PLANET: UYMA - DATE: 27 MARCH 2167

"You're sure of this?"

"More sure than I've ever been of anything in my whole life. Aside from being Voqani, of course."

The Aedh, Master Nafu, let out a long sigh, his large hands on the woman's shoulders. "Very well. Then it must be done."

The woman with white hair and cloudy blue eyes smiled fondly. "I'll never forget your teachings, Master Nafu, and I'll return someday to this temple."

"That is my only hope for you, child," he said, smiling back at her, though his was tinged with sadness. "Go then, Qo'ji, and find your way in the world. Find the answers you seek, and perhaps the sister you dream of. May Xialad be with you always; Uyma and her inhabitants will miss you."

Qo'ji stepped back, her monk staff in one hand and her gray robes billowing around legging-clad legs. Her bare feet, wrapped loosely in cloth, felt the stone one last time, let the wind kiss her toes, the moonlight bathe her skin. With a final glance at Hythe and Luia, the monk woman turned and strode away from all she had ever known to find the knowledge the universe wanted her to seek.

V^V

PLANET: ASCUNA - DATE: 27 MARCH 2167

"Platoon, atten-hut!"

Dawn threw white rays glinting against the dew-laden foliage that surrounded a stretch nguya, a dark Ascunian, pavement. A veil of morning fog highlighted the white light of early sun, steadily lifting its cloak from the base. Planted on this stretch of pavement were twelve pairs of rigid black combat boots, of very different sizes and owners, all of whom wore the same dark gray camo-patterned uniform, with the same crest patched to their shoulder: a shield framed by laurel, bottomed by the bold letters, CMP. Each soldier stood with eyes straight ahead, fists curled, thumbs along their pants' seams, backs straight, shoulders back, heels together, toes apart...

Syarrhe had to admit she was impressed as she mentally ticked off the checklist for proper form at the position of attention. Their rigidity and discipline were excellent, though she hadn't expected any less from privates trained by the same rigorous training programs that had trained her. They had likely dealt with the same Command Sergeant Darrows as she had- equally impressive and intimidating, he left nothing to imperfection, especially drill. If that were the case, it explained their perfect form. She was tempted to ask, to establish some form of common ground between her and her troops, but right now it was time for her to make her first formal impression- no time for jokes. They would test the waters, as troops do, and would find them deep and not to be tempered with.

Syarrhe glanced over the ranks. Three squads stood in front of her: first squad had a male squad leader, female team leader, the rest male, all humans; second squad had a female squad leader and team leader and two males, one the Jinn she'd seen before; and third squad had the female Skydian, Twel'Kijo, as their squad leader, and three human males. Syarrhe hoped the rest of third squad would be too intimidated by her to cut up.

Syarrhe snapped to attention so suddenly her boots' smack echoed across the lot, and she felt a twinge of satisfaction at the glint of shock shining in her troops' eyes- and not making any other sign on their perfectly composed faces. Good, she allowed herself to think briefly. "Pla-toon! Present, arms!"

Twelve right hands snapped instantaneously to brows, thumbs tucking behind the flattened palms. Earnest lines replaced the mouths of the troops, intense expressions on all their faces. Not a hand slacked as twenty-four eyes stared at their sergeant, who quickly mimicked their motion, saluting them back. She snapped her fist back to the seam of her pants, curling it once more- not a fist, just curled.

"Order, arms!"

Her voice echoed easily across the lot, and within less than a full heartbeat every hand had retreated down, the salute vanishing as her troops resumed the position of attention. Syarrhe nodded once in approval and pivoted right, beginning to pace along the ranks. She was immediately impressed by them- their form was immaculate, their uniforms were in pristine condition, and their movements were snappy and rhythmic. It warmed her heart to see well-trained newbies.

She stopped in front of the first; she could see the nerves behind the confidence in his dark chocolate eyes and bronze skin. She allowed her eyes to roam him for a minute, just long enough to make him uncomfortable and allow her to memorize his face. Strong jaw, hooked nose, sallow cheeks. Short black buzz-cut. He was pretty to look at, well-muscled, and had the face of someone trying to impress and sure they could, without breaking composure.

"Private Sylvester," Syarrhe shouted, warmed by his miniscule flinch. "Name off your squad members."

"Yes, Ser-geant!" he barked back, with surprising volume and inflection. "First, Squad! Private Katya, Private Welo, Private Dahren!"

All this in one gusty breath from a bellowing private. Syarrhe nodded, satisfied. "Thank you, Private Sylvester."

She marched the length of the squad, checking uniforms and meeting intimidated eyes. At the end of the row she pivoted back in a well-executed rear march and started back toward Private Sylvester, their squad leader. She reached him and strode past, pivoted right, one pace forward, pivot right again. Now she was at second squad. She came to a halt and left-faced to second squad's leader, Private Didawyn. Fair skin, heavily freckled, bright brown eyes, dark brown hair pulled in a bun. Uniform in pristine condition. Petite, barely eighteen.

