[b]A Study in Green[/b]

Remi stared at the blade. A simple thing. Small, functional, no unnecessary adornments. The only embellishment, the academy logo inset in the polymer handle and a serial number stenciled into the pommel. 122876. The number had no special significance. But there was an elegance to the little object. A purity of purpose that Remiel found...pleasing. This was a tool, engineered for singular intent. It was meant to facilitate the deliberate acts of cutting and piercing. It had no other utility and needed none.

But it was not special. In spite of the singularity of its purpose, it possessed no special qualities that made it stand out from any other of the countless blades like it. It could save a soldier's life, be the critical difference between success and failure. But no one would spare it much thought.

Remi returned the blade to its sheath. Remiel aspired to be the knife. He worked and honed himself to be an instrument of razor edged intentions. Perhaps that was why. Perhaps, in spite of his utility, all that he had done to temper himself into an efficient, irreplaceable tool...he was replaceable, a fungible, forgotten piece of kit. He was alright with that possibility. All he had ever wanted to was to serve well. Glory meant nothing to Remiel. Glory was for bellowing blowhards and pageant queens. Remiel strapped the blade to the inside of his gloved forearm with conviction. He straightened and looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned.

[i]But why not me.[/] After all, Remi had worked every preprogrammed wargame scenario in the academy's archive until he'd mastered each and every one. He had spent hundreds of hours on the simulations. He was a full order of magnitude higher than any of his team. He would have been even more highly placed if not for his consistant failure of the randomized scenarios. But what did that matter? On aggregate, he was still the best choice. The [i]logical[/i] choice. So why? What was missing. What was the flaw that kept him from command? Was there an imperfection he could not see? Was he simply made of inferior materials. Why?

Remi's frown deepened. He was no jealous. Jealousy was the purview of spoiled children and insecure fools. Remiel was not jealous. He was just trying to understand. Yes. That was it. This was just a matter of incomprehension. Remiel just wanted to understand the decision. Maybe he could speak with WARG's appointment council. It wouldn't take long, just one question. Remi inspected himself in the mirror. The combat, bodyglove clung to his lean, angular frame. A body he had worked as hard as his mind. Winnowed down until only skin, muscle, bone, sinew, and nerve remained. He was the second ranked unaugmented undergraduate close quarters combatant in the academy. Surely that counted for something. They had to know how hard he had worked to be the best soldier possible. They had to.

Remi's frown twisted and tightened into a grimace. He certainly wasn't vain. Vanity was for...the clock flashed backwards in the mirror, catching his eyes. The pale green numbers playing across the glass.

"Shit."

*****

Remiel had never been late to an official function in his entire tenure at the academy. He vaulted over another railing as he cut across the campus. Not once. Punctuality was a virtue. A single second could mean the difference between success or failure. He leapt down the remaining flights of stairs towards the main vestibule. How could he have most track of time today? The beginning of his combat tour! Remi whirled around a pair of cadets, his combat webbing slapping around his flanks. Now, more than every he needed to be vigilant. On point at all times. He couldn't let his personal hang-ups interfere with his duties. If he wasn't going to keep to task who would?

Bursting out of the main entrance, Remi decelerated as his team came into view. All momentum, all of his worries bled away for a single instance as he looked down on them and remembered. That's right. That was why he cared so much about some stupid Captain position. Why the numbers and the sweat meant so much. For a single, brilliant moment of clarity, Remi could see the forest for the trees. No one had spotted him yet, no one to see. For the single, private instant Remi smiled. Not a large smile, just a little grin. Like the light glinting off of his blade, it flashed and vanished from his countenance. Remi collected himself and rounded on his team, his face a mask, his movements fluid and sharp. He looked at each of them before finally turning to Olivia. He nodded.

"Captain."

*****

"With respect Captain Celestine, I believe we should keep moving under cover. If the Nautilus have secured the outer city and are anticipating our response, they are certain to have long-range sentries waiting for our approach. Every second we spend here is one more chance for them to take notice and organize a response." Remi kept low to the ground, knee-crawling forwards with swift, professional movement, that nonetheless looked completely ridiculous among his less disciplined squad mates. Drawing the spotter scope from his webbing, Remi extended the end over the ridge.

"...rangefinder puts us at being 1.7 kilometers from the city limits. I can see no signs of Nautilus patrols, though there could be forces hiding in the copses and residential structures as we approach."

Remi withdrew from the ridge, crawling backwards towards his group. He looked up and around at his squadmates. Some sitting, some standing. Some looking at him like he was a complete jackass.

"...what?"