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buy a continent for the value of the load and ship together.”
    She nods. “Should we just stay in our areas and leave everyone else alone for the trip? We do have numerous training sims we could run through, and our equipment will need regular maintenance.”
    The chief shakes his head. “No, you should participate and socialize. Every new face and new topic of conversation will help keep everyone shipboard sane.” He smiles. “You have to understand that this is a very small community and we see no one new for weeks at a time. Even then, there will not be a lot of people that are really ‘new,’ so after a long enough timeframe, everyone starts to get strange. Colorful clothing, and other—usually harmless—activities. We have a ceremony for those first crossing out of the Sol System and a celebration party for those who have travelled the Mama for the first time. There are other things like that going on as well. So no, please do socialize and interact.”
    The chief hesitates for a second before continuing. “I am the head of security for the ship and our AI is good at running scenarios for sim training. But the crew is small enough, and after several years of this training, I am starting to see patterns forming, which will establish a mindset within the crew, and expectations of what would happen in the event of a real attack. That can kill people. Would you be willing to participate in our sims as the enemy? Your training is different, and I am guessing completely unlike what we would all expect.”
    The two Marines looks at each other and then nods in agreement.
    The chief smiles. “Good.” He turns to the two boys that are fidgeting at the side and trying not to stare at the two Marines, and gestures them forward.
    He points at the brown-haired boy. “This is Derek, my son. He will act as one of your guides and information sources while on the Mama .”
    He gestures to the other blond boy and adds, “This is Snyrl, who will act as your other guide.”
    He stops for a second and then chuckles as he looks back at the Marines. “I am sorry—with the boarding and everything going on, I seem to have forgotten my manners and we have not conducted a proper introduction. I am afraid you know all of us, but we do not know how you prefer to be addressed.”
    The female Marine smiles. “I am Two, and this, my associate, is Eight.”
    The three crewmembers stare blankly for a second.
    She continues. “I take it you have not been briefed on how the Marines work within the sections and platoons?”
    There are negative nods and curious looks.
    “Very well. Like you, we practice our drills constantly. Something that was identified early on is that yelling names over the comms for personnel to get work done will, during high-stress operations, cause confusion. So everyone in a section is numbered. All our training is the same, so any one of us can fill in any position within the section. So four could be heavy weapons or sniper, over-watch or assaulter.”
    She smiles again and her entire face lights up; she has a tattoo on her neck, adding even more character. “Of course, that is training, and some have natural skills that will come to the fore. We operate in such small groups that knowing that anyone can do any of the jobs simplifies everything during heavy action.”
    The smile leaves her face as she looks the security chief in the eye. “Of course, names also are a way of creating attachments. Attachments in a small unit are going to happen. But we each have our job to do, and if we start second-guessing because we have to be concerned about those attachments… well, that is a fail point.”
    The other Marine, Eight, who had been silent to that point, nods, smiles and quietly says, “Please understand, Patroe; they are right, as you lose combat effectiveness, and that leads to increased casualties. In a straight fight we decrease the odds of losing and of taking casualties that would reduce our combat