“They hate the tanks.”

Cleff sighed, without looking up from her data-slate as Friska’s familiar baritone reached her ear.

Which was, admittedly, a fairly impressive feat given all the noise around them. The embarkation of an entire regiment onto a ship was rarely a quiet or smooth process - and for all their other supposed talents, the Terran First was no exception on that front.

To others, Cleff imagined the sound of marching feet, shouting of orders, and roaring of idling engines might have been disorientating. To her, it was a glorious symphony. A thousand instruments swelling as one. More to the point, it was nostalgic. The closest thing to a migratory swarming a Triki girl like her might find outside the gleaming jungles of her homeworld.

Of course, that eyesore does do a little to ruin that illusion, she thought, staring up at the massive troop ship that her regiment was slowly loading into. Even as she watched, vehicles ladened with supplies streamed up the ramp and into the behemoth’s gargantuan cargo hold.

It really was an ugly ship.

She understood that aerodynamics didn’t actually have a place on a craft that predominantly spent its time deep in the void of space, but would it kill the Imperium to design some ships that didn’t look like oversized bricks?

Of course, her ruminations on Shil’vati design principles invariably brought her attention back to the Shil’vati captain who was still patiently waiting for a response from her CO.

“We’ve been over this, Captain,” Cleff said. “I’m not much of a fan of the machines either, but as I said, we’re stuck with them for the immediate future.”

Her part said, she returned her attention to the long list of facts and figures on the slate in her hand.

Which was why she was surprised when Friska continued. “No, you don’t get it. The crews, they like tanks - they just really hate these tanks.”

Deciding that Friska was clearly going somewhere with this, Cleff sighed as she lowered her device, giving her underling her undivided attention.

“Alright then,” she hummed. “What specifically do they hate about the vehicles?The ones that I - and by extension they - have been saddled with?”

Apparently gratified that her CO was now properly paying attention to what she was saying, the Shil’vati woman stood up straight to make her pitch. “In short, they’re too big.”

That’s it? Cleff thought only her prior experience with the woman across from her kept her from snapping at the captain for wasting her time with the blatantly obvious when she was busy trying to load an entire regiment onto a ship.

“Yes,” the Colonel said simply. “I’m aware of that issue. They’re tanks. Of course, they’re big. That’s why the Imperium stopped using them.”

The Triki had never quite managed to reach the interstellar stage, but even before her people had been conquered by the Imperium, they had begun to phase out tanks as a viable weapon system. They were just too big and cumbersome for the modern battlefield.

Like the armored knights of old, she thought.

It was a recurring theme for most species. As soon as a civilization switched from cold weapons to hot - specifically, swords and spears to muskets and cannons – armor became less and less viable as offensive means outpaced defensive ones in effectiveness.

And by the time a civilization reached the interstellar stage, the gap in effectiveness was so hilariously lopsided that the only real defense against weapons fire was to avoid it entirely. By either hiding or evading it. Something tanks struggled to do in an era where ships could rain fire from orbit.

Space was the ultimate high ground, after all.

The fact that said orbital fire was not likely to be a factor on this deployment was the only reason she had consented to taking the vehicles at all – even then though, she did not have high expectations for the machines.

“Not that kind of...” Friska paused, before continuing. “Well, that as well. The problem they’ve been complaining about is that there’s too much wasted space in the vehicle’s interior.”

Cleff could barely believe her ears. “You’re saying that they want it to be more cramped?”

Her underling shrugged, as if to say, ‘humans’.

Which, given the exploits of their latest regimental champion, did actually convey quite a bit.

“Alright then,” Cleff said as she found her thoughts switching orientation. “Is there actually anything we can do about that? Obviously, we can’t change the shape of the machines enroute.”

She had to resist the urge to smile as Friska responded by pulling out a list. That was good. She’d clearly planned for this conversation. More to the point, it showed that she was genuinely listening to the soldiers under her command, rather than simply placating them.

