“Oh?” Rame came over, looking for the injury. “Where were you injured?”

“Shoulder,” Bermont informed him, then grinned. “But don’t bother looking. Nothing to see; they cleaned me up real good.”

Rame examined the bare shoulder on the soldier but couldn’t find any evidence of an injury other than, perhaps, a patch of pink skin. “Here?”

Bermont rubbed the skin where the doctor had pointed. “Yeah. One of those damned buggy bastards cut right through my armor. They’ve got feet like spades or something.”

“Remarkable,” Rame said, looking closer. “And it was as bad you say?”

“Right to the bone. Cut two tendons clean,” Bermont said. “In fact, if the armor’s artificial muscles hadn’t taken up the slack for me, the bastard would have been able to finish me off, easy.”

“Most impressive,” Rame said, shaking his head. “A wound like that would have lain you up for months at home. Perhaps ended your military career.”

“Would that have been such a bad thing?”

Rame and Bermont stiffened at the new voice, turning to see a woman in green coverall-type clothing approaching.

“Yes, Doc,” Bermont replied. “It would be. I like my job.”

The woman shook her head with a hint of disgust in her features.

“Dr. Rame, this is Dr. Brianne,” Bermont spoke up, a hint of tolerant amusement in his voice. “She’s the sawbones that patched me up.”

Rame wasn’t certain what “sawbones” translated into, but the look the woman shot Bermont made it quite clear that it wasn’t complimentary. He placed a careful bedside manner smile on his face and greeted the doctor, as much to distract her from Bermont than anything else.

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” he said. “I’m the chief medical officer of the Odyssey.”

Dr. Brianne cast him a begrudging look, nodding more or less politely. “So you are the one who normally…What was the phrase? ‘Patches them up’?”

Rame smiled. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Brianne was about to say something else, but an odd rhythmic thumping caused all three of them to pause and look around. Bermont was the first to recognize it, and he grinned when he saw the first smoke-black figure approach from over a rolling hill.

“Relax,” he grinned. “It’s just the major and the others. Looks like we’re just about done here.”

Rame watched the approach of the two ranks of soldiers with interest, not normally in a position to see the powered armor they wore in action.

The powered field armor had been introduced toward the end of the Block Wars, and in his post on board a hospital ship, Rame generally only saw units that had been shot to hell and back. The operational armor was a good deal more impressive, he supposed. Though, as a doctor, he’d often been grateful for the basic lifesaving systems built into each suit.

In this case, the two ranks of soldiers looked like they’d been through the fire—literally. The orbital insertion had burned the surface off their armor, resulting in a patchwork of smoke-gray colors and the coal black of the base armor. The end result was something similar to what was once considered a dark urban camouflage, though with a more random set of patterns.