Nevertheless, it looked as if they might all be on an officer’s track, even her. Tasia had no pull, no connection to the Earth military, but her initial scores had been exemplary, enough to put her into an open category. With King Frederick’s widespread call for huge numbers of new recruits and with the massive buildup of EDF ships, General Lanyan had realized the sudden need for officers as well. Apparently, even a skilled Roamer like herself could accidentally slip into the ranks.

Tasia skinned on her suit with ease. She checked the seals, the power supply, test-inflated the separate zones to make sure the suit would keep its integrity. She had done it so many times that, in spite of the inferior equipment, every movement was natural and automatic. A Roamer looked at his space environment garment as a mobile home no larger than his own body. And a home must be well-maintained, or it might cost you your life.

One of the squabbling men had lost the fight and now dove into the locker and grabbed another helmet, which he sealed down, frantically testing and adjusting until most of the suit systems glowed amber.

Overhead, through transparent sections of the honeycombed hangar dome, she could see the ice-white blazes of distant stars. Twenty seconds remained on the countdown clock. Tasia locked down the neck clamp on her helmet and pressurized her suit. She inhaled deeply, checked all her indicator lights, mostly green except for one that ran amber—the boot-heating unit. She tapped it hard with her gloved fingertip, then shrugged. This drill wouldn’t last long, and she could tolerate cold toes if necessary.

Most of the other recruits were ready, too, some collapsing with relief on the floor of the hangar bay. Tasia wasn’t convinced the drill sergeants would actually dump the atmosphere and risk injuring these children of fat-cat Earth families. Unfortunately, pampered soldiers grew complacent and were thoroughly unprepared in an actual emergency. She would have to keep an eye out for everyone, whether they appreciated it or not. She needed to maintain her priorities and remember that the deep-core aliens were her enemies, not a few stuffed-suit trainees who couldn’t put on their own gloves.

Next to her, she saw one of the nicer young men of the group, Robb Brindle, sitting with a relieved look on his dark brown face. Behind the curved helmet plate, he had smooth, handsome features, honey-brown eyes, and a soft tenor voice that sounded as if it were made for singing. During down times in the cadet quarters, though, when Tasia had played EA’s recordings of a few old Roamer ballads, Robb had always been too shy to sing along.

Unlike many recruits who had hazed her, Robb had accepted her as a comrade in arms. He had even been friendly, joining her at mess, unconcerned with the looks of annoyance from the other trainees.