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"Well," Sayeeda said, a faint smile playing over her lips, "I suppose we had best not take any chances." The restraint harness withdrew with a click and she stood up and bounced slightly and then froze as though waiting for the platform to tumble into the chasm.

"So far so good," she said after a moment. The design was an obvious attempt to have ships in a position where they could be dropped away from the city in case of crash or worse a fusion bottle failure although Junebug couldn't see how that was going to be accomplished before the resulting blast leveled half the city. From the looks of the place it was probably cheaper to build a new city rather than erect a proper blast wall.

"Better get your dismount kit," she told Neil, already pulling her ceramic chest plate on over her black polymer jump suit and fastening the catches. The bruises from the earlier violent maneuvering didn't do a tremendous amount to make the process comfortable, but then comfort wasn't super high on Sayeeda's list of priorites. One of the great strengths of armored regiments was mobility. Movement was a weapon all on its own and one which Colonel Andor had believed in using wherever possible. Most conventional forces couldn't match the modern fighting vehicles the mercenaries used and so they would shift their TOC to threaten the enemy's rear, exhausting or outpacing their foes. The upside of such a tactical doctrine was that troopers learned quickly to be ready to go at a moments notice. Junebug opened the locker by her console in which she had stored a large duffel bag and unzipped it. With practiced ease she donned a utility belt from which hung a mutlitool several pouches and, more ominously, a pair of grenades with colored bands around both ends. Additionally she slung one of the 20mm plasma rifles, a standard infantry calibre with which she was familiar, and hung a small electromotive sub machine-gun from one of the attachment points of the armor. The side arm remained where it was, no point in over doing it. Finally she pulled on her como helmet and dialed the opacity down, changing it from a polarized silver ball to a nearly clear visor.

"Alright," she said, straighentening under the familear weight of weapons and equipment. 

"Lets go meet our hosts."

 It was true that every planet smelled differently, every eco system, both human and natural had its own distinctive blend of aromas. It was equally true, at least in Junebug's experience, that she didn't notice the smell until later. Usually, like now, arrival on a new world smelled like hot metal and lubricant. Occasionally add plasma gun fire, hot exhausts and the sickly resin of cordite. With any luck she would only have the reek of starship to deal with on this planet fall. Junebug walked down the ramp as it lowered on its hydralic pistons, having left Neil at the top to cover her if things went really badly. There was no reason to expect that of course but who knew with backwaters.

The group of -soldiers was too flattering a term- street toughs in uniform, walked towards her, clearly under the impression they were intimidating. They all looked like gutter sweepings whose only talent in the world was being born with a trigger finger. That was enough talent to kill you if you werent careful of course. THey were all young, all male and all tattoed to one extent or another, but the designs were so poorly executed that she could make them out. Junebug kept her hands clear of her weapons but made no bones about being heavily armed.

"Hello," she called, "I take it you are the customs enforcement here abouts?" she called with false joviality.

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