On the lonely, winding roads through the Sakir foothills Jaim Tahyadi stood upon the crest of an outcropping, a dozen meters above the road carved out through the gentle slopes. The road leading to the Adwulyah Cosmodrome was quiet and empty, as it usually is, with only sand and wind blowing over the old, cracked asphalt. Occasionally he would let bored, dull brown eyes look up and down the lane, half expecting and half wishing to see a Ramallan convoy or a herder bringing his flock to the valley. His uniform was nearly soaked through with sweat: despite the nanofabric's breathable construction nothing stopped Jade's harsh glow from heating everything she could touch.
He could feel moisture beading along his exposed features: when he turned his neck to glance sideways, new skin prickled and nearly curled at the sudden introduction of heat. His fingers were like lumpy clams that gripped at the AR-K rifle that was slung across his chest. Jaim knew this was a good thing, not boiling in the heat but, being here on the road to Adwulyah was: despite the remoteness he was at least aware of his surroundings. The Specialist was relatively confident in the fact that he was safe, seeing the tiny grey figures of other Home Army soldiers a few hundred meters below was a reassurance too.
With voices crackling away in his ear, Jaim reached up from his rifle with one hand and pulled away the grey helmet ontop of him. Now, he heard the definite roar of an engine coming about one of the curves up the road. It was a dieseler, he could easily tell. Not Home Army, however: he could not determine with precision if it were military or not. The helmet uncovered the comms-bead mounted in his ear now, finally giving his mind a moment's rest as the voices 'escaped' his head.
Jaim didn't bother speaking into the mike-piece on his throat, instead simply pressing the AR-K into his chest and beginning the climb down to the road. As he watched the junker burn around the corner, Jaim recognized the angled cross emblazoned on the hood and the doors of the single-cab. Before he reached down to speak to the rest of the squad, the comm-set on his webbing let out a squawk.
"Seithlum Three Eight this is Wahtan Actual, do you have a contact in visual range en route out of the Cosmodrome?"
As Jaim reached the asphalt, he saw the vehicle barreling onward. His Sergeant, Purnama Sur, was speaking quickly and obviously repeating information provided to him by a soldier with binoculars. Jaim stood on the shoulder of the road as the vehicle zoomed by, the smell of fumes and burning carbon hitting him for just a moment until that sense was merely overpowered with heat.
Packed in the back two jumpseats of the Bear a middle-aged man folded through a sheaf of paper and various diskettes, CDs or q-drives. "There's about as many people ready to grab a gun for the Wolves beyond Al Khyraf as there are Arghazi or Gurds waiting to start shooting up a church or mosque." The man said bluntly, drawing a four-fingered hand to a scruffy chin. "You want to make money in a place where it's not about money anymore."
Before the first man could continue, the Salian beside him made a dismissive scowl. "I know the Presidium was likely all over a resource pool in the Far Territories -- but take a look and tell me the Presidium really has the focus to keep people like us on a leash out here." He gestured once out the window.
Across from them sat a balding man, his skin a few shades too peach to adequately describe the 'native' appearance he had obviously been going for when he got off of whatever craft had brought him here. For the two men he had journeyed to see, the businessman was quite unimposing. For Walton, it was quite a culture shock. At first it seemed his two hosts didn't want him to speak back. Walton wasn't eligible for the federal services, he had no clue how to 'read' soldiers.
"There are more problems than just facility security, is all you will need to worry about." The Salian continued on, snatching a piece of paper from the man beside him and offering it to Walton. "I don't really care what budget the Presidium gave you because, as you should well know, they never get their numbers right." He ended, then looked over to the Salian in rugged desert fatigues and nodded.
"We're going to need Offworlders, everyone on this shit hole is already either bought or blinded: you're with the Wolves or you're in the ground." He began, laying the papers on top of his knee and glancing out the window. "If we can't get people that don't get a badge, then turn around and give the gun to a Wolf your little experiment in product control will look like my 3rd marriage."
He could feel moisture beading along his exposed features: when he turned his neck to glance sideways, new skin prickled and nearly curled at the sudden introduction of heat. His fingers were like lumpy clams that gripped at the AR-K rifle that was slung across his chest. Jaim knew this was a good thing, not boiling in the heat but, being here on the road to Adwulyah was: despite the remoteness he was at least aware of his surroundings. The Specialist was relatively confident in the fact that he was safe, seeing the tiny grey figures of other Home Army soldiers a few hundred meters below was a reassurance too.
With voices crackling away in his ear, Jaim reached up from his rifle with one hand and pulled away the grey helmet ontop of him. Now, he heard the definite roar of an engine coming about one of the curves up the road. It was a dieseler, he could easily tell. Not Home Army, however: he could not determine with precision if it were military or not. The helmet uncovered the comms-bead mounted in his ear now, finally giving his mind a moment's rest as the voices 'escaped' his head.
det' ep te sa'lmokyin
Jaim didn't bother speaking into the mike-piece on his throat, instead simply pressing the AR-K into his chest and beginning the climb down to the road. As he watched the junker burn around the corner, Jaim recognized the angled cross emblazoned on the hood and the doors of the single-cab. Before he reached down to speak to the rest of the squad, the comm-set on his webbing let out a squawk.
"Seithlum Three Eight this is Wahtan Actual, do you have a contact in visual range en route out of the Cosmodrome?"
As Jaim reached the asphalt, he saw the vehicle barreling onward. His Sergeant, Purnama Sur, was speaking quickly and obviously repeating information provided to him by a soldier with binoculars. Jaim stood on the shoulder of the road as the vehicle zoomed by, the smell of fumes and burning carbon hitting him for just a moment until that sense was merely overpowered with heat.
Packed in the back two jumpseats of the Bear a middle-aged man folded through a sheaf of paper and various diskettes, CDs or q-drives. "There's about as many people ready to grab a gun for the Wolves beyond Al Khyraf as there are Arghazi or Gurds waiting to start shooting up a church or mosque." The man said bluntly, drawing a four-fingered hand to a scruffy chin. "You want to make money in a place where it's not about money anymore."
Before the first man could continue, the Salian beside him made a dismissive scowl. "I know the Presidium was likely all over a resource pool in the Far Territories -- but take a look and tell me the Presidium really has the focus to keep people like us on a leash out here." He gestured once out the window.
Across from them sat a balding man, his skin a few shades too peach to adequately describe the 'native' appearance he had obviously been going for when he got off of whatever craft had brought him here. For the two men he had journeyed to see, the businessman was quite unimposing. For Walton, it was quite a culture shock. At first it seemed his two hosts didn't want him to speak back. Walton wasn't eligible for the federal services, he had no clue how to 'read' soldiers.
"There are more problems than just facility security, is all you will need to worry about." The Salian continued on, snatching a piece of paper from the man beside him and offering it to Walton. "I don't really care what budget the Presidium gave you because, as you should well know, they never get their numbers right." He ended, then looked over to the Salian in rugged desert fatigues and nodded.
"We're going to need Offworlders, everyone on this shit hole is already either bought or blinded: you're with the Wolves or you're in the ground." He began, laying the papers on top of his knee and glancing out the window. "If we can't get people that don't get a badge, then turn around and give the gun to a Wolf your little experiment in product control will look like my 3rd marriage."
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