Jungle Boogie

D E U N A N

After surviving the fourth leg of their trip south, and over twenty hours of nonstop plane hopping, she'd had enough. Flying was never her favorite method of travel, and riding in the cramped and under-insulated cargo holds of the military transport planes, was not improving her opinion of the experience. Deunan made a promise to herself they'd either get a six hour layover at their next stop, or she'd shoot someone. The court-martial proceedings couldn't be any worse than their trip-from-hell, and being locked up would at least let them get a chance at a real meal or two and a night not sleeping wedged between bales of scrap in heavy turbulence.

She'd been warned that their journey would be grueling. But the need to get out of their old unit as fast as possible had trumped any personal need for comfortable accommodations. Jamming her shoulders against the minimal padding of her 'seat' she felt the plane's angle increase, and braced for the inevitable rough landing. Her 'borg wouldn't bruise as easily, but he could get fed up with being rattled as much as the next person. Briareos had agreed whole-heartedly to the last-minute transfer however. And as he was the one with the least to look forward on their cargo-run south, she opted to let his be the vote to seal the deal.

The jet landed with a bump and a spine-rattling roll along what had to be a dirt runway. With no windows in the main hold, there was no way to tell what the hell was going on. Deunan gritted her teeth against the feel of her already-bruised shoulders being further abraded by her harness and added 'half-washed out dirt runway' to her private bet with herself. Until some merciful son of a bitch in the cockpit lowered the back ramps to let them out her mental wager would be left unresolved. As the only two 'passengers' on this particular flight, they were rated little better than the freight packed in around them. Or quite possibly they were rated _worse_ than freight. The bales and boxes lashed to the deck around them could be bartered, or sold. What were two worn-down and out-of-place urban specialists worth, in the grand scheme of things? Deunan wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the crew had forgotten they were even on board.

Glancing Briareos' direction, she winced in sympathy as he used his good arm to brace his damaged one against his chest, trying to absorb some of the shock of landing. There were no standard seats available for cyborgs on any of the jets they'd shuffled between over the past day. There'd barely been accommodations for _her_ and those were minimal. Her partner had to make due with cables and ties left over from the _other_ bulk goods being flown across country. After some initial fumbling they'd gotten pretty good at rigging his 'harness' with the ratchets and hooks available. The various straps pinning him against the plane's side pulled taunt as they did the job of holding him roughly in place for the rocky ride.

Three _months_ in Alaska, she cursed to herself. The whole reason for them being there was for him to get the repairs he needed; and the quack doctors had done little better than dick around the whole time. Their so-called fix had ended up being so flimsy that he might as well have just not bothered with them poking at him at all. In the field again for barely two weeks, and already the wiring in Briareos' primary hydraulics for his right arm were shorting out again. Hardly life threatening, it made his limb all but unusable, and sounded painful as hell. She bit her lip, hoping _this time_ the promise of an outfit with an experienced cybernetics support crew wasn't just a pipe dream.

She didn't like to see Briareos hurting. Unlike _her_ if it got too bad, her cyborg could always just detach the limb all together, or at least shut it down. However that meant that his marginally useful arm would become total dead weight. Given the real the worry that it might not power-on again if taken offline, he'd been putting up with the damaged arm for days rather than cripple himself further.

Louvers opened with a mechanical squeak somewhere in the metal gratings overhead. The pilots had opened the external intakes, letting some genuine fresh air at last, replacing the stuff that had been recycled for hours. Breathing a sigh of relief, Deunan felt an immediate improvement in her equilibrium as the metallic tang faded. The air venting in to their cabin took on loamy organic scent as the props spun down, slowing their forward momentum to a gradual stop. Deunan popped the buckles on her harness. Moving carefully against any unexpected jerks of the plane until she could reach her partner, she helped strip him of the web of restraints he was wrapped in. Briareos did his best to assist, but rattled, and one handed, he couldn't do all that much other than get in the way. She swatted his hand aside after their third accidental collision and wrestled with the catches on the clips alone until they fell away. Her cyborg rolled his shoulders in silent relief.

