Chapter 4: Talks, Negotiation, and Work Part 2

“Ramirez,” Mizu called out to him.

The door slid open to reveal a large room as the petty officer turned to look at him. The Paloran man gave an affirmative nod to him.

It was near dinnertime inside the spinning centripetal ring of the Lifen. Mizu was not far from his friend.

“What’s up, Mizu?” Ramirez questioned him.

“Just ... wanted to talk with you.”

“Come in, getting something to eat.”

Both men entered the ship’s mess hall. Unlike the passageway, the chow lines were illuminated by blue and yellow lights. The floor had blue metal tiles and a small walkway that led to the serving section. A few drink dispensers and at least three of the four heat wells had food in them. Behind the serving section was a single aisle allocated to a stove, sink, cooking appliances, and other wares. The smell of food was apparent.

Mizu walked beside Ramirez as they entered the room. Besides a couple of individuals working behind the main serving aisle, other crew members were busy eating next to their tables. A few digital displays were on, showing the current news media, but they were set to low volume.

“Oh, that smells good,” Ramirez remarked.

“Ehh...,” Mizu replied, unsure.

Ramirez could see that Mizu was bummed out.

“How’s the father business going?” Ramirez asked.

“Oh ... it’s pretty good,” Mizu replied.

Mizu looked at Nir’vina, who was currently behind the food aisle, occasionally serving food to the few straggling crew members who would walk in. She was dressed in a shirt and jeans, her pregnant belly gently protruding as she held a ladle in one hand. She saw the two men and gestured to the food well.

“Chili? Baked beans?” the Shal’rein remarked in her raspy voice. “Guaranteed to give any human an explosive reaction ... heh, heh...”

“Sounds good...,” Mizu replied.

Both men stuffed their plates, got their drinks, and proceeded to a nearby table where a group of Marines were seated. The group of men and women had their food trays filled with trash and garbage, seemingly done with their meals for some time. Among the group was a woman with a dark complexion, an Oshunian woman. Sitting next to her was a T’rintar Aksren woman dressed in a red and green spandex uniform. Unlike Ioren, the Itrean lacked feathers, while carrying a more pronounced, sharper beak and nose crest. On the other side of the table was a man with a pale complexion, being a muscular man who was only rivaled by Stone. Standing by the table was Czarek. He was dressed in more civilian attire, but also that of a survivalist on former Earth. The colors of green, yellow, and orange were more apparent on his tank top and cargo jeans. Unlike the marines that sat down, Czarek almost seemed to have stolen the attention in the mess hall, speaking like some grandiose actor in a stage play.

Both Ramirez and Mizu sat down far from the table, but the commotion from the marines was loud enough to be heard through most of the room.

“So, there I was...,” Czarek proudly exclaimed. “I jumped out of the air carrier, my third drop in a lifetime. I’m falling, plummeting through the thick gray skies of Earth, the orange muck vapors splashing against my respirator, alarms beeping off in my helmet. I feel nothing but the air resistance hitting my armored suit...”

“Yeah, Gavril likes this part,” the marine sitting on the table exclaimed, addressing himself in the third person. “Tell us what happened next!”

“Relax yourself there, tiny,” Czarek continued, before explaining to everyone else. “This might have been my third drop, but it was my first solo drop, the big one for any BREECA Legionnaire squire. You pass this test, you’re an official jump trooper.”

“Wait,” the Oshunian woman replied. “You have to jump out of the carrier, through that atmospheric soup mix of Earth, and successfully land with your equipment to pass the test?”

“Yep. It’s not like what you, Marines, have to go through. You get to wear your fancy suits and float around in space, not so much with the Legionnaires. It’s all about being quick and mobile, reaching the target as fast as possible. Earth’s air carriers are the shit, but without the jump troopers, the carriers are just floating gun platforms that stand and wave at you from afar.

“What about those drone tanks of yours?”

“It’s Zalika, right?” Czarek asked the woman.

“Yeah,” Zalika replied. “And the Itrean is...”

“Beak-ra, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Bekra,” the Itrean tried to correct him.

“Yeah, will you look like a ‘Beakra’ to me. Anyways, those drone tanks might as well be just there for moral support. Half the time, they either break down or their reception feeds from the carriers get scrambled up. The drone tanks ... sometimes works...”

