatever she tells you, too. The same goes for you, Shepard." They nodded. "If you do not want us to assumed you've shared everything I highly suggest any private meeting between you be conducted in the presence of one of my sergeants. Do my sergeants copy?" The two nodded. "Yes sir." "Good." He stepped out, Lost at his heels. Gunny looked confused. "Sergeants?" "They got me into this," Shepard said, looking at the guilty parties. "and so they face the same penalty I do." Owens regarded them for a moment. "And if we do want some privacy?" "I'd rather they be here anyway, Gunny. They ensure I can't get myself into any more trouble. They've got as much as I do in on my side of the game." Gunny Owens regarded them for a moment, then sighed, re-blousing his boot. "So..." Shepard said, leaning back in her chair. She opened the program on her computer and began playing music that came through a set of speakers by either door. The vault might be more secure, but around here it was not private. She found that with some acoustic jamming her office might as well have been in another building. She handed her phone to Mallet, who then went to Gunny, who reluctantly handed his over as well. She set them in front of the speakers and covered them with a sheet of paper. "What's the big plan you got?" Shepard asked quietly. "I'm curious to see if it matches with what I came up with." He regarded the two rakkan for a moment. "You-?" "We don't care what you say, Gunny," Flatface said. "Only to know what she does and what she learns that she can't talk about. You're not our responsibility, though it works in your protection." "Is that so?" "I doubt you can tell her anything I haven't already leaked to her, Gunnery Sergeant," Mallet said, turning a little pink. He man sighed, sat down, and began. "So Three Fourteen needed a flight equipment inspector and a Staff NCO for a detachment they sent to Okinawa. A week later I'm on a base run before work when this saucer shaped thing comes flying in from nowhere..." Rika and Gamun sat down, and he gave them a nervous look. "I know, Gunny," Shepard said. "They won't do anything but listen to know what I can't talk about. You won't get into any trouble from them." "It's ok, Gunnery Sergeant," Rika said. "Like Mallet said, there's not much she doesn't already know unless you've memorized blueprints or something." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Well..."