Ted Smith – or Teddy, as his friends called him – frowned at the paperwork. He had been given a list of names – more like designations, he thought to himself – and told to prepare the ship for immediate transfer of a Spartan fireteam. There were five Spartans listedn, meaning that whatever mission the ONI prowler was about to go on, it was very important.
These Spartans will be the death of my supplies, Teddy sighed to himself, taking another swig from the water-bottle at his hand.
He was truly grateful for all that the shadow-soldiers did for humanity. Not that many soldiers or civilians knew about the green-armored giants. ONI wasn't ready to admit their existence, troubled as it was. Lowly though he was, as logistics personnel, Teddy knew something about the program wasn't totally kosher with moral fighting guidelines.
None of that was helping him figure out the nightmare of these logistics requests, though. First of all, the Spartans needed clothing larger than anything the UNSC routinely provided. He'd have to put in special orders for fatigues. Second, the Spartans traveled with a compliment of technicians, two to three each, and they all needed quarters, clothing, food, hygienic gear, and rec-room time. Third, they required specialized equipment to get in and out of their armor, which took a long time anyway. And finally, he'd been warned to allocate at least 3000 calories per day, resting rate, and 5000 when fighting. Who ate that much?
Teddy sighed and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. A beeping from his desk alerted him to a visitor outside his door, and he buzzed them through in curiosity.
Two people entered – the first was a very tall man, nearly seven feet if Teddy had to guess. He was undecorated and utterly plain, except for his height and massive build. He had light brown eyes and thick, springy brown hair cut in a perfect military style. His clothes were crisp, though form-fitting, and even without announcing himself with the Spartan eagle pinned to his chest, Teddy could recognize a Spartan from the descriptions.
The other was smaller, thin and wiry-framed, but strong-looking with no-nonsense grey eyes and short yellow-blonde hair tucked securely under a black head band. She wore round-rimmed glasses and carried a personal tablet under one arm, a stack of papers under the other. Real, 2d-printed papers.
"Welcome," Teddy said politely, offering his hand first to the woman. For all his strength, the Spartan was obviously not in charge here. The woman's handshake was firm, not like the limp octopi Teddy shook on occasion. "I'm Teddy."
"Samantha," the woman replied. "I'm head technician for Blue Team. This is Sierra-117; he leads the Spartan team you'll be transferring."
Teddy acknowledged the man with a polite nod, offering his hand. He shook it and Teddy could feel the constrained power in the larger person's admittedly gentle grip.
"I just got your files," Teddy said, waving for the pair to sit and taking a seat himself. He raised an eyebrow slightly when the Spartan, instead of sitting, stood silently behind the female technician. "I haven't been able to put everything together yet."
Samantha nodded. "I hadn't expected you to," she said soothingly, pushing across the pile of papers. "This should clear the way considerably. We carry pre-filled requests for clothing, augmented rations, and such requirements as the Spartans have with us between ships. It makes everything faster."
Teddy silently thanked all the gods listening as he shuffled through the papers. This would make his job a thousand times easier.
"There are also a few requests we don't put on paper, to preserve anonymity," Samantha continued, passing over her tablet this time. Teddy took it with a raised brow. "How well acquainted are you with the program?"
"Not well," Teddy muttered.
Samantha nodded in understanding. "It is important that the Spartans – and we technicians – have a garage repurposed for our use. We'll leave our equipment there, and everyone sleeps together, so you won't have to worry about finding bunks for everyone. We also provide our own cots, blankets, and hygienic products – and, of course, the MJOLNIR equipment."
Teddy injected gently, trying not to interrupt but confused. "I thought they – you," he corrected, glancing at the Spartan still lurking behind the technician, "traveled without equipment."
"For the purposes of public record, Spartans are considered military hardware, thus requiring no human necessities," the man replied quietly. His voice was a deep brass, gravelly and older than he seemed. "Food and water are all we require from the ship, occasional medical supplies – everything and everyone else travels with us."
"Like a circus," Teddy muttered, nodding in understanding. "I can appropriate the food. 3000 calories per day?"
"Closer to 6000, if we are fighting," the man corrected. Teddy nodded, scribbling a note in the margins of his personal notes. "If necessary, we have suggestions as to what kinds of food are cheapest and easiest to transport, if it strains your holds to carry that much. Any long Slipspace journey will see us in cryo."
Teddy shook his head. "Five Spartans, three meals a day?"
117 simply nodded. "We have staying power for the battlefield," he elaborated. "Supply dumps are not as necessary for us."
Teddy nodded. "Good, thank you. I don't know the nature of this mission…" He waited, suggestive, but both guests were silent. He shrugged. "But I'll put in requests for at least a week dirt-side, or whatever. If we need more, I can always send a request to another supplier."
117 nodded. "It should not take us that long," he said mysteriously.
Teddy simply nodded. "Do you have personal requests?" The Spartan tilted his head to the side, confused. "You know," Teddy explained, frowning slightly. "Types of food you prefer, music… I'm in charge of providing not only material comforts but keeping up morale on board, keeping tension to a minimum, that kind of thing. What do you do in your spare time?"
117 glanced at the technician as though Teddy were speaking another language. With a sympathetic smile at the tall man, Samantha answered Teddy. "They don't have morale issues, Teddy. We'll be fine. Restless Spartans take care of themselves, and we usually freeze them for long jumps anyway."
"What about your crew?" Teddy asked the woman, hiding his surprise at the casual dismissal of very human tendencies in the Spartans.
Samantha flapped a hand. "We're self-sustaining," she replied. "Thank you, though. You're the first logistics person we've dealt with who's asked."
Teddy nodded, still slightly puzzled.
"If that's all you need from us, we'll be getting out of your hair," Samantha said politely, standing. Teddy rose quickly and offered a hand. "Thank you for your time, Teddy. We'll see you aboard."
"If you need anything, my quarters are always open," he replied warmly. They pair left, the Spartan nodded a polite, if distant, farewell.
Teddy turned back to the physical paperwork and the tablet on top of his own personal notes on the Spartans. He'd been interested in the project ever since whispers of the super-soldiers started drifting down from command. And now he'd met one. He looked forward to meeting the rest.
With a lighter outlook, Teddy returned to his work, filing the paperwork appropriately.