Chocolate Harry turned and frowned at him. The massive black sergeant’s frown was rumored to have the power to dent heavy armor at short range, but Mahatma stood his ground, a beatific smile in place. After a moment, Harry shrugged. “Hell, I guess the same applies to me as to you. Until somebody tells me to do somethin’ else, I got supplies to inventory. As for you-“
Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the alarms on both their wrist communicators buzzing at once. “General alert!” came Mother’s voice. “Unidentified intruder approaching base. All personnel report to battle stations. Repeat, all personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill.”
“O-kay, you heard the lady,” said Chocolate Harry. “Let’s get it on!” He dropped his clipboard next to the pallet of battery packs he’d been checking in and headed off at a surprisingly quick pace, considering his bulk.
“That is a curious expression,” said Mahatma, but the supply sergeant was already out of earshot. Deprived of an audience, Mahatma turned and headed toward his assigned position. There would be someone-probably Brandy-there to answer his questions, he knew.
And maybe, at last, he’d find out whether all the training he’d been questioning since his first day in the Legion made some kind of sense, after all.
That was a lot faster than I’d have expected, thought Brandy, impressed in spite of herself. The months of drill seemed to have paid off, even when the company found itself in a completely new situation where the assignments and stations weren’t already second nature, the way they ought to be in a real emergency.