Alien 15
The foot misery has a silver lining. By the time we take up station, nary a soul feels like resisting my health regime.
I book an appointment with the MO, along on the tour, regimental. With barely concealed contempt, she hears me out, "Col (emphasis), you just do not understand my position. Yes I gave you a break last time, due to the tragedy in your life. You got it made now, promo. And do you have any concept just how much that rescue of you from Earth cost? Think national budget of Guyane."
I blush.
"Don't think you can waltz in, seek an escape from your duty as a citizen. Ever read news? Even our Prime Minister is in speed dating. No one is above the law."
Ouch!
"Look on the bright side, maybe this time you find a peach instead of a lemon."
Yeah, pal, I think, don't ever come asking for favors from me.
"Why not just sit down, call up the speed dating website?"
"Don't hafta til I get back. Any luck, our tour is extended. You'd see a lotta feet."
Laugh, "now get off that lazy ass and find a boyfriend. Everyone else seems to manage.
I find a quiet corner, sip tea, ponder. What really hurts is she is right.
My 2-i-c sits, "heard the rumor?"
"Which? Gotta be a hundred."
"Tour is being lengthened, from 6 months to a year. Show of support to our Guyane allies and friends."
I laugh at the rich irony.
"Guyane Prime Minister herself asked for it. She ah has some rather difficult budget legislation to do yet. Feels more comfy with us around."
"Get it offa site? Or just heard?"
"Just rumor, not on a site."
Would that be cool revenge on the MO!
An hour later, it hits the web, in the interest of comradely aid blah blah.
MO stands behind me in the cafeteria line, "you have more influence than I thought. Still, I'm not backing down, no exemption even if you drag this tour out to 5 years. Hope you know what you're doing Col. Any extended tours usually lead to more psy problems. You'd hafta use that influence to get us another six-pack of counsellors."
"Rather hard to obtain. Perhaps you could dust off a few med school books."
"You are a pig! Swine! Disgrace to uniform. If duelling were still allowed, I'd call you out on the field of honor."
"The world has moved along from those days. Would it help if I told you I had no part in getting it extended?"
"To the word pig, we can add 'liar'. I wanna transfer outa this regiment."
"Granted, soon as I get a replacement."
MO's parting shot was pure spite, spread the rumor I personally was responsible. Only it backfired. See, 3/4 of the girls on this gig are on the ragged edge of bankruptcy. This tour has now been defined a red zone, triple pay, because of the riots. Previous tours, all you got was a cigarette allowance.
Everywhere I go, it is to a hero's welcome. My RSM (Regimental Sgt-Maj) hugs me, "thank you Col, get back, I buy that new car."
Our new MO is mega-happy to be here, large student loan.
When we need 2 more counsellors, it proves easy to find.
I am notified I will be decorated, Order of Merit, on the recommendation of the Guyane PM. She's rather impressed I pulled it off without shooting. That's not the way the Empire usually handles riots. Pleased as punch there were no more deaths, she also demanded the Gorgons get a unit citation.
Over 90% of my various forces have Class A passes, entitling them to be offbase any time they are not on duty. Some specialties, you just cannot allow. And I do not like my odds of getting any respect if I give myself a Class A when some of my girls can't get it.
They know we hafta put on a good show. So, if they do get stinko and beat the tar outa each other, they are careful to do so on base. Passes are for things like ice cream, picnics, shopping, breeze by the seawall and the like.
So, the only time I'm away is visiting my various contingents and meetings. Weekly I must show at the Guyane Police committe meeting. I have no authority, simply liaison so the 2 forces don't trip on each other's feet.
My driver drops me at GPHQ, then heads out on other errands. As it happens, the notoriously long-winded officer is away ill, so we conclude almost an hour early.
There's a newsstand a block away. I take out a shawl, reasoning it covers my shoulder rank markings.
Just before I get there, a young girl, maybe eight, points a toy blaster at me and says, "bang."