For a moment the fluorescent interior lighting flickered and died, leaving them sitting in pitch darkness. Then the back doors cracked open with a mechanical groan. Daylight streamed into the cavernous hold as massive winches unrolled the counterweighted cables and let the cargo ramp swing down to the ground. Deunan felt the initial blast of humid heat from outside with a gasp of surprise. Heavy enough to smother the unsuspecting, the damp atmosphere was a dramatic change from the parched arctic air of where they had been mere days ago. She was grimly glad she'd bartered her winter-weight uniform away during their hour of down time between transits in Colorado. She'd have passed out trying to wear the fleece lined combat gear in the jungle that greeted them at the end of the ramp. Blinking in partly-blinded amazement at the sunlight-saturated canopy, she had to whistle. "I think we're here, handsome."

"No kidding. Green enough for you?" Briareos nodded in agreement, still bracing his arm as he peered out of the shadows of the hold and into the unexpected sunlight.

They weren't in Alaska anymore. That was certain. As far south as she'd ever been in her life, she was awed at the lushness of the vegetation. Trees _everywhere_ as far as the eye could see. After over a year in the near-desert to the east of the Rockies, and months in the near-arctic conditions of their last assignment, the variety of plants in front of her was almost a physical shock to the system. She shook herself to keep from gaping like an idiot. First-thing-first, she told herself practically. They were _done_ with the damned plane.

Deunan shouldered both their carry-alls before her man could move to claim his own, and stepped out of the cargo hold to stare around her, trying to adapt to the alien climate. Briareos caught her by the arm, pulling her gently out of the way of the ground crews with supply crawlers moving to unload the crates that made up the craft's primary purpose for being there. To their left, down the long alley of dirt and trucks was the base entrance. To their right, the runway continued on a little ways and dead-ended at what looked to be a swampy river.

There was no peering through the trees to get the lay of the land. The leaves of smaller plants wedged into every available nook and cranny, making it impossible to guess the nature of the forest beneath the larger trunks. She'd seen jungle on film, but her scant 'forest survival' skills training had been done in northern California. The forest there had been plenty challenging, but she found it was positively manicured by comparison to the landscape she'd just volunteered herself for. What the hell had they gotten themselves into this time? She wondered faintly as she shifted the bags higher on her shoulders and walked towards an officer shouting orders at the various ground crews.

At least she wouldn't freeze her ass off. Deunan realized with cautious optimism. She might get bit by mosquitoes every five seconds and have to check her boots for scorpions every morning. But she wouldn't have to worry about frostbite anymore.

Standing in line, she didn't bother to try and interrupt the steady stream of orders and responses from the officer in charge. Speaking into two separate radios to volley messages between cargo crews and base, the guy looked like he wouldn't appreciate the distraction. She'd tangled with enough frazzled crew-chiefs over the years to recognize a man willing to snap on a moment's notice when she saw one. Thankfully she didn't really _need_ to say anything. Briareos, in addition to being her partner, and generally better-half, was also – for good or ill – a convenient conversation-stopper when he arrived someplace new. She waited until the guy looked up and froze at the sight of her 'borg before trying to get a word in. "Lieutenant Knute, Lieutenant Hecatonchires formerly of Alaskan infantry, formerly Western Defensive mobile infantry advanced-scouting division. Reporting for duty, sir."

"Papers." The officer had balls, she granted him. Instead of just staring like an idiot at the cyborg standing behind her, he managed to get his act together by the time she was done talking. He accepted the packet she handed to him and flipped through his own papers, correlating the ids and transfer numbers. "You're all set Knute and… Hecatonchires. We've been expecting you."

Deunan blinked not once but twice. Not only had the man not done more than a modest flinch at the sight of her partner, he'd managed _both_ their names without horribly mangling them. After years of getting 'Nut' or 'Kent' for her surname, it was a marvel when anyone figured how to pronounce it on the first try. The odds of the average jarhead pronouncing 'Hecatonchires' without a running start were even more remote. The guy's name patch announced him to be an unremarkable 'Jones' so it was a mystery how he'd pulled it off.