After all, while Friska was the officer, she had little actual hands-on experience with the vehicles she was now expected to command. She’d, no doubt, been brushing up on her theory in the time since she’d discovered she’d be commanding tanks rather than Exos, but that couldn’t compare with direct experience. Which those under her command had.

Sure, the humans were primitive by Imperial standards, but in the area of heavy armor they likely had more experience than any Imperial commander alive.

“We can,” Friska said, eyes skimming over her notes. “Nothing revolutionary, of course. Not enough time or resources for a real retrofit. But we could install a few redundant systems. Sensors. Fire-control. Drone-storage. We can also use them as storage space for ammo-packs, parts, supplies… medical and otherwise.

Cleff’s antennae twitched thoughtfully. “Nix the drones. They won’t be able to fly in the conditions we’re expected to face.”

Friska did as instructed, striking off the item.

“The other things sound good, but medical supplies?” The colonel asked. “Are they running fighting vehicles or a bed and breakfast?”

She would have thought that the space – now that it was apparently available – would have been better served being filled with something more… vehicle focused. Medical supplies were something she’d imagine the infantry would want a greater supply of.

“Some of the crew have suggested that with the number of females present, we may suffer a higher rate of injury,” Friska said slowly.

Cleff actually twitched, before sniffing disdainfully. Of course, then she actually thought about it, rather than giving her wing-jerk reaction. Sure, it was a little strange to imagine the women of the regiment being the weaker link, but it was possible. Humans were strange like that.

“From what I’ve seen, humans don’t have that much in the way of sexual dimorphism relative to the rest of the galaxy,” she pointed out.

“The males are a little bigger and stronger on average.”

“Enough to make a difference?” Cleff asked.

“I honestly couldn’t say, ma’am.” Friska shrugged helplessly. “They look similar enough to me, but some of my people… well, they were quite insistent on the subject. I’d also note that amongst my ex-tankers, there are no females, so it seemed to have been a standing policy back on Earth.”

Cleff chittered irritably. She had enough problems on her plate without suddenly having to worry about gender politics.

Sure, there was a decent chance the humans were speaking from a place of reason and logic… but then again, she could also remember the amount of backlash there’d been back on Hruff when males had been allowed to serve in the military.

…And even centuries before that when wingless were allowed to serve.

“Get someone to look into it.” She finally decided. “Can’t say I’ve noticed any great disparity in the time they’ve been with us, but I can’t say I’ve been looking for it either.”

“Not been popping down to the medical tent to play the Noble in the Parlor with some sweet, wounded Earth-boy?” Friska asked coyly.

Cleff gave her a hard look, which had the Shil’vati straightening up as she was instantly reminded who she was speaking with.

“Hardly,” the colonel said, her voice as dry as Shil’s northern territories. “True or not, don’t let your people spread that kind of talk too far. Last thing we need is a divide over gender of all things.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Friska said quickly, back as straight as it could go.

Satisfied, Cleff hummed. “Back to our unwanted tanks though, from what I’m hearing they basically want to stuff their tanks full of spare material?”

“That is the essential truth of the matter. In different circumstances, I think there’s a ton of other things they’d want to change, but as you said, there's a limit to what we can do in the timeframe we have.”

Cleff nodded. “They’re soldiers, they’ll fight with what they have. Still, if they’re fine with turning those vehicles into cramped hellspaces, more power to them. You’ve got my permission, but I don’t want to hear any stories about crews dumping equipment because halfway through a mission they get a little claustrophobic.”

Friska smiled, some of her earlier cheer returning. “Somehow I doubt that will be an issue. They’re very spirited.”

Despite herself, Cleff found herself smiling in turn. Though, given the way Friska recoiled slightly, she doubted her grin displayed much in the way of mirth.

Just teeth.

“Good.”

-----------

Jason grunted as he dumped another stack of data-slates onto the dolly drone. Once upon a time, he’d have thought his change in rank would allow him to escape this sort of menial labor. As it turned out, it didn’t. He was doing the same sort of work he’d have done as a private, just with more important stuff.