"Private Didawyn!" Syarrhe shouted, as she had done to Sylvester, "Name off your squad members!"

"Yes, sergeant!" She shouted, with less inflection. "Private Carrhe, Private Kramer, Private Bastion!"

Syarrhe nodded. "Thank you, Private Didawyn."

She took a pace forward, and then- "You're welcome, Sergeant!"

She froze. Syarrhe's heels came together and her eyes closed temporarily; when they opened again, she saw the fear in the other girl's- Private Carrhe- eyes. Syarrhe turned her head so her chin was above her shoulder.

"Private Didawyn."

"Yes, Sergeant!"

"What did you just say?"

Syarrhe could practically hear the private's heart beating, and knew she was experiencing the flashbacks to her training period. "I said you're welcome, sergeant!"

Syarrhe turned fully now and marched back to Private Didawyn. She stopped right in front of her and looked the girl in the eyes. "Why?"

"You said thank you, ma'am."

Mild irritation flashed in Syarrhe's chest, accompanied by vague amusement she kept concealed. When she spoke, her voice was deadly quiet. "Did you just call me 'ma'am'?"

Didawyn's eyes were wide as marbles, and her fair skin had paled further. Her voice lost its volume. "Y- yes, Sergeant. I apologize, Sergeant-"

The tirade was called for now. Syarrhe took a very quick breath before cutting off the private. "I am not 'ma'am', Private! I am not an officer! Officers are referred to as sir or ma'am, and do I look like an officer?!"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Why not, Private!?"

"You have a sergeant rank, Sergeant!"

"Damn right I do! And don't ever welcome me after I thank you again unless I ask you to! Did I ask you to?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Are you gonna do it again, Private?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Did I ask you to apologize!?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Are you gonna do it again, Private?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Fall out and drop to front-leaning-rest! Do not move from that position until I tell you to! No complaining, no crying, no sneezing, no coughing- I don't give a Qesmian's fourth eye-stalk if it hurts! Hands on the pavement, now! Don't let me hear your voice again until I tell you you can speak!"

The girl stepped out of formation, pivoted, marched three paces away, resumed the position of attention, and dropped to a push-up position. Syarrhe finished her review of second squad and finally stopped in front of the Skydian squad leader, Twel'Kijo. Her horns jutted out from under her cover, the military-grade flat-billed cap worn with the combat uniform, and she stared straight ahead, not wavering when Syarrhe placed herself directly in the Skydian's line of sight. No fear or confidence lit the squad leader's face as it had in the others'; she was pure troop, likely an honor graduate from training, and Syarrhe was glad to see someone who resembled her some.

"Private Twel'Kijo, name off your squad!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" Good voice, deep in pitch but not unpleasant, lightly accented. "Private Berlin, Private Washington, Private Aldonn!"

"Thank you, Private Twel'Kijo."

She finished out checking third squad and doubled back, halting midway through the return trip. After swallowing down her rising impatience, she cut her eyes at Berlin, who was quite obviously barely suppressing a snicker.

"Something funny, Private?"

"No, Sergeant," he answered, far too softly, his voice restrained. Frustration boiled hotter in her chest.

"I said," she raised her voice to a bellow, "Is something funny, Private?"

"No, Sergeant!" He bellowed back with proper inflection and audible strain.

Syarrhe didn't validate him with further response, marching out of the formation. She cast her eyes at Private Didawyn, shaking arms planted to the nguya and teeth gritting with effort. Syarrhe reached the front of the platoon and centered herself, raking her eyes over the ranks, letting fear stifle their humor. She lifted her chin. "All of you, drop. Front leaning rest, now."

The remaining eleven hit the pavement; now only the toes of their boots kissed the sunlit nguya. Syarrhe folded her hands behind her back and began to pace, her eyes straight ahead as she did. No one dared move, or even glance.

"If one of you is punished, all of you will be. If you aren't one-hundred-percent together, then you're all zero. You don't get to stand and snicker at one person. If we can't form unit cohesion- if we laugh at one another's punishments- then we risk each other's lives on the battlefield. If I can't be treated with respect in drill, then how can I trust you to follow orders in the field? I can't. As of right now, we have nothing but time to get to know each other- and if I learn you're unfit, I will send for your replacement. And none of you want to get to know me too personally. I am not your friend- I am your sergeant. My job is to get you in the field, dispose of the renegades, and get all twelve of you back. If you don't respect me enough to stand at attention for a simple inspection, then there won't be a dozen of you coming home."

She knelt down, bending so her head was leveled almost with theirs. "If this hurts, just remember: this is the easiest part of this whole mission." She rose once more and moved to attention. "Platoon, atten-hut!"

Twelve soldiers stood before her, their fear and earnest plain on their faces. Syarrhe glared across them once more, daring eyes to break attention and meet hers.

"Platoon, fall- out!"

V^V

Syarrhe sat with Kapler and Yael in the Mess Hall that evening, and relayed the event to them. Kapler sighed and nodded with the understanding of experience, while Yael just looked irritated.