Lieutenant Jones didn't notice her surprise, too busy stamping their various forms with the marker he wore around his neck. He continued his greeting as he worked, not looking up again until he finished. "Take the first left off of the main gate, head towards the blue building. You'll be met by the officer on watch who will handle the rest of your transfer from there." Glancing at them again at last, he visibly winced. Deunan turned to see that Briareos had let go of his bad arm, testing his ability to control it. He was visibly sparking as he attempted to flex his fingers.

"I suggest you get that taken care of." Their host commented grimly. "Off you go, lieutenants. If you get lost, just ask for the base master's office. The local morons'll point it out. Welcome to Comalcalco."

She took her papers back with a nod, wondering if she should send Briareos on ahead while she did the initial hour's worth of signatures-in-triplicate and interviews for him. Throwing his bag over her shoulder again before he could protest, she led the way down the side of the road, concentrating on her footing in the softer stretches of mud.

The 'camp' was a refitted town built in the middle of the jungle. A fortified perimeter wall served double duty, keeping both enemies and trees at bay. Waved through the checkpoint she had to nod in approval at the general 'vibe' of the area. Already it was better than what they had left.

"What happened to you?" The officer sitting behind the counter-keyosk stood to greet them. His eyes immediately focused on Briareos' arm as he stooped through the door. "That looks like it hurts."

"I've had better days." Her cyborg conceded mildly. "I hear you have a specialist in house?"

"We have two." The young man nodded cheerfully. "Just sitting on their hands at the moment, looking for something to do, I bet. You're Lieutenant Hecatonchires, yes? They've been looking forward to seeing you."

The oddly enthusiastic greeting set Deunan's nerves jangling. Catching Briareos' eye she raised an eyebrow to see if he agreed that they'd walked into another 'weird' situation. His instincts were usually better than hers. She'd figured out that Alaska was going to be a nightmare after a few days of settling in. He'd had his hunch before they'd even landed. Still, given where they'd come from, landing in the jungle could hardly be worse? She hoped? He shrugged silently, seeming to have the same opinion. With no lips to grimace with she had to judge by his hunched shoulders, but it was a fair guess to say he was hurting pretty bad. The quieter he got, the more she worried. At this point, she didn't care how crack-potted the medical people were, if they could fix her man, she'd kiss them on the lips and call them saints.

The guy behind the counter continued on without either of them paying particular attention, shuffling folders and juggling a phone-call at the same time as continuing his running chatter. Deunan forced herself to keep up with the junior officer as he started asking her questions about her equipment. Having cut and run as fast as they had from the northern base, they'd left a good deal behind. There was also the matter of wanting to secure some decent bunk space this time. The shared barrack style housing with twenty other women she'd put up for the past months had been complete and utter bullshit. This time she was determined that she get at least a private room, preferably a double with her man. Looking at the fresh-faced petty officer she wondered how easy it would be to sweet talk him into helping her out.

Before she could ask what the usual housing was like on base, she was distracted by the arrival of a guy in a lab coat. Apparently Briareos' injury was going to be given priority over his paperwork. She sighed, torn between relief at the prompt service, and worry at letting him go off on his own. Briareos pointed to his bag, still in her keeping. "Mind that for me, will ya?"

"Got it covered." She agreed, feeling not altogether enthused as he was led off by another weirdly-cheerful stranger.

What was with all these people? She resisted the urge to reach for a weapon. The reflex wouldn't be helpful _here_ and besides, her usual holsters were missing, left behind in the snow. It was nice and all, to be able to show up someplace with her man and not have resentment or fear to deal with, but the overabundance of hospitality was starting to freak her out. What the hell were they so happy for? Briareos had to be a little unsettled at their reaction too or he wouldn't have left her with his stuff, Deunan sighed. Moving light in case he needed to bolt for the trees? She suppressed a smile at the thought. Even in the unlikely event that they were throwing themselves into the clutches of evil scientists, if he couldn't hold his own for the hour it would take her to get their living arrangements sorted out he wasn't the man she fell in love with.

Deunan turned back to her welcoming-committee-of-one, and steeled herself for the tedium of sorting all their registration forms out. "So." She gestured at the various papers awaiting her review. "Where do I start?"

