Nikolai Kasheyev shivered, the freezing gale of the planet cutting their way through even his over coat. He swore, the sound snatched away from his lips by the wind, steadying his heavy assault rifle against the waist-high wall of the guard post. The rifle made no protests. Despite the cold, Kasheyev had no doubt that the battered weapon would fire, were it needed. Not that such a scenario was likely, this far out. The Conscript did not know their exact location, nor did he have any great desire to discover it. What use was a secret, once it was known to all? He had his task, and that would have to be enough, much as his heart may rumble its discontent.
The technology of the Coalition was functional, if not exactly user-friendly. The Storm on the pad below him was testament to that particular fact, as was one of many relays to his rear. With it, he could communicate with any of the other guard teams. Improbable as such a need was, it was only through preparedness that it was so. The simplest failure here could have drastic consequences.
Thus, his annoyance. He threw another damp cigarette to the ground, watching as the wind carried it into a nearby snow drift. He was capable of more. He could do more. All had their role to play in the Coalition and Kasheyev stoically refused to believe that his was that of a simple rifleman. That the Premier felt the need to look for foreigners to fill the ranks of the Fighter Corps irritated him, though to express such a view would have been unwise, to say the least. No, instead, he was to sit outside watching the local wildlife for threats of assassination. Unless the closest one had bomb hidden beneath its fur, it appeared the Premier's life was safe.
Nikolai's post was closer then he would have normally liked, the Gunboat obscuring much of his field of vision. Close enough to see the Premier disappear into the cavernous structure, clanking war-bots leaving identical trails on either side.
Perhaps this would be his chance.
Seizing on the impulse, the soldier pulled himself from the wall, handing his rifle to the man behind him. A few words, muffled through their winter gear, and irritated motions toward his fly were enough to secure his passage to the structure's main door. Steadying his grip on the gate, lest he slip on the compressed snow left by the droids, Nikolai hauled the door open.
There was the softest of hums as the war bots turned to face him, weapons raised menacingly. The man froze, halfway through the doorway. Of course, freezing would do little to stop the hail of lead no doubt headed in his direction. Slowly, he raised his hands, allowing the metallic door to swing back into place with a final-sounding 'thud'.
He simply stood stock still, feet parted, as if on the drill square.
Somehow, the Conscript could swear he smelt coffee. Alicia, waiting at the nearby desk, observed his situation impassively, her fingers dancing across laptop keys as if he wasn't there. Something about her manner prevented Nikolai from attempting to draw her attention. In his experience, the notice of a Commissar, female or not, was rarely something to be sought. No, he would speak only when spoken to.
