Veraa had been through a string of safety lectures and briefings and even a tour of some of the asteroid’s many tunnels and hallways since being woken at five in the morning, local time—or half-past midnight in the Haiti-Nouveau region, where she’d been living for the last few years. It was clear that all of the recruits were still firmly stuck in their old timezones, and faces ranged from slightly bored wakefulness to the nearly comatose. They’d been issued with their basic uniforms before their first lecture; they’d been taken in groups of thirty to a hall where civilian contractors bustled about with tape measures around their necks, fitting the drowsy recruits with four sets of beige fatigues each, plus a shiny black belt and a pair of shiny black boots and a floppy beige garrison cap that made each of them look like they were wearing wallets on their heads.
By lunchtime, Veraa felt fully awake at last. After lunch, the recruits were allowed an hour of free time in their dorms. A dorm was a narrow room with ten single beds inside, each with a low, wide locker at the foot and some really itchy blankets. They had quickly learned that ten recruits made up a ‘section’, and three sections were a ‘platoon’. Two or more platoons could be called a ‘company’, and two or more companies made a ‘battalion’. Recruits were routinely quizzed by staff as to which unit they were in, and Veraa had practiced saying “Three Section, Two Platoon, Alpha Company, First Recruit Training Battalion” as fast as she could.
Veraa sat down on her bed and tugged her garrison cap off, ruffling her loosely-tied red hair with a hand. The girl in the billet across from hers gave a small nod. Veraa got up and sat down on top of her locker, folding her legs and facing the only other girl in the section. “Hey,” she said, sticking out a hand across the gap. “I’m Veraa.”
“Amy,” said the girl, shaking the outstretched hand and sitting down on her own locker. “What’s your ESN?”
Veraa chewed her lip and tried to remember her Employment Specialization Number code, knowing she shouldn’t have forgotten it so quickly. “Um… Eighteen Sixty-four, Cavalry Scout. You?”
“Twenty-seven Twelve, Interpreter-Translator. I specialise in Finnish, Gaelic and Spanish. It used to be called a Zero Nine Lima, and before that it was a Navy job.”
“Impressive. Sorry for asking, but what kind of accent is that?”
Amy grinned. “Oh, phew, I thought you were going to ask what part of America I’m from. Loads of people think I’m American or Canadian, but I’m actually from Hong Kong.”
“Strange, you don’t look Chinese,” laughed Veraa.
“Well, my parents are actually Irish, but they emigrated just before the war, when I was seven years old. They picked HK because they figured it would stay neutral if a war started.”
“They must be psychic.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Amy giggled. “So anyway, I grew up in Hong Kong and went to school there. A lot of the English-language schools there have teachers who are American ex-pats, and when people speak English there the accent sounds a lot like an American or Canadian accent, except some of the vowels and other sounds are more like Britannic English.”
A Syrr male excused himself and slipped between them, heading toward the door. He did a double-take when he saw Veraa. “Whoa… sorry, I haven’t seen another Syrr in… I dunno, nearly a year. Hi! I’m Tahj Alteh’l.”
He held out a green hand and Veraa shook it daintily. “Veraa Kulhu’ra,” she grinned, responding in kind to his less-formal greeting; Syrr’a include their species as a part of their full name, part of their identity.
“Well, uh, it was nice to meet you,” he smiled. “I look forward to working with you here.”
“Yeah, you too.”
He made for the door again, and Veraa called out after him. “Hey, Tahj!”
He turned around. “Hmm?”
She thought quickly. “Uh, what’s your ESN?”
“Eighteen Sixty-two, Cavalry ACV Crewman. You?”
“Eighteen Sixty-four, Cavalry Scout.”
“Guess we’ll be working pretty closely, after all. See you later.”
“Yeah, seeya.”
He left, and Amy winked. “He’s kinda cute.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so. I have a boyfriend, so I can’t really comment.”
Amy snorted. “So? He’s not here, is he?”
“No, he’s already in the Navy.”
“There you go, then. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right? Besides, you’re still allowed an opinion on whether a guy’s cute or not.”
Veraa shrugged. “Well, I guess so.”
“Not to mention you’re blushing a little.”
She clapped her hands to her cheeks and grinned. “Okay, okay, he was cute.”
Life on the Fringes 