Case in point, he was in the middle of moving the entirety of the headquarters' ‘backup’ data slates. The things were built like a brick and had none of the bells and whistles of a regular data-slate, but they were designed to withstand just about anything. From an EMP to a fall from orbit.

Most importantly, each one was automatically updated with the contents of its assigned officer’s ‘primary data-slate’. Which only made sense, as it meant that should an officer’s original data-slate be lost or damaged – by something like an EMP – they could smoothly transition to the more heavy-duty variant.

Of course, that also meant that the devices were a huge security risk. Fancy security cyberware or not. Which was why, as the regimental champion, it was his duty to move them from headquarters and onto the ship.

Only he could be trusted with such an important task.

I’m a steward, he thought to himself as he dumped another of the devices onto the dolly drone. A glorified steward.

Wiping a stray bead of sweat from his forehead, he turned towards the open doorway.

“You could help, you know?” he called out.

“I’m guarding you,” Yaro called back, though he didn’t miss the slight snicker in her voice. “It requires my full attention.”

Of course, most stewards didn’t have a full-time guard detail. Or at least, one that was full-time while they were on deployment.

He was just turning back to his assigned duties when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing over, he grinned.

“Well, at least one of my guards is nice,” he called out to Yaro, as the second member of his color guard started placing data-slates onto the drone – with a great deal more delicacy than Jason himself had been using.

From the doorway, Yaro just chuffed in amusement, but refused to move. Which was probably for the best. One of his guards helping could be excused, but someone did actually need to watch the door. Even if the chance of funny business in the middle of regimental headquarters was so small as to be effectively nil.

Looking at his newfound helper, he smiled. “Thanks, Nora.”

The blonde woman - whom he’d guessed to be some brand of Scandinavian - just grunted as she continued to methodically place slates onto the machine.

“No problem, Champion” she responded in halting Shil, her northern accent coming through in full.

“Is that a Danish accent?” he asked.

“Norwegian,” the woman said simply.

“Ah,” he paused.

The conversation lapsed into silence from there.

Which would usually be fine with him. He wasn’t exactly a talkative guy and if his newest guard was the same, then that was all the better.

Still, he found himself curious about the woman across from him. If only because she was the only human he’d had any prolonged contact with in some time.

She was attractive. It seemed fairly shallow that that was the first thing he’d notice about her, but it was: nice symmetrical features, honey gold and piercing blue eyes. He imagined some might describe her features as ‘marred’ by the ragged scar that ran up her chin, giving her lips just a hint of sneer, but he honestly thought it gave her some character.

Older than most of the other recruits I’ve seen, he noted. At a guess, he’d put her at late twenties, early thirties at the most.

And while she might not have been quite Shil’vati in size, she wasn’t exactly a slouch in that department either - in any respect.

Of course, he’d noted all that in a quiet, almost analytical manner. Because it was a recurring theme across the regiment. Sure, most of them were young and in shape, which went a hell of a long way, but even that had limits. No, just like with the large female component, he could feel the invisible hand of biased selection at work here.

Which, given that the Terran first was originally intended to be a parade regiment, he could sort of see that happening, but it still felt more than a little sleazy to see it done so blatantly.

“You’re wondering about the scar?”

The sudden words jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“You were staring, Champion.”

In different circumstances, he imagined the words might have sounded accusatory, but if anything they just sounded bored. Like she had this conversation everyday. Which he supposed she very well might.

“Well, I suppose I am a bit curious?” he admitted.

He figured that was preferable to saying that he’d actually been wondering if some rear echelon motherfucker – or perhaps fatherfucker might be more apt? - had decided to stack their regiment with swimsuit models – of both varieties.

“Most are,” she allowed, running a finger along the divot in her flesh. “It’s from the first contact war.”

Jason almost hissed in surprise.

“Yes, that is the usual reaction I get.” She smiled. “Especially after showing up… here.”

Yeah, he could well believe that.

Sure, a lot more soldiers had survived the Shil’vati’s invasion than expected – the alien’s were pretty thorough in wiping out command posts in their first strike. Hell, it might have been the first war in history where those at the top of the chain of command were actively in more danger than those at the bottom.

