Steak and eggs... The breakfast of kings. A healthy dose of protein to begin the day, then he could hit the gym and catch up with his new squad when they arrived. The dark skinned Nepleslian from Delsauria absently rubbed his burnt ear as the Yamatai mess hall adjutant passed him his tray. Collecting his cutlery, he surveyed the room for a place to sit. Every mess hall, regardless of nation or occupation, was essentially the same, the only difference on this station was that almost every table was full of the bubbly, juvenile, cat-eared abominations that they Yamatai called warriors. There was, however, one table that was mostly empty, and he moved his way towards it, carefully avoiding crashing into two naval officers who weren't looking where they were going. As he sat down he realised that perhaps there was not much difference between them and us, they also sat on these hard fucking benches with next to no leg room. Next to no leg-room for a short-ass like Leonel Phipps meant that most of the hulking Nepleslians would have even more of a problem – if there was any here. In the sea of white and purple, Private Third Class Phipps was the spot of green – naturally he drew some attention.
There was a clatter as a Nekovalkyrja in a naval uniform slid across the bench, and stopped so she was facing him. “Hey.”
Leonel scowled at the interruption to his breakfast, and the affront to his ears that such a creature should address him. Then he checked himself – that was the lifestyle he was fleeing from. Chewing through the tough mass which the Yamatai called a rare steak, Leonel mumbled a greeting. There was another clatter, this time to his right, as a woman – not a Nekovalkyrja – sat down. “You just lost me 25KS, Nep-boy.”
The Neko noticed the sidelong scowl that Leonel gave the bulky naval rating who sat next to him and giggled, “She bet that you wouldn’t speak to us.”
Leonel sat for a moment and shrugged, “She would have won if I wasn’t under orders to be nice.”
The Neko seemed a bit upset by that and pouted, “Oh.”
“Unlike some,” Leonel shrugged, “I can’t forgive wanton genocide and years of oppression as easily.”
“Ha. Your personality is as ugly as your appearance.” The rating to his right chuckled and slapped him on the back a bit harder than necessary as she got up. “Don’t ever change, Nep-boy. I’ll enjoy shooting your ship – ” From the next table there was a shout from an older looking Neko, and the rating bit down on whatever she was going to say. Leonel raised his mug and smiled in thanks, however only received bared teeth in response which just caused him to grin harder. It seemed as though the sentiments were on both sides of the track.
Just as he began to tuck into his food, there was another clatter as more people sat at his end of the table. Phipps looked up in annoyance to see him surrounded by more green-uniformed men and women – sailors from the
Sisters Star, the light courier vessel which ran a regular route from Nepleslia to the Space Station. It was this vessel that brought him and forty-eight other Marines to reinforce the
Sledge Mama when she finally docked. “Hey fellas, what’s been happening.”
Greetings came from all around, and finally there was a pocket of Trade in the sea of Yamatai-Go. Over the past weeks of travelling on the light ship with these ratings, Leonel had gained a healthy understanding of the sector that wasn’t Delsauria, the planet he had spent most of his life on. They chatted, bullshitted and soon Leonel pulled out a deck of cards. “Anyone got time for a game?”
One of the older ratings nodded, and indicated to deal him in, and slowly the Nepleslians shuffled around so that those who wished to play surrounded him. It was only as he started to deal, did someone deign to mention that ‘
shouldn’t you be with the rest of the fellas on Sledge Mama
in that simulation?’
Leonel stopped mid shuffle, “I thought that wasn’t due to happen until the
Mama docked.”
There were numerous quick glances between the ratings around him, “You know the
Mama docked not long after us?”
Leonel felt a never ending pit develop in his stomach, “You’re joking.” The blank death stares from the ratings around him told him that they weren’t. Private Third Class Leonel Phipps, NSMC, slowly put the deck of cards back into its case and into his pocket. “Fucking AI,” he cursed, standing up and slowly heading towards the nearest interaction panel.
“Computer… Leonel Phipps, NSMC – ”
“Access Confirmed!” chimed the overly happy AI.
“—tell me, when did the
Sledge Mama Dock.”
There was a momentary pause, before the computer told him: “Seven hours ago!”
Leonel stared at the small interface in disbelief until printed out directions to the simulation chambers.
"You're late! You're late! For a very important date!" the 'Goddess's' womanly voice chimed after the man in green, his feet hitting the floor in a desperate sprint.
=+=+=
Phipps hit the ground with a thud, at it took a moment for all his systems to come back online. Around him he heard the chatter of chainguns, explosions of much larger ordinance, the crack of HPAR fire and the distant retort of some Yamatai weapons. For thirty seconds he was blind, as this suit that the AI had thrown him went through its start-up sequence. If the Yamatai had managed to get it right, and it felt as though they did, he was in a Hostile... probably one of the older models.
There was a clang, and some kind of screeching from outside his armor, however he was useless until it set itself up properly. Eventually his ‘ears’ and ‘eyes’ kicked in, and he heard some kind of convoluted mess of words as something inside a Hostile suit yelled at him to get up, and kept kicking his armor.
“I am up, woman, now stop kicking me.”
Leonel looked around as much as he could – they were in some kind of forest. Or… they were in some kind of forest, before a herd of elephants – or a squad of Power Armored soldiers – decided to stomp through it. Glancing down Leonel noticed a suit lying against a tree, a nasty gash torn through the front of the set.
His armor pinged as the rest of the systems came online, and Leonel slowly rolled his shoulders, arms and legs through a set of movements. It was a good simulation – almost like it was real. Absently he wondered if the pain was real. Despite the chaos, he calmly stretched and surveyed the surroundings, absentmindedly listening to the radio traffic as the Nepleslians screamed bloody murder.
“So,” he intoned, turning to the crazy woman who was kicking him, “What’s the plan?”
He reached down to his chest to detach the HPAR which would normally be attached there, but instead just clawed at his chest piece. Looking down he noticed the distinct lack of any heavy armament at all. “Fucking AI bitch,” he muttered to no one in particular.