“Keep going,” Gavril exclaimed. “Gavril must know your story...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Czarek held his hands up and proudly continued. “I’m making my jump. It’s about a 2-minute drop. I remember the new squires are always getting all nervous, right? We always say that the ones who make it, you can always tell the ones that were scared the most after how much they shit themselves after the jump.”

“The ones that make it?” Bekra asked.

“Ah, don’t worry your crest off that snout of yours. We make it ... most of us, about 98% survive their first jump, ... last time I checked. But with me, I’m falling and falling, right? It’s really the 1/3 final part of the aerial drop you have to worry about the most. The problem is that squires tend to forget the different alarms that are going off in the helmet. They tend to consider it background noise, which shouldn’t be the case at all. Sometimes we do drops through muck rain clouds. All the moisture gathers up. You get fog-like conditions. Your visibility gets low. You get comfortable dropping through the clouds ... right until you smash into the ground.”

“Damn...,” Zalika commented.

“Yeah, one of those alarms is your aerial drop indicator. It measures the altitude ... you know? ... how far you are from the ground? Squires rely too much on their sight when they need to look at their equipment and read out.”

“No one tells them that they’re about to hit the ground?” Bekra asked.

“ ... Depends on the mood of the leadership. The goal is that you have to be able to take care of yourself, too.”

“That almost happen to you?” Gavril asked him. “Heh ... But, you’re still alive...”

“Actually, I’d been monitoring my equipment during the fall. I remember seeing my altimeter telling me that it was time to activate the braking thrusters. It was pretty nice that day. I remember seeing the brown dirt below me getting closer and closer. We had this nice little chalked-up crosshair on it. I’m making my descent, flipped, and activated those thrusters. Then, ... BAM, I hear my thruster pack pop. One of the main thrusters on my rocket pack blew. The other side continued to work and sent me into a barrel spin, plummeting to the ground.”

“Shit,” Zalika commented. “Nothing like spinning to your death.”

“Of course, I wasn’t laughing either. I’m about 40 seconds from smashing into the ground, frantically trying to hit the button to shut off the damn pack, but I hit the ejector and sent that rocket pack flying to who knows where.”

“You had no rocket pack?”

“I had only one thing left. I’m about 20 seconds before becoming some paint stain in the dirt when I reached and activated the emergency parachute. It partially snagged on me, but I had a full deployment. I used the remaining thrusters in my legs to slow down the descent just enough that I didn’t break every bone in my body when I finally hit the dirt.”

“You have augmented legs?” Bekra asked.

“Yep,” Czarek tapped his knee. “Required for every Legionnaire. Gives us a little spring in our step while serving as the perfect shock absorbers. I remember landing on that dirt hard, ready to pass out, when I got the radio call ... I failed the test...”

“You survived that fall with a faulty jet pack, and they still failed you?” Zalika asked.

“Gavril would have smashed those puny instructors,” Gavril added.

“I felt the same way,” Czarek replied. “Come to find out, the faulty thruster pack was actually my fault. We’re supposed to fully disassemble the rocket pack and put it back together prior to the aerial drop ... I ended up ... eh ... losing the fuel rod assembly by accident. Without that, I would have...,” he used his hand and smacked it with his other hand.

“Heh, heh, that’s why they fail you?” Gavril asked.

“Nope, I thought it was too. The problem was that in my rush to shit my pants and get my emergency parachute activated, I failed to notice that I landed on the wrong pad. That pad was used for aerial drop pods for the air carriers ... heh, heh...”

“Damn,” Zalika commented with a smile.

“Where are you supposed to land?” Bekra asked.

“There was a landing strip they had established about five kilometers from the pad. We were supposed to use our rocket packs to glide to the target. They aren’t meant to keep us airborne forever, just slow down our falls or give us a little bit of a leap in our step. Everyone keeps thinking the Legionnaires fly around in their jet packs all the time. I thought it was too at first, but the packs use up their energy supplies pretty fast, especially with Earth’s gravity. Of course,” he said with some pride. “The higher-ups were still pretty impressed with what I did. I went and did the test again and passed with ease.”

“Ehhh...,” Gavril remarked. “Gavril prefers fighting on the ground.”

“Knowing you, they would keep you on the ground. Although I do recognize some of that Russian and Martian accent in you. You look like you could hold your own. BREECA might take you in if you ever move to Earth.”

“Gavril always takes care of tiny Itreans.” The muscular man held his arms to display his pride and strength. “UHN Marines are like tanks. Legionnaires act like flies ... ready to be smashed.”

