The owners of three young, round faces tensed as the footsteps approached. The one in blue and the one in green flanked the door on either side, while the one in red took cover behind the rough beds they slept on, resting her rifle on the covers the foremost, barrel aimed steadily towards the door.
The blue-armored one gave the green-armored one an invisible signal, and they both drew their weapons at the same time - a blaster pistol for the blue one, and a DC-17 for the green one. The door hissed open, and both four-year-old girls had their weapons aimed and their fingers about to pull the trigger before the shape registered in their brains and they lowered their weapons a fraction.
Training sergeant.
The man - the figure was clearly male - took in their positions with impressive speed. He gestured to their weapons.
"You can put those away for now." He said. None of them moved.
"I said," The male repeated, his voice sterner now, "you can put your blasters away for now."
Still none of them moved. They waited for a space of two heartbeats before the blue-armored girl - obviously the leader - nodded slightly. Then they moved as one, reholstering their weapons.
The training sergeant looked around at them. "You're scary, you know that?" He said, removing his helmet. The man was a little above average height, perhaps two or three centimeters, highly physically fit, and alert. He had graying black hair, dark brown eyes, and emerald green skin. Mirialan, the blue-armored one labeled him automatically. Like them. The thought made her blink. That had never been thought. Nobody in the station was like them - they were either droids, humans, or that one Twi'lek.
The training sergeant gestured to the beds - the only furniture in the small quarters the squad shared. “Have a seat. Take your helmets off, let’s see your faces.â€
Again, they hesitated, until the blue-armored one nodded slightly. Then the three of them removed their helmets in perfect sync, revealing three almost identical faces - with one exception. The red-armored one’s skin - sitting on the far right - was a sickly yellow-gray instead of emerald green like the others.
“Something happen to your skin, eka?†He asked the red-armored one, voice kind.
She just looked at him. “Genetic malfunction, sir.†The sergeant smiled sadly. So young, and already articulate. The perfect little soldier. He nodded, but held up a hand. “No need to call me sir. My name is Adlar.†He corrected them. They nodded. “Yes, Adlar.†The blue-armored one replied.
“So,†he began, “what are your names?â€
The blue-armored one responded immediately. “T:N1:LDR.†Then the green-armored one spoke for the first time. “T:N2:TAC.†Then the red-armored one. “T:N3:FGHT.â€
But already Adlar was shaking his head. “I mean names, ekae, not numbers.â€
Three pairs of solemn gray eyes stared at him.
Adlar sighed. “Okay. What do you call yourselves?†He asked. The blue-armored one - T:N1:LDR - spoke up. “N1, N2, and N3, Adlar.†She finished.
The man sighed again. Poor kids. He reflected briefly. “All right. When was the last time you ate?†He asked, dropping the subject of names for the moment as he glanced them over. Their faces were a little too thin for such young children.
Three pairs of solemn gray eyes blinked in unison, most likely confused by the sudden change of subject. Then the green-armored one, N2, shifted uncomfortably, as if caught in wrongdoing. “Four days, Adlar.†Adlar noticed they were using his name in place of sir rather than abandoning the speech pattern altogether. But four days without food? He frowned, noticing the subtle tensing in their legs as he did so.
“All right. What about water?†N1 nodded. “Three swallows per day during the exercise.†She said, a hint of pride in her voice. Adlar’s frown deepened. That’s all? Ijarati.
N1’s lips parted slightly as she went to speak, then appeared to change her mind and sealed her lips again. Adlar’s frown softened. “If you have a question, N1, ask it.â€
“Yes, Adlar. Is three swallows a day not good? We couldn’t find more.†The concern in N1’s voice that she might not have been good enough made Adlar wince mentally. No four-year-old should have to worry about finding enough water to survive. At their age, they should be worrying about toys and learning how to write, not the proper defense for a confined space against a single opponent or the amount of water they could find.
"No, that's good. But I bet you're hungry." He said. They all nodded eagerly. Adlar smiled and stood up. "Wait here then."
Seven minutes later, he was back from raiding - visiting - the mess hall and Nova squad was wolfing down the dried nerf strips with obvious enthusiasm. Adlar watched them eat as he mentally reviewed what he knew about them. It wasn't much. N1 was the leader. The zombie was the muscle. N2...Adlar didn't know.
Zombie. Not a bad name, actually.
"So - N3." N3's head jerked up like a puppet on stringers. "Yes, Adlar?" She asked warily.
"How would you like to be called Zombie?" He asked. N3 considered it for a moment, chewed her tongue, then nodded. "Okay." She said, then hesitated. "What about N2 and N1?" She asked. Adlar hesitated.
"Well," he started, "N1, what are you good at?" He asked. N1 thought about it, examining the ceiling as she thought. "I am fast. And I can fly." Adlar nodded. Blue - one of the scouts in his merc gang. Jay - their word for a pilot. "What about Bluejay? Blue's of the fastest people I know, and jay was our word for a pilot." N1 - Bluejay - nodded. "Yes. I like that." Adlar smiled.
"N2, you're next. What are you good at?" N2 barely paused before rattling off what she did. "Strategy, medical, recon." She said with barely a breath. Medic - most important job. I.V - Ivy. "Not bad, eka. Ivy suit you?" N2 - now Ivy - nodded. "Yes, Adlar."