"With _me_ I think, Lieutenant Knute." The voice from the office beside the front desk sounded anything but pleased to see her. Turning automatically towards the implied authority, she eyed his insignia and promptly saluted. Base commander, possibly one of many, her instincts told her. She wished she'd taken a minute to straighten her uniform before coming in the door. The senior officer gave her a silent once over and held out a hand to imply she was to proceed him into his office. His practiced look of dissatisfaction would have made her father proud. "Leave the bags with the petty officer, Knute. The paperwork can wait."

"Sir. Yes sir." Deunan felt the beginnings of a serious foreboding settle in her gut. Still, while the aura around the blowhard was annoyed, it didn't scream 'psychopath', so at least that was a step in the right direction. Keeping her expression schooled to passivity, she let herself into the side room and took up the usual space for interviewees, front and center, facing his desk.

"You came with a cyborg, yes?" The commander settled into his seat, looking up at her with the same grim expression. She wondered if he was actively displeased, or if like Briareos used to, he just had a naturally stern mouth.

"Yes sir. My partner sir."

"Professional? Or domestic?"

Deunan blinked at the candid inference. A point in the guy's favor, she thought. Normally she had to spell it out for people. "Both, sir."

"Hm." Flipping through a stack of important looking paperwork that probably had nothing to do with her, he let her cool her heels on the carpet as he sized her up.

The guy was a former cop. Either that or he had police training at some point in his past. Deunan bit her cheek to keep from smiling as she recognized being on the receiving end of a precisely calculated psychological ploy. Had she been a rookie, or a petty criminal, she'd be sweating, awaiting his review of her file. Sadly, recognizing the tactic defused much of its power to intimidate. Instead she was left wondering whether he was bluffing or not. Did she even have a file in the army? Probably. She was confident that the commander in Wyoming had left her with a pretty glowing review when she and Briareos had shipped north. Likewise, if the commander in Alaska ever stopped cowering long enough to fill out his forms, his review was probably somewhere on the opposite end of the spectrum.

Assuming her new commander had seen both reports, which would he believe? She glanced around his office discretely, making use of his meditative silence to get her own measure of the man. A few bits of military memorabilia, some photos of politicians, a carefully pruned banana tree in an oriental pot. Even the 'personal touches' were so predictable that they could tell her nothing. It was like something out of a photo of Military Life magazine. The nameplate on the desk gave her the only genuinely useful bit of information to prepare for the interview, 'Fuller,' followed by a series of initials for his various ranks and honors.

"He calls himself 'Hecatonchires'? Alluding to his system type, I suppose." Her new commander smoothed back his salt-and-pepper hair despite it already being tidy.

"That's right, sir." Deunan couldn't help but frown. Surprised yet again by the familiarity everyone seemed to treat her partner with. It was surreal how people seemed to take Briareos as a matter of fact. After years of having to fight those around her for even the barest comprehension of who, and what her boyfriend was, having a base full of people already in the know was weird beyond imagining.

The commander raised an eyebrow at her reaction. Sitting back in his chair, he folded his hands across his chest. "This base has a full compliment of cybernetically enhanced soldiers, Lieutenant, several of which are full body transformations. At one time we had six ZIIF suit equipped personnel, to be precise." He nodded, seeing her start of recognition. "Was your partner part of the San Francisco program? Or the Los Alamos trial group?"

"San Francisco." She admitted, amazed. "So there are others… like Bri- Like Lieutenant Hecatonchires here? I mean, aren't they rare? I've only ever met one… and _he's_ only ever met _two_... sir."

"We had until recently the largest group of them together in one place in the army. One from San Francisco, and five more from the other facility…" The mustached officer pressed his fingertips together, looking if possible even more grim as he shared the news. "Sadly, one of them went rogue, ran out into the bush after killing a fellow officer… the others have fallen one-by-one in recent guerrilla activity."

"Oh."

"You can be assured, Lieutenant Knute, that your partner will find our camp well familiar with his particular needs. I heard he requires some maintenance?"