That wasn’t to say that plenty of regular soldiers, airmen and seamen didn’t die in the war. Or in the fighting that led up to and followed Earth’s many disparate surrenders. There’d just been less death among the rank and file than might otherwise be anticipated.

So hearing that Nora was a survivor wasn’t the real shocker here.

“Why do it?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

The woman shrugged, moving another data-pad. “Why not? It’s a skillset I have, and one that the Imperium apparently needs. A job is a job. Soldiering just happens to be one that comes with more caveats.”

He could scarcely believe his ears.

“What about your, I don’t know, patriotism?”

“Never existed.” She glanced up at him. “What about yours?”

“My situation is complicated,” he immediately shot back.

“Hmmm,” she hummed in a disbelieving manner.

“It is!” he insisted.

Nora chuckled, a deep throaty thing. “What does it matter to people like you and I whose flag we march under? Human or alien, it’s all the same to us. Best we can do is live our lives. And at least in the Imperium I don’t have to worry about being held back because I’ve got tits.”

No, just for being human, he thought to himself. Despite that though, part of him agreed with her. Hell, a year ago he would have agreed entirely. It was like hearing his past self's own thoughts echoed back to him.

But it wasn’t a year ago. He’d seen things in his time in the Imperium.

Seen the nobility at work. Corruption. Classism. Sexism. Racism. The Imperium ran the gamut. And unlike pre-invasion America, didn’t even have to pay lip service to the notion of fairness. Which made it all the more heinous and blatant.

So blatant that even a nobody like him…

“Perhaps,” he allowed, cutting off that thought before it could fully form.

Nothing good would come from going down that road. Instead he simply shuffled another data-pad onto the dolly-drone. Nora seemed to take his words as agreement though, as she happily continued her own work.

The pair moved in silence for a few more minutes, before there was a shuffling at the door.

“Ma’am,” Yaro’s voice rang out.

“At ease,” Friska said, before her head popped into the doorway. “Champion, I need you for something.”

“Ma’am,” Jason responded with a salute, Nora doing the same.

“At ease,” the woman said casually. “I need you to find out if there’s a difference between boys and girls.”

“I can, uh, think off a few of the top of my head,” he said haltingly, deliberately trying to not glance at the woman’s rather impressive cleavage.

Which she immediately noticed, of course. “Cute,” she grinned. “But I specifically need to know your different specs.”

“Specs, ma’am?” he asked, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Nora suddenly seemed very interested in the conversation.

“A few of my boys have raised issues in regard to the performance of women in the regiment.”

Jason almost flinched at the way the Scandinavian woman’s expression turned distinctly stony at that. Would it have killed Friska to be a bit less blunt?

Ignorant, or perhaps just uncaring of the human woman’s growing outrage, the captain continued. “So now the colonel wants me to find out whether there’s any truth to their bellyaching, and if so, how much? Which is why I’ve come to you.”

“Right,” Jason said slowly, well aware that he’d essentially just been handed a live hand grenade and that he desperately wanted to pass it to someone else. “Wouldn’t that be something she should ask the medical staff though?”

Of course, he felt like an idiot the moment he said that. He’d clearly spent too much time on the Whisker.

As evidenced by the way Friska’s tone took on a hint of seriousness. “No, that would be something she would ask me, who in turn has asked you, who in turn will ask the medical staff, who will in turn report those findings back to me, before I summarize them to her. At which point, she will make a decision.”

He flinched at the fairly unsubtle reminder of the degrees of rank between himself and the colonel. Even if the role of Champion occupied a fairly nebulous spot in the military hierarchy.

“I’ll get on it, ma’am,” he said seriously.

At the response, Friska nodded, her usual jovial smile coming back. “Good. Have that report sent to my data-pad by tomorrow morning.”

And just like that she was gone.

Exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Jason looked over the now fully loaded dolly-drone. “Well, I suppose we should get these up to the Gentle River’s command deck.”

Then it was down to medical, for what no-doubt promised to be a very awkward conversation.