I grin, wave, enter the store. Somehow her face looks familiar, but I soon forget that. See, after 2 tours here, lotta faces look familiar, the capital city is only a large town.
I choose the current issue of Caribbean Contact. Do not let the pulpy paper nor the fact it is published by the Caribbean Council of Churches throw you off. It has the best newsmagazine style writing in the region, giving depth to shallow web stories.
Even pulpier paper and smelly ink, The Worker, the Opposition paper.
Womens Era from our India, fun fabulous stories, a hoot.
Canefield, the publication of the sugarworkers union.
Checking my watch, I still have time. In our world, novellas rule, mostly, 60 to 100 pages. After all, people are busy. I choose 2 pulpies published in Guyane and head for the cashier.
A minute later, I'm back at the gate of GPHQ. The guard says cheerfully, "Col, I would advise to skip the shawl. Only brought attention to yourself. See there's endless different people with endless different rank symbols floating around. You would only be noticeable if you were white."
"Thank you for your kind advice."
"If you want something, wear a straw hat. You'd be just totally invisible in that crowd."
My driver pulls up, I catch a ride back with 2 officers coming back from another meeting.
A young Lt grins, "looks pretty lurid and pulpy, Col."
I laugh, "my eyes are tired of memos, needed a change."
Laughs.
"All the same, next time might want to take a bag. We are supposed to appear prim and proper."
"Read you five by five. Wilco."
"Is this one fab tour or what! Paid off my student loan, half of my car loan. Is it true you extended it?"
"Come on, that's only a rumor. Field commanders don't make those decisions, generals and politicians do."
"But you did, in an indirect way. Fact the Guyane PM was so hugely impressed with the Gorgons. Impatient to get back?"
"Nope, speed dating awaits."
"I hear you. Bites bigtime. Government should shut it down."
Because the novellas had less lurid covers than those back home, I was misled into believing they might have some - gasp - plot and less - gasp - sex. I soon discover the only difference is the skin color of the book characters. Presumably the more sober covers are a sop to the large and devout religious population here.
About once a fortnight, I manage my little getaway, buy papers, but no more novellas.
I get e-mail, our Prime Minister is coming. My thoughts go berserk. Is he one of those sticklers? The paint-every-rock-white variety?
As I re-read and reflect, I realize it is not possible. First, I do not possess one litre of paint. Second, even if I bartered for it, it would get here too late. Third and most important, my Regiment would hate me.
It is a meet-and-greet, designed to boost his sagging popularity in the polls.
I'll just show him around, we have nothing to hide except the stills. I know where most are, not places a well-dressed PM would venture.
But as always, life loves to throw a wicked curveball. From the moment he gets off the plane, I can tell he has the hots for me. There are rules on fraternization during field duty, but he's hoping to connect when I return home.
I show him the layout, let him choose. One of the sites he selects is too near a still, so I casually remark snakes there are bad and he picks another.
After he pins the Order of Merit on me, we are relaxing in the mess.
He starts tentatively, "you've ah read about me on the web of late?"
"We all know it is a lot of hyperbole."
"Very kind of you to say, but it happens to be true hyperbole. Yes I - shame of shame - am enrolled in speed dating."
Serious face, "well, can't beat that for quality control. You'd be able to spot any lack of proper service."
He laughs, "it's awful. I the person would abolish it today. Can't, 3/4 of the Cabinet is pro-speed dating. Look, I'm aware of rules on fraternization. But, how about I give you my personal e-mail address?"
I laugh easily, "sure, why not?"
He grins, "utterly amazing, nary a soul believed you'd pull it off. Cabinet was sweating blood, imagining a fortnight of bloodbath. Tell me, every campaign has an irony. What was it?"
"Sir, we had zero ability to sustain patrols. Yes we looked good in armor, but no waterproof socks. Meaning foot rot in one heckuva hurry. Good job the rioters didn't know that."