So. Bluejay, Ivy, and Zombie were fed, named, and starting to act like individuals. It was a good start.
The blue-armored one gave the green-armored one an invisible signal, and they both drew their weapons at the same time - a blaster pistol for the blue one, and a DC-17 for the green one. The door hissed open, and both four-year-old girls had their weapons aimed and their fingers about to pull the trigger before the shape registered in their brains and they lowered their weapons a fraction.
Training sergeant.
The man - the figure was clearly male - took in their positions with impressive speed. He gestured to their weapons.
"You can put those away for now." He said. None of them moved.
"I said," The male repeated, his voice sterner now, "you can put your blasters away for now."
Still none of them moved. They waited for a space of two heartbeats before the blue-armored girl - obviously the leader - nodded slightly. Then they moved as one, reholstering their weapons.
The training sergeant looked around at them. "You're scary, you know that?" He said, removing his helmet. The man was a little above average height, perhaps two or three centimeters, highly physically fit, and alert. He had graying black hair, dark brown eyes, and emerald green skin. Mirialan, the blue-armored one labeled him automatically. Like them. The thought made her blink. That had never been thought. Nobody in the station was like them - they were either droids, humans, or that one Twi'lek.
The training sergeant gestured to the beds - the only furniture in the small quarters the squad shared. “Have a seat. Take your helmets off, let’s see your faces.â€
Again, they hesitated, until the blue-armored one nodded slightly. Then the three of them removed their helmets in perfect sync, revealing three almost identical faces - with one exception. The red-armored one’s skin - sitting on the far right - was a sickly yellow-gray instead of emerald green like the others.
“Something happen to your skin, eka?†He asked the red-armored one, voice kind.
She just looked at him. “Genetic malfunction, sir.†The sergeant smiled sadly. So young, and already articulate. The perfect little soldier. He nodded, but held up a hand. “No need to call me sir. My name is Adlar.†He corrected them. They nodded. “Yes, Adlar.†The blue-armored one replied.
“So,†he began, “what are your names?â€
The blue-armored one responded immediately. “T:N1:LDR.†Then the green-armored one spoke for the first time. “T:N2:TAC.†Then the red-armored one. “T:N3:FGHT.â€
But already Adlar was shaking his head. “I mean names, ekae, not numbers.â€
Three pairs of solemn gray eyes stared at him.
Adlar sighed. “Okay. What do you call yourselves?†He asked. The blue-armored one - T:N1:LDR - spoke up. “N1, N2, and N3, Adlar.†She finished.
The man sighed again. Poor kids. He reflected briefly. “All right. When was the last time you ate?†He asked, dropping the subject of names for the moment as he glanced them over. Their faces were a little too thin for such young children.
Three pairs of solemn gray eyes blinked in unison, most likely confused by the sudden change of subject. Then the green-armored one, N2, shifted uncomfortably, as if caught in wrongdoing. “Four days, Adlar.†Adlar noticed they were using his name in place of sir rather than abandoning the speech pattern altogether. But four days without food? He frowned, noticing the subtle tensing in their legs as he did so.
“All right. What about water?†N1 nodded. “Three swallows per day during the exercise.†She said, a hint of pride in her voice. Adlar’s frown deepened. That’s all? Ijarati.
N1’s lips parted slightly as she went to speak, then appeared to change her mind and sealed her lips again. Adlar’s frown softened. “If you have a question, N1, ask it.â€
“Yes, Adlar. Is three swallows a day not good? We couldn’t find more.†The concern in N1’s voice that she might not have been good enough made Adlar wince mentally. No four-year-old should have to worry about finding enough water to survive. At their age, they should be worrying about toys and learning how to write, not the proper defense for a confined space against a single opponent or the amount of water they could find.
"No, that's good. But I bet you're hungry." He said. They all nodded eagerly. Adlar smiled and stood up. "Wait here then."
Seven minutes later, he was back from raiding - visiting - the mess hall and Nova squad was wolfing down the dried nerf strips with obvious enthusiasm. Adlar watched them eat as he mentally reviewed what he knew about them. It wasn't much. N1 was the leader. The zombie was the muscle. N2...Adlar didn't know.
Zombie. Not a bad name, actually.
"So - N3." N3's head jerked up like a puppet on stringers. "Yes, Adlar?" She asked warily.
"How would you like to be called Zombie?" He asked. N3 considered it for a moment, chewed her tongue, then nodded. "Okay." She said, then hesitated. "What about N2 and N1?" She asked. Adlar hesitated.
"Well," he started, "N1, what are you good at?" He asked. N1 thought about it, examining the ceiling as she thought. "I am fast. And I can fly." Adlar nodded. Blue - one of the scouts in his merc gang. Jay - their word for a pilot. "What about Bluejay? Blue's of the fastest people I know, and jay was our word for a pilot." N1 - Bluejay - nodded. "Yes. I like that." Adlar smiled.
"N2, you're next. What are you good at?" N2 barely paused before rattling off what she did. "Strategy, medical, recon." She said with barely a breath. Medic - most important job. I.V - Ivy. "Not bad, eka. Ivy suit you?" N2 - now Ivy - nodded. "Yes, Adlar."
So. Bluejay, Ivy, and Zombie were fed, named, and starting to act like individuals. It was a good start.
