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"And quite often it seems that the guy who is the glue holding something together is a vet."
"Yeah," Mike breathed in agreement. "This is going to body slam everything. Manufacturing, transportation, food production, legal . . . well, maybe not legal services or marketing."
Horner smiled at the slight joke. "It will. On the other hand, we're not actually going to call back everyone. The current plan is to use a matrix of current age, ending rank and a score based upon the `quality' of their service."
" `Quality'?" chimed Mike. He could just see a group of civilian bureaucrats deciding who was to be recalled and who was not on the basis of evaluation reports. Since ERs often reflected how well leaders parroted their commander, they were sometimes not the best method to use in judging combat officers and NCOs.
" `Quality.' Maybe I should say `Combat Quality.' By weird luck I was in that meeting." Horner frowned hard. "And I managed to point out that what we are going to need are combat qualified officers and NCOs. Real veterans in other words. So each medal for valor acts as a multiplier, as does a CIB or time spent in a combat zone . . ."
"Oh, shit," Mike whispered again and gave a little laugh.
" . . . so no `rear-echelon-chair-warmers' need apply," finished Horner with a rare chuckle of his own.
"Damn," said Mike, surprised once again. "Okay, so there's no problem with bodies that have military training and experience."
Mike rubbed the developing stubble on his chin and studied the section on Galactic technologies. "The Federation has a high degree of control on gravity and all the other inertial affiliated phenomena, which includes energy systems." He turned a page and wrinkled his brow in thought. "And apparently some really good materials science. No psi or other `magic' stuff, good nanotech, but not combat nano that can be related to combat conditions. Yet. It's all `vat' nano or biotic. I think I can hazard a few guesses from this stuff, but how do we get actual technical questions answered? And how good is their IT?"
Horner slid a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes out of his brief case and handed it to Mike. "This is an artificial intelligence device, voice activated and very interactive. It is in contact with a network of similar devices and all the extraterrestrial databases they have available to them." He slid his own AID out and queried it. "AID, this is General Horner."
"Yes, sir." The voice was an accentless, fluid tenor, totally androgynous.
"Please initiate the other AID for the use of Michael A. O'Neal. In all areas relating to GalTech information he is to have all my clearances and information overrides, on my orders. Is that clear?" asked Horner.
"Yes it is, General. Welcome to the GalTech Infantry Design Team, Sergeant O'Neal."
"I haven't been reactivated, yet." O'Neal smiled. It was the first piece of Galactic technology he had encountered and it met all the criteria for good science fiction. On the other hand, the first thing it did was get a fact wrong.
"The President signed emergency reactivation papers on all members of the GalTech conference with prior service at seven twenty-three AM this morning. Paperwork to discharge you for the purpose of accepting a commission and acceptance of a commission are prepared for your signature."
The NCO's stone-hard face tracked to the general like an armored turret.
"Not my doing, Mike." The general shrugged. "I guess somebody figured better safe than sorry. I'll admit to having the papers on accepting a commission prepared."
Mike scratched his chin and looked at the ceiling, taking note of the black domes of security cameras. He had a sudden premonition of a future filled with uniforms and security cameras, his life blown on the winds of fate. He closed his eyes, head still tipped back and said a quiet, sad prayer for the end of a golden age, an end of i
"Well, General, sir," he said quietly, eyes still shut, "I suppose we ought to go earn our munificent pay."
6
Orbit, Barwhon V
1530 GMT, June 25th, 2001 AD
As the ship dropped from trans-light, Barwhon opened up before them, a planet of purple vegetation and mists.
"We're going in through an unsecured belt, an area that we think is still free of Posleen." Sergeant Major Mosovich went over the mission profile one last time. The perso
The lighting was deceptive. Indirect, it was neither incandescent nor fluorescent and seemed poorly designed for human eyes. There was a subtle hint that it was not dim, but that most of the light was in a spectrum invisible to them. Objects and markings wavered on the edge of vision, seen and yet unseen. The team's woodland camouflage turned to odd flares of blackness and shimmering green under the strange illumination.
The colors of the decks and bulkheads were wrong, mostly muddy blues and browns. Again there was a hint that there were bright colors, simply not those that could be viewed by humans.
There were faint acrid odors, odd and having that same sense of alie
Everything around them screamed "alien" and they packed together all the tighter in the uncomfortable environment, shoveling down their food and, secretly, each to themselves, wishing just once more for honest greens and yellows.
Himmit Rigas was in attendance, but if there were other Himmit crewmembers present they were not making themselves visible. To the Himmit a predator was a predator was a predator, and Rigas had to be crazy to interact with them.
"The planet doesn't have continents or oceans to speak of, just one continuous blend of jungle and swamp. We'll be coming in through a region that is more swamp and less jungle, since the acoustic and thermal signature of a decelerating spacecraft are impossible to mask. Then we'll swing over into this region." Mosovich pointed at a spot on the view-screen for a change, just to drive the point home that, yes, it was almost show time! "This is the region the Posleen first invaded and where the assimilation should be well in hand. We will initially perform a simple sweep of the area, trying to get a feel for what the general activities of the threat are. If all goes well, and it seldom does, we will bounce to other sectors to check on different periods after conquest."
As he talked, Ellsworthy carefully picked out all the meat in her stew and pushed it to one side, then separated out the potatoes, then the vegetables. The vegetables were further subdivided into green, yellow and orange colors. With a childlike grimace, she then separated out anything that was not clearly one of the major food groups. By the time she was done, everyone on the team had finished eating and sat back to watch the usual ritual. For nearly a month before lifting off in the stealth ship the team had trained together. They had time to discover each other's strengths and weaknesses, pet peeves and idiosyncrasies. They had gone from being a superb collection of individual warriors into a well-coordinated team. Along the way they had become accustomed to each member's little habits.