"Yes sir." She bit down on the urge to bitch about their last camp. She hadn't been asked her opinion, and the brass probably didn't particularly care what their previous situation had been. "We asked for transfer to this unit based on availability of parts and expertise."

"He'll be well taken care of. I have no doubt." Commander Fuller tapped his fingers together, giving her another long look. "I must admit, lieutenant, the pair of you have a rather checkered history. You both were drafted in L.A…."

Deunan took a breath, knowing what was coming. "Yes sir."

"And he went with the 125th, while you were assigned to the 112th." He raised an eyebrow as he looked up at her. "Partners usually choose to stick together."

"Yes sir." Seeing that he was waiting for a fuller answer, she tried to find a polite way of saying that her boyfriend was a moron. "At the time sir, he felt that I would be… safer, if I stayed with a division assigned to an urban support role."

"Safer." The man looked down at his papers. Glancing along with him she found he _did_ have her file, the page he was studying held her certifications as of her date of enlistment. "You were a decorated weapons and tactics specialist in the Los Angeles police department, and a SWAT team leader at the time of the start of conflict… and he thought you needed to be kept _safe_?"

Deunan had no answer for that which couldn't be construed as sarcastic, so she just left the question alone. If _he_ was surprised, she had been down right outraged at Bri's one-sided decision. Thanks to her idiot's burst of unwanted over-protectiveness she'd nearly gotten killed. It'd only been by act of god that they'd managed to find one another again months into the war. After that first debacle they'd never spoken of splitting up again.

"You're twenty-one." Her new commander asked, out of the blue.

"Yes sir." She had to stop and do the math quickly, astonished at how time had flown in recent years. Her birthday was coming up in just a month. Soon she'd be twenty-two. The number sounded dauntingly old. At twenty-two a person was supposed to have some clue as to what they wanted to do with their life. She didn't feel particularly wiser or more capable than she'd been at nineteen.

Deunan looked out the window with its alien landscape beyond. Strange to think she spent the first twenty odd years of her life in LA… and then in the last two she'd been as far east as the Ohio desert, and as far north as the Alaskan preserve. If all went well she'd spend her next birthday here at the southern tip of the Mexican territory. Other than the recent fly over, she hadn't seen California in years. Stranger still, she didn't particularly miss it. She missed their old friends, their favorite restaurants, but not the place itself.

"How old were you when you started training?"

"Formally? Sir?"

"Yes." He almost smiled at her need for clarification.

"Sixteen. Sir."

"And informally?"

"Probably twelve or thirteen, sir." Deunan shrugged minutely. "My father was adamant that I get an early start, sir. He was the commander in residence at the academy."

"I know of Carl Knute by reputation." The man waved her off of any need to provide additional explanation. "I also knew a Peter Knute once. He served under me… almost eleven years ago now. Your brother, I believe?"

Now that was a bombshell she hadn't been expecting.

Deunan blinked, staring at the man in surprise. She hadn't heard anyone talk about any of her brothers in years, not since Jan's death. Peter had died even before that, a casualty of a failed UN peacekeeping attempt in central Africa. With two favored sons and a beloved wife predeceasing him, and a daughter who never quite measured up left to raise alone? No wonder her father was so dour.

She could barely remember what Peter looked like anymore. He had graduated from the police academy when she was only just starting kindergarten, and had shipped off shortly after. Peter, for her, existed as a series of letters home to her mother she had found in a drawer and one or two vague memories of a kind-spoken, handsome young man who came home from places far away and brought her presents on holidays. "You knew my brother, sir?"

"A very capable man, Ms. Knute. He looked nothing like you though."

She had to smile at that, even knowing it was unprofessional. Deunan forced her face back to proper impartiality before answering. "He took after my mother's family, sir. Of the three of us, I was the only one to get dad's genes in that respect."

"The 112th, lieutenant. What happened there? Your records are a little vague for that outfit. Official word was they were wiped out… yet here you are."

"About four weeks after the company formed, the second in command killed the lt. colonel to gain control over the battle group, sir." She found she was able to state the facts without wincing now that time separated her from the shock.