He starts to chuckle, "you have greatness in you. One day, you'll make General."
I book an appointment with the MO, along on the tour, regimental. With barely concealed contempt, she hears me out, "Col (emphasis), you just do not understand my position. Yes I gave you a break last time, due to the tragedy in your life. You got it made now, promo. And do you have any concept just how much that rescue of you from Earth cost? Think national budget of Guyane."
I blush.
"Don't think you can waltz in, seek an escape from your duty as a citizen. Ever read news? Even our Prime Minister is in speed dating. No one is above the law."
Ouch!
"Look on the bright side, maybe this time you find a peach instead of a lemon."
Yeah, pal, I think, don't ever come asking for favors from me.
"Why not just sit down, call up the speed dating website?"
"Don't hafta til I get back. Any luck, our tour is extended. You'd see a lotta feet."
Laugh, "now get off that lazy ass and find a boyfriend. Everyone else seems to manage.
I find a quiet corner, sip tea, ponder. What really hurts is she is right.
My 2-i-c sits, "heard the rumor?"
"Which? Gotta be a hundred."
"Tour is being lengthened, from 6 months to a year. Show of support to our Guyane allies and friends."
I laugh at the rich irony.
"Guyane Prime Minister herself asked for it. She ah has some rather difficult budget legislation to do yet. Feels more comfy with us around."
"Get it offa site? Or just heard?"
"Just rumor, not on a site."
Would that be cool revenge on the MO!
An hour later, it hits the web, in the interest of comradely aid blah blah.
MO stands behind me in the cafeteria line, "you have more influence than I thought. Still, I'm not backing down, no exemption even if you drag this tour out to 5 years. Hope you know what you're doing Col. Any extended tours usually lead to more psy problems. You'd hafta use that influence to get us another six-pack of counsellors."
"Rather hard to obtain. Perhaps you could dust off a few med school books."
"You are a pig! Swine! Disgrace to uniform. If duelling were still allowed, I'd call you out on the field of honor."
"The world has moved along from those days. Would it help if I told you I had no part in getting it extended?"
"To the word pig, we can add 'liar'. I wanna transfer outa this regiment."
"Granted, soon as I get a replacement."
MO's parting shot was pure spite, spread the rumor I personally was responsible. Only it backfired. See, 3/4 of the girls on this gig are on the ragged edge of bankruptcy. This tour has now been defined a red zone, triple pay, because of the riots. Previous tours, all you got was a cigarette allowance.
Everywhere I go, it is to a hero's welcome. My RSM (Regimental Sgt-Maj) hugs me, "thank you Col, get back, I buy that new car."
Our new MO is mega-happy to be here, large student loan.
When we need 2 more counsellors, it proves easy to find.
I am notified I will be decorated, Order of Merit, on the recommendation of the Guyane PM. She's rather impressed I pulled it off without shooting. That's not the way the Empire usually handles riots. Pleased as punch there were no more deaths, she also demanded the Gorgons get a unit citation.
Over 90% of my various forces have Class A passes, entitling them to be offbase any time they are not on duty. Some specialties, you just cannot allow. And I do not like my odds of getting any respect if I give myself a Class A when some of my girls can't get it.
They know we hafta put on a good show. So, if they do get stinko and beat the tar outa each other, they are careful to do so on base. Passes are for things like ice cream, picnics, shopping, breeze by the seawall and the like.
So, the only time I'm away is visiting my various contingents and meetings. Weekly I must show at the Guyane Police committe meeting. I have no authority, simply liaison so the 2 forces don't trip on each other's feet.
My driver drops me at GPHQ, then heads out on other errands. As it happens, the notoriously long-winded officer is away ill, so we conclude almost an hour early.
There's a newsstand a block away. I take out a shawl, reasoning it covers my shoulder rank markings.
Just before I get there, a young girl, maybe eight, points a toy blaster at me and says, "bang."
