Deck 14
Aft Security Locker Room of the Tranquility

I stared at the helmet and the demonic visage stared back at me. The ornate armored head of a snake woman, no doubt custom-printed in the Fabrication Section, with an integrated HUD. I smiled to think of the superstitious passengers in the lower decks cowering in fear at the sight of me. The helmet wasn’t standard issue by any stretch.

But what did I expect? The Seraphim Suppression Squads were the elite of the Bridge Security Forces and their whole purpose was to scare passengers into complying with Regulations. So I turned it around and strapped it on.

The locker room was empty; an unusual experience. I had served in mixed forces before, both militia and regular, but there were only two or three other women in all the Seraphim squads, and so on my first day I had the locker room all to myself. I shrugged into my armor, the standard issue bodysuit one I’d owned for years, and strapped on the outer armor. My left leg armor was still scored from where that stimjacker’s arcbolt had raked me but it was otherwise pristine.

Much better than the stimjacker had ended up, anyway. A tech had said the rites and tossed him and the rest of the mutineer corpses into the Recycling Tanks. Maybe there he’d be of some use.

I tested out the night vision settings, the goggles built in to the demonic helmet, and marveled at the fuzzy green appearance of my dark locker. There had been no need for night vision in the upper-deck fighting. But the Agricultural Section was like another world entirely. As close to humanity’s natural condition, with trees growing our oxygen, recycled water cycling in artificial rivers, and farms producing our feed.

And we would be the last generation to live like this before Landfall.

Now that I looked like a bizarre combat droid it was time to start the day. A chime sounded in my ear. An image of the sergeant popped up in my HUD. He had the cold stare of an eagle and thin, pursed lips. By instinct I felt myself standing to attention, though it wasn’t as though he could see anything besides my unit ID and location.

“Trooper Samantha Circea, report to the field in thirty minutes. We have an…” he smiled without humor, “errand to perform. Bring your weapon and fill your kit with five days of rations. We’re patrolling belowdecks.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded, and a moment later the image flashed away. It seemed my decision to come in for my first day early was a good one. It was always a good idea to start off on a good impression with a new unit. I grabbed the assault rifle in my locker, my leather gloves clenching around it, and shut the door.

Yes, always good to make a good impression. But even better to make a great one. I pulled back the bolt to verify a round was loaded. Of course it was. I smiled as I walked out to the field, not minding that I’d likely be standing all alone for some time. I didn’t mind being alone, after all, and it showed diligence. Yes, I’d be making a great impression. I smiled as my thoughts began to drift. They’ll end up thinking of me as a Twelve-damned legend soon enough.