Deunan could still remember the feeling of confusion that ran through the officers when Faygan had declared himself commander, walking out of the _real_ commander's tent while wiping the blood off his hands as if he didn't have a care in the world. The jackass hadn't a moral bone in his body, shooting the first four people who dared to protest, before demanding the rest fall in. Two months, she'd kept her head down, cursed her fate, and put up with the lawlessness around her. Then she'd found' Briareos. Or he'd found her?

They'd found each other, and she had run without ever looking back. "I wasn't interested in war profiteering, sir, or being a mercenary. So when the chance came to find myself a better situation, I took it."

"And you found your way to the 137th, advanced scouts. Where your partner had also been reassigned."

"Yes sir."

"Deliberate? Or coincidence?" He asked idly as he made a note in her file.

"Deliberate, sir."

He raised his eyebrow at that as well, but didn't press her further on the subject. "Your commander in the 137th left several… very generous notes of praise in both you profiles. So much so that I took the liberty of contacting him while you were in transit, Lieutenant. He assured me you were both the very best specialists he'd had the pleasure of working with, and he wished you well."

"Sir." Deunan sent a small prayer of gratitude to the poor man, hoping he'd found a more comfortable berth than the tent city in the badlands. It hadn't been a bad outfit, just chronically under-provisioned and under-manned. If Briareos hadn't been desperate for parts, and she for a change of scene, they might have remained in Wyoming for a while longer. But no, they had to be fools and try for something 'better'.

"Why did you transfer to Alaska, Lieutenant Knute?" He came to the real sticking point without further delays. She closed her eyes at the memory of the chaos just before and after their fateful decision.

"B- Lieutenant Hecatonchires was injured in a scouting mission in the fall of last year, sir. We were told that if we stayed where we were, getting parts and a doctor with the skill to use them would take upwards of a season. Juno Base was on a short list of outfits that had the necessary cybernetics expertise. When contacted they offered us those parts, and a signing bonus if we transferred north to join their offensive on the glacier."

"You were _not_ mentioned with any particular praise by _that_ commander I notice." Fuller commented dryly.

Turning the page in his packet he summarized the contents for her benefit. "Five counts of disorderly conduct, for brawling. Thirteen counts of general insubordination. One three-day stint in the brig for… aggravated assault. One warning issued for failure to report for roll call. And one investigation, for friendly fire, which I might mention, your partner is also implicated… It seems that was abandoned as of your departure. Curious. You were there barely three months, lieutenant, yet you made quite a bit of trouble for yourself."

He flipped the stack of papers over, leaning his elbows on them. "What am I to make of this recent change in behavior, I wonder. On the one hand, I'm told I have a talented and pedigreed specialist who will astonish me with her skills and prowess. On the other, I'm told I'm inheriting a chronic hard-case, a maverick officer who has a clear problem with authority…"

Deunan bit her cheek to keep from crying unfair. The charges, as they stood, weren't wrong. She'd done all those things. But there had been _reasons_ for it. It hadn't been like she was picking fights for fun. She fought because it was either fight back, or be a victim. Be insubordinate, or stand by and watch as her partner was misused. The whole outfit had been insane. A mad king ruling over his rabid flock of garden-grade criminals and home-grown sociopaths. The problem was, there was no way to explain to the commander just how bad it had been up there without coming across as three-quarters crazy herself. All she wanted was to put the whole debacle behind her and get on with her life. Commander Fuller was waiting for an answer from her. She looked him in the eye, making a judgment call of her own. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Go ahead, lieutenant."

"I realize that my record these past few months hasn't been… acceptable. But there were circumstances involved beyond my control. My partner and I are willing to prove ourselves to you with any reasonable measures you see fit to test us with. All we ask is for a fair assessment, housing, rations, pay. With all due respect sir, we know how to do our jobs, and do them well, if we're allowed to."

"And you're implying, that the senior officers in Alaska… were unreasonable in their demands on you?" His stare was as unreadable as her father's ever was. Yet again she was irresistibly reminded of the man's usual interrogation tactics. Commander Fuller was younger than her parent by at least ten years. Perhaps he'd been coming up in the ranks as her father was making his exit into 'civilian' life? More likely the military just conditioned its 'lifetime' officers with a common personality after the first decade of service.