I grin, wave, enter the store. Somehow her face looks familiar, but I soon forget that. See, after 2 tours here, lotta faces look familiar, the capital city is only a large town.
I choose the current issue of Caribbean Contact. Do not let the pulpy paper nor the fact it is published by the Caribbean Council of Churches throw you off. It has the best newsmagazine style writing in the region, giving depth to shallow web stories.
Even pulpier paper and smelly ink, The Worker, the Opposition paper.
Womens Era from our India, fun fabulous stories, a hoot.
Canefield, the publication of the sugarworkers union.
Checking my watch, I still have time. In our world, novellas rule, mostly, 60 to 100 pages. After all, people are busy. I choose 2 pulpies published in Guyane and head for the cashier.
A minute later, I'm back at the gate of GPHQ. The guard says cheerfully, "Col, I would advise to skip the shawl. Only brought attention to yourself. See there's endless different people with endless different rank symbols floating around. You would only be noticeable if you were white."
"Thank you for your kind advice."
"If you want something, wear a straw hat. You'd be just totally invisible in that crowd."
My driver pulls up, I catch a ride back with 2 officers coming back from another meeting.
A young Lt grins, "looks pretty lurid and pulpy, Col."
I laugh, "my eyes are tired of memos, needed a change."
Laughs.
"All the same, next time might want to take a bag. We are supposed to appear prim and proper."
"Read you five by five. Wilco."
"Is this one fab tour or what! Paid off my student loan, half of my car loan. Is it true you extended it?"
"Come on, that's only a rumor. Field commanders don't make those decisions, generals and politicians do."
"But you did, in an indirect way. Fact the Guyane PM was so hugely impressed with the Gorgons. Impatient to get back?"
"Nope, speed dating awaits."
"I hear you. Bites bigtime. Government should shut it down."
Because the novellas had less lurid covers than those back home, I was misled into believing they might have some - gasp - plot and less - gasp - sex. I soon discover the only difference is the skin color of the book characters. Presumably the more sober covers are a sop to the large and devout religious population here.
About once a fortnight, I manage my little getaway, buy papers, but no more novellas.
I get e-mail, our Prime Minister is coming. My thoughts go berserk. Is he one of those sticklers? The paint-every-rock-white variety?
As I re-read and reflect, I realize it is not possible. First, I do not possess one litre of paint. Second, even if I bartered for it, it would get here too late. Third and most important, my Regiment would hate me.
It is a meet-and-greet, designed to boost his sagging popularity in the polls.
I'll just show him around, we have nothing to hide except the stills. I know where most are, not places a well-dressed PM would venture.
But as always, life loves to throw a wicked curveball. From the moment he gets off the plane, I can tell he has the hots for me. There are rules on fraternization during field duty, but he's hoping to connect when I return home.
I show him the layout, let him choose. One of the sites he selects is too near a still, so I casually remark snakes there are bad and he picks another.
After he pins the Order of Merit on me, we are relaxing in the mess.
He starts tentatively, "you've ah read about me on the web of late?"
"We all know it is a lot of hyperbole."
"Very kind of you to say, but it happens to be true hyperbole. Yes I - shame of shame - am enrolled in speed dating."
Serious face, "well, can't beat that for quality control. You'd be able to spot any lack of proper service."
He laughs, "it's awful. I the person would abolish it today. Can't, 3/4 of the Cabinet is pro-speed dating. Look, I'm aware of rules on fraternization. But, how about I give you my personal e-mail address?"
I laugh easily, "sure, why not?"
He grins, "utterly amazing, nary a soul believed you'd pull it off. Cabinet was sweating blood, imagining a fortnight of bloodbath. Tell me, every campaign has an irony. What was it?"
"Sir, we had zero ability to sustain patrols. Yes we looked good in armor, but no waterproof socks. Meaning foot rot in one heckuva hurry. Good job the rioters didn't know that."
He starts to chuckle, "you have greatness in you. One day, you'll make General."
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 1:04 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home