Sergeant First Class Arden Dugmore and Sergeant Charles Basmanoff, Dumbo and Friday respectively, were covering his back. Behind them two more sticks managed the lower level mentats.
“Better to train as if you can’t,” Mosovich said as Payback fired the charge. The high-energy paste cut through the plasteel as if it were so much paper and as the door began to sag a breaching charge went off, blasting it into the compartment. The Alpha first stick, Recto, Mangler and Sugar Plum, burst through the smoke and cleared the compartment in a buzz of flechettes.
“Clear,” Master Sergeant ‘Recto’ Owen said in a laconic voice. “Unknown alien entity, tentatively identified as an Imeg, in the room. Entity is active.”
“Take down team,” Mustache whispered.
The two and three stick charged through the door and there was a buzz of static on the radio.
“Imeg immobilized. Bagging and tagging.”
The take-down team came through the door with a large Tigger dummy wrapped up in rigger-tape. The stuffing of the dummy had been replaced with sand and it was clear that they were struggling.
“This was fucking Mongo’s idea, wasn’t it?” SFC Sullivan said.
“Yes,” Mueller replied. “And your point, Altar Boy?”
“Exercise terminated,” Mosovich said, looking at his Buckley. “Fifteen minutes twenty-three seconds from entry to take-down. No way it’s actually going to go this smooth, but that’s not bad. Break it down for institutional scab-picking.”
“We don’t have any idea how big these guys are?” Recto asked.
“No clue,” Colonel Mosovich replied. “They could be heavier than the Tigger dummy. They could look like Yoda. No fucking clue.”
“What if they’re, like, beings of pure energy?” Sergeant Alton ‘Sugar Plum’ Sutton asked. The electronics and communications specialist shrugged at the looks. “Dudes, we’re working with wizards. It’s not a stupid question.”
“It is unlikely that they are quantum state entities,” Adept Elijah Hoover said. The sixth level sohon adept was part of the sohon assault trio and, thus, included in the entry team debrief. “Not impossible but the attainment of such an evolved state is one of the goals of the Way. You speak of a species as advanced as the Aldenata. If they have attained such advancement, it is unlikely that even fourteen adepts can contain one of them. In which case, we will find ourselves in a difficult condition.”
“I’ve got a team nick for Hoover,” SFC Cribbs said. His team name was Meister but Chan had already learned that it stood for ‘Drunk-Meister.’ The mentat had been studying the SRS in fascination since the voyage began and was pleased to finally have an opportunity to examine the assignment of such team-names. “I say we just call him Understatement.”
“Whirlwind,” Mangler said.
“Why Whirlwind?” Recto asked.
“The Book of Kings,” Adept Hoover said. “The Prophet Elijah was said to have been taken to heaven on a whirlwind, a dust-devil.”
“Dust-Devil,” Recto said to nods all around.
“Are you going to need to be physically present to control the Imeg?” Mosovich asked, looking at the results of the training so far.
“It is unlikely but possible,” Chan said. “I think that we should be able to control them from practically anywhere on the ship. It is possible, however, that a closer presence may have enhanced effect.”
“Then we’re going to need to work on methods of inserting you into the room,” Mosovich said, nodding but not looking up. “Doors are always crowded places in one of these things. And dangerous places too. Are you going in first or one of your juniors.”
“I think Hoo… Dust-Devil is the better choice,” Chan said. “He has shown the most promise in sohon… control techniques. He seems, in fact, to have much more of a flair for them than construction.”
“Yeah,” Snake said, nodding again. “For all he’s like ‘Me Monk’ he’s got the warrior look. Don’t know if you consider that good or bad.”
“For these conditions and necessities, it is alas good,” Chan said. “I am fascinated by the assignment process of team names. It would be considered the height of insult for a junior to call a senior Lieutenant Penis among the Indowy or those raised by them. I was interested to see the process for assigning one to Adept Hoover.”
“Team names are a sign of acceptance,” Mosovich said, finally looking up. “More than that, really. They’re very complicated. The official reason for them is that they reduce confusion in communication. Everyone has a unique name with no ambiguity. Pilots really started it. But there’s more to it than that. Although everyone recognizes that there are higher and lower ranks on the teams, the necessity is for a sort of fluidity that recognizes that while ignoring it. Master Sergeant Owen, Recto, may give an order to Mangler and it will be obeyed. But in more formal units, Mangler might pass information to a higher authority and then be questioned about it. By eliminating the base thought about who is the higher from a certain portion of the consciousness, by eliminating the ‘Dad’ aspect of ‘Master Sergeant’ from that bit of brain, when Mangler makes a motion for six Glandri, Master Sergeant Owen accepts that data as Recto, a near equal to Mangler, instead of Master Sergeant Owen having to consider the validity of the information Sergeant First Class Dale has passed to him.”
“Interesting psychology,” Chan said, frowning. “One thing that it has been hard to explain to the Indowy, and that even we humans raised by them often forget, is that being superior in position is not always the same as being superior in concepts or current knowledge.”
“Mentat Chan, Adept Hoover, master, student, yada, yada, yada,” Mosovich said, nodding. “There’s a time and a place for hierarchy. In the middle of an entry is not necessarily one of them.”
“We do not normally do… entries,” Chan said.
“It’s going to be a long war,” Mosovich replied. “Better get used to them.”
“I notice that there is no suggestion that I be given a team name,” the Mentat said, smiling slightly.
“You’re heap big mojo,” Mosovich said. “Way too big mojo to think about insulting you. I didn’t, by a stretch, get into the full psychology of team names. But that’s part of it. They don’t want to offend. Another part of it is that while Hoover is also heap big mojo, he just has the… feel of wanting to be part of the team. And since they know they’re going to be depending on him, they’re willing to accept him even though he’s not really ‘one’ of us. He’s a respected associated specialist. They work with them from time to time. Bane Sidhe specialists in one thing or another. Commo, hacking, whatever. So there’s a mental slot for him. Now, Pawle, he’s got less interest in being one of the boys. So they haven’t suggested making a team name for him. Oh, they’ve got one, they just don’t use it around him.”
“Are they aware he may know it anyway?” Chan said, frowning. “Even for a fifth level your communications are not terribly hard to intercept.”
“Wasn’t aware of that,” Mosovich said, shaking his head. “It’s always something. I don’t know if he knows or not.”
“What is his team name?” Chan asked.
“Skank,” Mosovich said.
“Hardly a pleasant name,” the mentat said, his brow furrowing.
“Pawle’s got a real holier-than-thou attitude,” Mosovich said. “If I thought it was going to interfere I would have brought it up. But he does his job, presumably. We won’t really know until we get to the intercept.”
“I hesitate to discuss the issues of junior adepts with you,” Chan said. “They are… complex.”