Deunan weighed her need to make him understand, and her desire to not cause waves only hours on base. Briareos _needed_ repairs. She couldn't go and mess things up just as he was finally getting the help he'd been patiently waiting months for. "I like to think of myself as a make-do kind of person, commander. I don't think I expect an unreasonable degree of catering-to by the world at large. If anything, experience has taught me to anticipate the opposite. But I have limits on what I can tolerate, perhaps due to my background. I guess I'm not the sort of person who can stand by and watch when a crime is committed, sir."

The officer stared at her for another long minute, letting her stew as he considered her words. "You consider yourself an honorable soldier, Knute?"

"I try to be, sir." She shrugged. "Sometimes expediency wins, but when possible I endeavor to act as befitting my training."

"Your brother once told me much the same. Something your father taught you both, no doubt."

"He is a practical man, sir."

"Have you spoken to him recently?" Commander Fuller asked, expression lightening with momentary curiosity.

"No sir."

He turned his chair towards the window, considering the orderly traffic of men and goods through his base-city. Deunan bounced on her heels a little while he wasn't looking, alleviating some of the strain in her back. Her shoulders complained at having spent days squeezed awkwardly in the temporary cargo seating, and then being made to hold regulation posture while being grilled on her prior misdemeanors. "I'm not going to lie to you, Knute. I'm not thrilled by the idea of having a troublemaker on my books, but I'd also be lying if I said that we weren't short on officers of your particular field experience. You say you're willing to be tested? That's fine by me."

Turning back to her, he folded his arms across his chest and gave her a candid stare. "I'm giving the pair of you four week's probation. _You_ are to be assigned to a field specialist for jungle training. Your partner will join you as he is judged fit for combat by our esteemed medical practitioners. Based on your trainer's assessment at the end of the month we shall see whether I can make use of one or both of you here, or whether I will choose instead to ship you and your partner to someone with more time on their hands to deal with problem officers. Am I clear?"

"Thank you sir." She saluted him, grateful for even the weak show of support he was willing to give. "We won't disappoint, sir."

"Go see to your bunk assignment, then." He pointed to the door. "And Knute?"

"Yes sir?" Deunan turned back to him as he caught her with a final question.

"Stay out of trouble."

"Yes sir."

Feeling a huge weight lift off her shoulders she returned to the main room, to find everything laid out in nice easy stacks. Picking up the pen provided, she started signing her name to the various requisition forms. The younger officer chatted away at her while she worked, seemingly unconcerned with the fact she was only paying him a fraction of her attention. Either he didn't know the full measure of her discipline sheet the way his boss did, or he was just naturally that cheerful with everybody, even potential troublemakers. She had no idea.

What she did know was that this base was serious about providing for the immediate needs of new officers. Even as she was signing her life away, the kid was assembling what looked like a hotel luggage-truck's worth of kits for her and her man, uniforms, bedding, towels, boots, outer gear, anything and everything they'd need to start life afresh. She could have left Alaska with only the clothes on her back and _still_ emerged from the office with everything necessary for civilized life.

She marveled at the wealth of supplies at her fingertips, everything but guns, from the look of it. Ironically that was the one thing they'd been obliged to cut-and-run without. She tapped her pen against the desk to get the guy's attention as he zipped past for the twelfth time, trading finished forms for more kits. "Where do I go to requisition weapons for us? We're traveling light I'm afraid."

"Carrying guns around base without special permit isn't allowed at any rate." The junior officer smiled, ever cheerful. "But your new CO will see about getting your ID assigned to any pieces of artillery you're approved for when on patrol."

"And he is?"

"Captain Hernando Jamar." Her helpful little steward supplied as he retrieved yet more bales of supplies from shelves in the back of his domain. Deunan had to smile at the less than chipper way the kid said the man's name. Clearly not _everyone_ made him happy.

"Bit of a hard-ass is he?" She guessed when he returned.

Her companion shrugged. "He yells a lot. But I've heard he's really good. He's one of our oldest bush men."

