<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmRBMZE3nujtFsovEM9zMNJhMGdiWtKVbpxzHqMR6PS4yK/sea-79606_1280.jpg</center><center><sub><i> Into the deep - Pixabay [CCO](https://pixabay.com/en/sea-scuba-diving-ocean-water-light-79606)</i></sub></center><hr/>
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In the twelve minutes Duma had given her fellow troopers to meet in the hangar, Ming had tried as much as possible to get his teammates up to speed on all the information which he had been able to glean, as well as details of the mission. Where and when he could, Ike expressed his dissatisfaction about having to lead total strangers on a mission such as this. Ming didn’t know whether to laugh or be irritated. Eventually, he settled for the former. 

The Vanguard had reason to be annoyed about the turn of events. After the four troopers had been through a gruelling mission, with 049 being the most harrowed, their hope for a much less strenuous mission, which was what passed off as vacation these days, had been dashed. Given what he’d been through, Ike had reason to gripe. In any event, he was mature enough not to turn his frustrations against his teammates. Didn’t mean they couldn’t know he was sorely displeased.

Ming, walking briskly, made it to the hangar four minutes ahead of schedule. As usual. He was the worrier of the group, which was part of his job description. Trooper Squadrons in the United Earth Navy were usually four-personnel teams whose members used to have specific designations.

 These designations were no longer strictly observed, although the names stuck, and the bearers of the names had at least decent skill in their assigned designations. Ike, 049, was the Vanguard, in charge of heavy offense; Lori, 084, was the Infiltrator, focusing on stealth and long-distance enemy engagement, Duma, 023, was the Commander, in charge of strategy and coordination, and he, Ming, designated 112, was the Pioneer, combat engineer and all-round techie.

The space vessel to be used for this mission was the Kestrel, a Ghost-class mini cruiser designed for infiltration and other missions which involved subterfuge and clandestine operations. The engineering teams had concluded maintenance, and its engines were already primed. 112 headed into the ship to familiarize himself with the pilot, who seemed to be a cordial fellow. A faint beep inside the helmet region of his exo-suit informed him that the time to commence the mission had clocked. Returning to the boarding ramp of the ship, he saw that his fellow troopers were already assembled, and over half of the infantrymen. Trust infantrymen to be mostly a notch below discipline.

They couldn’t be blamed, perhaps. Most infantrymen were conscripts. People who would have loved to live out their lives in peace, away from the horrors of war. Troopers, on the other hand, had been ‘bred’ for war- genetically modified ‘test-tube babies’, with no idea of who or what their parents were. Which was why, unlike ‘normal’ folk, they had a personal name (to make them feel more human), and then a ‘surname’, which consisted of the military station in which they were raised and trained, with their batch IDs affixed. Ming and his fellows had their ‘surname’ as ‘Prajna-9F’. Quite a name to appear on one’s birth certificate. A trooper’s ‘middle name’ was what they were usually called by commanding officers and in a more military environment. 

Their serial numbers. So Ming’s full name would be read as Ming 112 Prajna-9F, which meant Ming was the one hundredth and twelfth trooper to graduate from Facility 9F in the military base designated Prajna.

Everyone seemed to be hanging around, like they were waiting for something or someone. But before Ming could ask what was going on, everyone’s attention was drawn to some commotion about fifty meters away. From the imbroglio, a rather young-looking soldier extricated himself rather dramatically, all the while in a full-tilted run.

 As he closed distance with the Kestrel and the assembled individuals, he tripped rather gracelessly and ended up in a pile of gear and limbs close to the waiting soldiers. Fighting to his feet, he threw up an arm, saluting, while he panted as if his lungs would give way. The rest of the infantrymen burst into laughter, eliciting Ming to sigh and shake his head. Lori looked like she was trying not to be amused; Ike looked the opposite. 

Duma, for her part, acted as though nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened. “We’re all here. Load up.”

_**To be continued...**_

_**Thanks for coming!**_

_**That little boy,**_

_**@pearlumie**_

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