Evasive Maneuvers

[Cassie Granger 0]

Evasive Maneuvers

Dips in the river over the last thirty days barely kept her presentable, and the dunking she’d taken in the local open-hole cesspool gave her tribal garb a permanent odor to make any Marine sniper envious. The cesspool was a total accident, mind you, a misstep and a slip while getting her bearings. It gave the Hill Tribe team she was working with a chance to hoot - a real ice breaker for them, a “glad I had my mouth closed” for her. Wasn’t the first time; wouldn’t be the last.

Add to that her “evasive maneuver” training - teaching the warriors how to mask their scent and blend in with the environment - which incorporated a hell of a lot of her basic recon/sniper training and not a little dung-plastering around the torso - and she fairly reeked when she stepped aboard the shuttle, her brief wash in the creek beforehand notwithstanding.

The expression from the pilot as she stepped aboard said “you’re ridin’ on the wing,” but he was enlisted and she was warrant. No contest. Couldn’t say the same for the lieutenant, but Sakura didn’t seem to mind.

To her credit, Cass did take time to grab a ground cover from the locker and drape it over the seat. No sense in getting maintenance riled. She put a paper under her boots as well, even though they would become one with the recycler as soon as possible. She figured the “shoes and shirt required” reg in the bays might change after her trek through, but as it was she’d have to wear those rank boots all the way to her quarters and ignore the looks and comments.

But she wasn’t exactly embarrassed. It was her little bit of payback for a month-long pseudo-recon-type assignment on-planet, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

It’s a Marine thing.

Then there was the tattoo, something the tribe decided should cover the scar on her left arm. It wasn’t exactly regulation, but the team she was working with seemed to think it necessary to her very existence so she couldn’t very well refuse. The stylized mugato horn and fang represented valor. It was woven throughout with kearnah leaves, worn by victorious warriors much like laurel wreaths were worn by the Greeks, and Cass had to admit it didn’t look half bad. The only thing she had a problem with was the tiny splotch they insisted the artist put in the middle. It looked suspiciously like a turd and their hearty laughter as he plied his trade tested her diplomatic skills big time. Then there was the sanitation issue. She planned to visit medical asap after extraction, figuring she’d have to round off her month of duty with a month of antibiotics.

Upon returning to the ship, Cass decided that despite the yellow alert no one would appreciate her presence on the bridge in her present condition, so she bolted for her quarters and a quick but thorough shower and uniform. All-in-all, she counted her Neural experience a plus, but still a hell of a thing.