Task Orientated

Part 2.3

I've seen a few Martian dropships here and there. 

They're pretty much on every world the commonwealth is. It's one of the few designs that is modular enough to really meet any condition planet side. Need a heavily armed gunship? Replace the troop bay with an ammunition store and load up the wings with as much heavy ordinance you need. Need some rapid humane relief? Replace that with a cargo bed, and load it all the Feynman shots, RSC gauze and morphine you could ever need.

The engines run quietly, admitting not much more than a low resonant hum. Your ears can maybe pick it up from three hundred meters after all its very difficult to miss its distinct note. But trust me, you'll know it coming from at least two kilometers out because you'll feel it all over. A dull scraping and a tension that only that ancient lizard part of your brain can recieve.

But the feeling isn't a guarantee, it's hard to know when it comes with anything about the Commonwealth.

Least today I could tell you there wasn't eighteen heavily armed and well-trained legionnaires to come rushing out the troop bay or a metric ton of ordinance either. There was three of us back here. Two decent mercenaries and one very much unhappy Legionnaire. 

Standard turtle shell shaped helmet, looks like he opted for the opaque orange visor, so the top half of his head was covered. He wasn't comfortable, I could tell that by how he tensed up his jaw, it wrinkled the corners of his mouth and puffed up his cheeks.

But I didn't even have that.

Somehow, I was the only one back here, without something covering their eyes.

Audax somehow looked relaxed beside me, with his head leant back into the seat his hands loosely placed on his knees. I'd imagine he was probably daydreaming, he always seemed to check out briefly before a job.

I well, was stuck here.

So was the legionnaire I suppose.

We were both trying not to look across at one another, he had his head turned left and was probably trying to listen to whatever was going on in the cockpit. He was the same guy who lead us through the service corridor, he seemed typically professionally minded like any other legionnaire but now he was like a kid forced to work with someone they didn't particularly like.

I think he was a Martian, caught a glimpse of a familiar looking patch on his shoulder. A simple insignia of Mars, with both its moons, in orbit around the sun. I don't know many other legion patches, but he had quite a few more on his sleeve.

Maybe he was distinguished.

But he couldn't be older than, twenty-five?

C'mon kid, move your arm. Give me a name to work with here.

Oh shit.

He caught the glance and no amount of staring at the ceiling would shake his gaze.

"Hmmm?" The kid inquired with a soft grunt.

I cleared my throat and then asked, "how'd you get roped into this?"

"Apparently, I was the only legionnaire on base with suitable training to work with CISA agents," the legionnaire paused, then asked, "how about you two?"

"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted, "we've worked for agent 4-99 once before, I guess."

The kid nodded, then quietly muttered, "this whole thing feels off..."

"Don't have to tell me," I sighed.

The kid shifted in his seat, saying, "first time working with mercenaries and I wasn't even told one wore a mask, or that the other was a chimera. Hell, I don't know if you guys are sanctioned auxiliaries or not."