“Big talk from a big man. Of course, those power armor suits only get you so far if you need to get somewhere fast. I can say that by the time Gavril makes it, the enemy is already gone. The Legionnaires beat you to it.”

“You are a big oaf,” Zalika told Gavril. “He got you there.”

“What you mean, little Oshun woman?” Gavril asked.

“He says you’re slow,” Bekra calmly replied. “You might be big, but Yutilians and Aksren are faster. Shal’rein may be powerful, but a well-trained Yutilian or Aksren can still kill an inexperienced Shal’rein.”

“Plus,” Zalika added. “You would shit your briefs so badly after a jump that your clothes would have to be shoved out of an airlock just to get rid of the smell. Even I know that Czarek is more courageous than you...”

“Ergh...,” Gavril lightly smashed his hand on the table. “Gavril, have better weapons than him...”

“Yeah...,” Czarek replied. “What I would do to have some of that UHN weaponry you guys have. The Blue Buccaneers could use them right now.”

“Wasn’t Earth part of the UWA?” Bekra asked. “Don’t they use UHN weapons?”

“Not as much as you think. Sure, the UHN supplied vehicles, their aircraft, and equipment to Earth before you, Itreans, started coming in. The problem is that Earth is ... well, let’s just say that if the UWA was ready to hand Earth over to the Itreans, then they really didn’t care about sending much shit to us to begin with. We had to take care of ourselves first. Waterville DC, the WEU, BREECA, the ICDA, the Andes Federation, you name it. We still use equipment that goes as far as 300 years. If it weren’t for BREECA, the ICDA, and Waterville DC, every person would have a different gun or vehicle from every era imaginable. Even Darin doesn’t surprise me anymore when he flexes one of his ‘antiques.’ Nope, what you see us use is what we have. Needless to say, our zoo of equipment is only going to get worse as time goes on.”

“Ehh...,” Zalika commented. “At least I don’t live in that shithole.”

“Speak for yourself, Oshunian. At least my ancestors didn’t decide to move to a planet and pack themselves in like Matryoshka dolls. Earth might be a wasteland, but we got plenty of space to do the fuck we want.”

“Ha, ha,” Gavril remarked with a chuckle. “He got you, Zalika. Even Oshun is worse than Earth.”

“I don’t know what the fuck Matryosha ... Matershken, is,” Zalika replied. “But, I still prefer breathing fresh air and running around topless even if it’s more crowded than ever.”

Czarek’s brow peaked as he began to look at Zalika in a different way. His head was tilted slightly, causing Zalika to give the man a strange look.

“What?” she questioned him.

“I can see you running around topless,” Czarek said, giving a smile at her.

Zalika smiled back at him and leaned on the table. “Yeah, I certainly would, but that’s all you’d enjoy.”

“Oh, really? Try me. The Rampage is going to be here for a little while ... I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to see if you wouldn’t scurry away the moment you take your shirt off. Besides, any Legionnaire can tell you that we do a lot more than just humpin the dirt.”

Bekra seemed to catch immediately where this was going. She gave an almost confused look at first before looking at Zalika. However, the Oshunian woman wasn’t going to back down.

“Nah, I wouldn’t bang Zalika,” Gavril remarked. “Gavril, don’t like puny woman. He wants the bigger ladies, the ladies that can handle the might of Gavril upon them ... Shal’rein may do...”

“Puny?” Zalika scuffed him. “Speak for yourself, meathead. I was trying to tell Mister Flyboy here that he might be out of luck. I prefer the ladies, too. Unless you’re backing a clit down there, then looking is all you get...”

“A muff diver, huh?” Czarek remarked, leaning toward her. “I recall a Legionnaire that was like you. In the end, she still flew into a man’s pants a year later. Sometimes, people don’t like flying into a cave when they can land on a pole.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Gavril replied.

“Nah, I’ve heard better,” Zalika countered, but still gave a smile to Czarek.

Zalika was doing her best, knowing that Czarek was trying to counter her antics. It appeared that she did find a hint of charm in the Legionnaire’s personality, but it was still repressed and held back.

“And what exactly do you think is better?” Czarek replied.

“Ummm...,” Bekra mumbled.

“Shhh...,” Zalika hushed her. “Adults are talking.”

Czarek looked at the Itrean woman. “Ah, I see it right now,” he said. “I see who wears the pants in the relationship ... or at least tries to. You know,” Czarek leaned to her. “I can be enough for both of you.”