A new combat instructor was assigned to my battalion. If I remember the instructor is that of the human race. They were formerly introduced to us and to be honest I was not impressed. The human was only two-thirds my size and look squishy as a havenworlder, hard to believe that they’re from a deathworld. I was given the chance to spar with the human, I couldn’t even touch them. -- Anon Guest
Many hear a word like "Deathworlder" and instantly conjure the mental picture of an armour-plated being many times their own size. Nobody could have pictured the Human combat master who came to Velidus V. They were small, slight, and seemingly fragile. Their hair was cropped close to their scalp like many a Spacer did. Their clothing was simple and without embellishment.
"This is our fearsome Deathworld instructor?" I scoffed. "They look like a child in their pyjamas." I laughed, and so did the rest of my battalion. We had little to fear from this small figure. We were in our combat-rated livesuits, though our helmets were open. We had nothing to fear from an un-armoured and squishy-looking balding ape.
The combat instructor smiled in a way that should have been a warning. They waited until the laughter died down and said, "There's always one." Then they singled me out. Of course they did. This was Drill Sergeant 101. Make an example of the first wise-ass to give some lip. "Well come on, mountain-tall. You think you can take me in a fair fight?"
I raised my gun. Set to stun by default, since we were still in friendly territory. I said, "I can grease you right now." Or rather, I tried to. I got as far as, "I can grease--" before a painful impact on my wrist and a sudden lack of gun in my hand.
The apparent kid in pyjamas was field-disassembling my gun, scattering the pieces about them like someone distributing rose petals at a joining ceremony. "I said fair fight, mountain-tall. I'm clearly unarmed. Therefore you have to be unarmed."
The rest of my squad didn't find any of this funny, all of a sudden. I still had a height and weight advantage on this runt, as well as servos and armour plating designed to keep me fighting fit in the worst of circumstances.
Which were rendered useless as the wisp of a Human dodged and removed my power pack in one swift motion. "Over-reliance on technology is a weakness. Remove your weakness and fight me in your self."
I was frozen in my immobile suit. I couldn't even pop the emergency escape button. "Uh. Little help?"
The Human, holding the power pack, was smiling. "Have we established firmly that I can kick any given one of your asses three ways to Sunday, or do I have to throw mountain-tall here over your scaling wall in one move?"
I joined in with the unanimous, "SIR! YES SIR!"
"Good," said the instructor. They calmly re-inserted my power pack and returned my mobility to me. "Do talk to your superiors about the design flaw in your suits, when you next have time to spare. You think I am here to teach you to fight. I do more than that. I teach you to survive."
I felt a cold sweat starting to form. Oh yeah. These Deathworlders were everything they bragged they were and more.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / luceluceluce]
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