"In age, or seniority?" Deunan joked, standing up to crack her spine, relieved to have done with the bulk of the papers. Briareos would have a fit when it came time for him to sign his share post-triage, but she'd taken care of all she could do on his behalf to make it easier for him. Eying the small mountain of gear, she spotted several bars of soap and began itching for a shower. With her base commander's assurance that her partner was in good hands, she was reasonably confident that he'd be taken care of. The guy presented at the genuine article. She was inclined to trust him. She'd get their rooming sorted, get cleaned up, and then go see what state her man was in before passing out. With any luck her new captain wouldn't be ready to see her before tomorrow.

The petty officer deftly scooped up the remaining papers and stowed them in a file for later. Pushing the now-top-heavy cart ahead of him, he gestured that she was to follow out the back entrance and down into an adjacent annex.

"He's been in the field here since before the war started. There were terrorist cells operating down here that needed to be flushed out occasionally, drug runners too. You'll see that this base is older than the war. You can probably tell this base was once a village, in fact… although the medical section is all new, top notch." He gestured to the blue signs on a hall that divided from their own at the next intersection. Deunan made note of it so she could retrace her path later.

"When do I meet him?" She forced her tired brain to log the necessary landmarks as they flashed past. The signs seemed to cover all the key essentials, but with the utilitarian same-ness of the hallways she could see herself quickly getting lost if she wandered too far from the main hub of the complex. An elevator carried them up several floors and she gamely followed down another grey tile hallway. Deunan was so busy concentrating on the route she almost ran into the back of the man leading her.

"He's not due in for two days." Her host checked his clipboard. "He doesn't know you've been assigned to him yet."

"Surprise." Deunan muttered under her breath. Seeing the officer looking around, and at her, as if at a loss, she wondered what he was up to. "Something wrong?"

"I don't mean to be rude… but did you want two singles, or one double?" He winced as he asked. "Only because we have some double-rooms specially fitted for cyborgs, and I was going to give him one of those… But if you wanted to share you might find it a little uncomfortable? So I can put you in a single instead."

It took an effort to not knuckle the young officer's head. He had the perfect kid-brother act, standing there with his pink cheeks and chagrined smile. Deunan rubbed her neck, unable to cope with the over abundance of cuteness without more sleep, or food, to give her strength. "If you've got doubles that will work for my partner, I'll be glad to take a look. So long as there's a bed, chair, shower and toilet, I can adjust for just about anything else."

"Oh they're fully equipped, lieutenant." Her host protested earnestly, "It's just you might find things a little… heavy-duty. Not exactly comfortable for average folk like us, you know? Here, see for yourself."

Stepping into the room that he unlocked for her, Deunan looked around with a quiet sigh of contentment. They would have to find a way to impress their new CO, she resolved. The 'not exactly comfortable' bunk was easily the size of her old apartment. Two large beds dominated the room, each with footlockers underneath and a sturdy framed desk and chair at their foot. A private bathroom adjoining the room had locker-room tile from floor to ceiling, over half of it dedicated to the shower while the rest had the standard compliment of generously apportioned bathroom fixtures. Her eyes were drawn back to the beds without conscious effort. No narrow cots to for her man to have to squeeze into here! The full sized mattresses were easy to justify, if the average occupant was meant to be someone of Briareos' mass or larger. Either of the two mattresses would be plenty to hold both of them, or if she ever wanted to really stretch out, she could abandon him to his own devices of an evening and luxuriate on a bed of her very own.

"We'll take it." She told the waiting petty officer. "Water rationing in effect?"

"No ma'am."

"Meals are based on coupons? Or just general mess hall?"

"General mess at the canteen three times a day, if you're late there's always the 'town', but you pay for your meals there." He pushed his cart into the center of their new room and started unloading, passing her a binder full of information before starting on the rest. "Everything you need to get acclimated is in there. Please read the first section before the end of the day. It contains the basic guidelines for on-base life that everyone has to follow, emergency procedures and the like." Handing her an id card and pass-key he retreated with the empty rack in tow in order to allow her to unpack and make herself at home.