The private teeters on the edge, but the defiance doesn’t look like much when the Juno starts working its healthy fist, massive joints sliding around in their housings.

“Did you hear me? Stand down, private. I am not cleaning you off the paving.”

The visor stares at him. “Yes sir,” she manages.

“What was that?” He taps the side of his helmet. “I didn’t copy, private.”

The rest of the squad is staring.

“Yes, sir.” A little louder this time.

The sergeant nods, turns back to me. “Apologies, jockey. We need to sweep you, but the company’s got me minding children at the same time. We’re going to try and keep it civil.” He growls at his squad. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” they reply, loud enough to echo.

“I hear you lost a pair of wings today. Some of us were a little fast on the uptake there, and I know you need the space right now. Let us do our jobs, and we’ll be out of your way. We don’t want any trouble.”

I watch him, but it’s difficult to get a read with his eyes behind the glossy visor. “Neither do I, sergeant.” I’m aiming for steady, but I get hoarse instead. “How is this going to go?”

“By the book.”

“What’s in the book, sergeant?”

He nods, back in familiar territory. “We’re decontam and collection. We start with a once-over for particulates, and anything you picked up during the dismount. That’s your boots, for the most part, but we have to sweep the whole suit.” He cocks his head at the private with the death wish. “She’s the pat-down, but I can find you another if you want.”

I glare downrange, but it’s half-hearted. She’s a nugget if I ever saw one, treading fight-or-flight now that she’s on the toes of a military shell. The eyes tell me ‘fight’ was what came up first, fading now that someone’s pulled her short. “Is she going to do anything stupid?”

The sergeant matches my look, but adds in acid. “Are you going to do anything stupid, private?”

The private shakes her head a little faster than she should, rattling her helmet around on top of her head. “No, sir.”

“There you go.” He spreads his hands and feet like a jumping jack. “Just like this, and we’ll make it go as fast as we can.”

I cross my arms. “What about the hose?”

One of the jackets shrinks back where I can’t see.

“Last step. Once we’ve cleared you of the obvious stuff, we hose the flight suit and clear the runoff.” His shoulders drop at the look I give him after that, like he’s expecting a fight, but he continues. “After that, the suit goes for final decontamination.”

I hold his gaze.

He spares half a glance for the Juno. I can feel it watching him.