"They're always gonna test the waters to start out with," Kapler said, his deep voice smooth around sips of Sweet Thrill. "They're testing the waters. Your their first sergeant since the training sergeants, and they're wanting to know if every sergeant will be that strict. And it's your job to prove to them that you are that strict."

"So I'm not just being a hard-ass? It really is the right thing?"

He nodded. "Unit cohesion: the essential ingredient to a happy mission. Get your troops to love each other, even if it's because they have a common enemy in you. You aren't here to be popular, Syarrhe, and that's the truth of it."

She nodded, and then Yael added, "Or just don't let them sleep for a week. That'll really show them who's in control, because no one will interfere with your methods. They're at your mercy."

Syarrhe chuckled, rolling her eyes. "That's not quite the method I wanted to use, Yael."

The Jinn shrugged. "Have it your way."

"So, how were your first days?" Syarrhe asked. The other two didn't look half as strained as she felt, but then Yael wasn't in charge and Kapler was surely used to it after this many years on the field.

"My commander is a male Jinn," Yael answered. "Corporal Rhett. He keeps giving me that look like we're animals in heat." Yael shuddered. "Not really my type."

Another reason Yael was glad to be away from the Jinns, but that was a story for another time, as Kapler spoke up then, "My troops were great. I joke with them a little, and then scream at them a lot. A dash of humor never hurts."

Syarrhe leaned forward over the brothy, steaming soup the Ascunians had supplied them with as a welcoming present. "But how can you stand their mishaps? This private snickered in formation."

"Well, now you've scared 'em, they'll be a lot sharper," Kapler said. "That means keep 'em on their toes for a while and then sneak in a joke now and then. Laugh a little, scream a lot. Add a few jokes to catch 'em off-guard and make them think maybe you are a human and not a machine, and they'll start to like you over time, but not so much that they lose respect. You want them to trust you, fear you, and respect you. Unfortunately you're a woman-"

"What does that have to do with it?" Yael snapped, eyeing the human man sharply. Kapler chuckled.

"Easy, kitten. I just mean that some of the male troops will hold the same backwards attitudes they had when humans first got into space travel, that women don't belong in space, don't belong in the force, blah blah. Women have to be twice as tough and more often ready to reach the same place as a man here. That's why men still outnumber women here five to one."

"Not in Intel," Yael noted. "We have two males, and one is the corporal."

"That's because women are usually smarter than men," Kapler said, "And sneakier. I don't mean that as an insult."

"I didn't take it as one," Yael shrugged.

"Anyway," Kapler turned back to Syarrhe, who was highly appreciating the advice (and how chatty he was, as it meant she could eat without having to reply), "They're scared of you now, and that's good. You now just have to get them to like you. You've still got a few weeks; incorporate yourself into their lives as much as possible. Lead them in PT, sing cadences when you take them running, compliment them when they do well, and invoke the fear of the gods when they disobey. If they're not scared you're going to kill them, they won't be scared anything will. You want to be even more frightening than those renegades; that way they'll think you can take on anything and as long as they stand with you, they'll live. Good for morale."

"Fair point," Syarrhe said. "And I never let them know I'm a first-time field sergeant, right?"

"Oh, no," Kapler replied. "No-no-no. They're already scared because it's their first time. They'll only be even more scared if it's your first time as well."

Syarrhe glanced around the Mess Hall; on the other side, at one of three long tables stretching the length of the huge room, she could see her troops. The Skydian, Twel'Kijo, sat with Sylvester and two guys from his squad, Welo and Dahren. Didawyn and Kramer, the Jinn, were chatting animatedly farther down, and across from them were Katya and Carrhe, just as animated. Bastion and Aldonn called to each other from a table apart, apparently warring over a starberry scone, and Berlin and Washington were mock-fighting with the long thin sticks of baked dough that had come with the soup.

It seemed an impossible task to get that motley, broken-up group to ever form a unit; was there even a point to screaming at them? The word "hopeless" had never been more apt at describing a situation. Syarrhe couldn't even imagine them on the field; what the hell had Commander Galst been thinking, sending those twelve for a field artillery mission that had lives depending on it? They would have to wipe out countless renegades, or Ascunian lives would be lost. Worst still, if they couldn't, then their lives would be lost, and Cerridwen Military would only remember them as the twelve martyrs with their dumbass sergeant.

A long sigh whisked from the human woman; suddenly, twenty felt very, very young to be this responsible. She had no idea how to do this- she only knew she had to.

That evening, long after the other sergeants in the Command Quarter, the wing of the barracks where commanders and sergeants and such slept, had fallen asleep, Syarrhe lie awake. She was a Reynolds by name and by childhood, and she wouldn't let him down; her adoptive guardian's spirit would find a way to hurl sun-fire at her if she gave up this early.

It was after the moons reached their peak that the idea came to her. Even in the darkness of her dorm, Syarrhe grinned widely, her eyes shining with excitement.

She had figured out how to achieve unit cohesion- and now she couldn't wait to test it out.