Davis returned, this time with three other people. Scott set to committing them to memory. There was a short man in green armor (Gunther, Jacob (PFC)), a more normally sized soldier in sage (Holcomb, Matthew (PFC)), and lastly a tall man in grey armor with red on the insets bearing a sniper rifle slung casually over one shoulder. His identification was the most unusual as well, just Ohio (FRL). Freelancer. Mercenary. Hired gun. Scott still didn't like the idea and probably never would, people that fought for money just didn't seem like the most trustworthy bunch to throw in your lot with. But if you needed every man you could get, you needed every man you could get.

It was Ohio that spoke up first. "So, you're the Spartan?" he asked Scott.

"Yes."

"Yankee-016," Davis added helpfully. "I remembered."

"Well, welcome to the team," said Ohio, extending a hand. Scott shook it politely.

"Hello," said Holcomb, just to get over that particular formality. He looked back to Wolf. "I thought Command was just trying to be funny," he said, sounding slightly scandalized.

"Well, they wasn'." Wolf shrugged. "Y'should know Command by now. April firs' ain't special to 'em. Humorless bastards."

Ohio, meanwhile, introduced Scott to the squadron. "I'm Ohio, resident freelancer. You already met Wolf and Davis. Wolf's in charge, at least when she's here, and Davis is the rookie. That's Holcomb, he thinks he's in charge. And this is Jake, resident pilot," he explained, indicating the other soldiers by name. He nudged Gunther. "Jake, be nice and say hi."

"Hi," Gunther said, more of a snarl than a word. Still, the voice was quite distinctly feminine.

"She's kinda mean," Ohio added with a note of apology.

"You're on... first name terms?" Scott asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow to himself in the privacy of his helmet.

"I'll answer to Gunther if it's too much trouble for you," Jake replied curtly, then turned her attention back to the mercenary. "If you touch me again, I will kill you," she said.

"Jake," said Holcomb warningly, having overheard. Jake inclined her head a few degrees and said nothing. She was probably scowling, but was at least attempting to appear contrite. Holcomb looked back at Wolf. "Okay, so, what exactly are we supposed to do?"

"I couldn' tell ya, really," said Wolf. "I guess yeh just do what ya normally do and answer any questions." She looked over at Scott. "That soun' right, Spartan?"

Scott, who was beginning to accept that his name was going to be "Spartan" from here on out, shrugged one shoulder. "Yes ma'am."

"Well then," said Wolf, clapping her hands together in a business-like manner, "I s'pose I'll be goin' now. Y'all take care, we need this kid back in one piece."

"Does he still have to be breathing?" asked Ohio innocently.

"Whaddya think?" Wolf snarled.

"Just ignore him, that's what the rest of us do," Jake advised Scott.

Ohio folded his arms. "I like to know the details of any contract I get, Jake. Is it such a crime?"

"When you're stupid, yes."

"Guys, c'mon. Seriously," Holcomb sighed. "Good luck, sergeant," he added to Wolf.

"See y'all in a week," Wolf replied, and jogged off back to the ship. Omega Squadron watched as it lifted off carefully out of the canyon.

"So..." said Davis finally.

"Indeed," Ohio replied after a few seconds of utter silence.

Scott thought for a moment, watching how slowly the dust settled. Something seemed... off. "How much gravity is there out here?"

"A little less than Earth normal," Holcomb replied. "I can't remember the exact figure. You can jump off the roof and land on your feet without jarring your knees too bad, if that helps any." Scott nodded. He'd suspected as much, he'd felt the change when he and Wolf walked to the base.

"We also get two seasons," added Davis "The hot season, and the really hot season. It takes an expert to tell the difference, though." He added that last bit with some pride, from which Scott inferred that Davis probably knew the difference.

"We might as well show you the base," Holcomb said, turning to go back inside. "Not much else to do, anyway."

"That's why we listen to Holcomb most of the time," Ohio said. "He has all the good ideas."

Scott followed Omega Squadron inside, finding the base's interior to be a bit less cramped than he'd thought. It seemed well-lit and clean, at the very least. The main hall ended in a large, rectangular room with a plastic table and chairs, all foldable, in the middle. There was a refridgerator, a re-hydration unit, a sink, and a bit of counter space that was home to a lonely, battered toaster at one end and a microwave at the other, showing evidence of scorching around the door. In one corner of the room there was a communications console that had seen better days. Or better centuries, more likely. The last piece of furniture was an extremely battered sofa against one wall with bits of stuffing coming out, the upholstery of an indeterminate color that managed to be green, grey, blue, and red all at once. Immediately to their right was a staircase, presumably leading to the roof.

"Home sweet home," said Ohio.

"Or Hell, if you prefer. We don't differentiate much," Gunther added, dropping the sharp, cold tone of earlier for one of tired resignation.

"This is the main room," Holcomb explained, waving a hand. "That's what we call it, anyway. It's for eating, the com, and wasting time."

"We do a lot of that," Davis said, so brightly it made something twitch with horror in Scott's mind. Holcomb led on to the left into another hall. It was a bit narrow for the lot of them to be in at the same time, only designed for two people to pass with minimal comfort. There were five doors, two on each side and one at the end.

"This is where we live," Holcomb said. "These rooms here are personal quarters. The door at the end of the hall is the control room. That's where the water pump is, and the generator, and the wallbox of emergency buttons. Panic button, blast door controls, you get the drill. Davis isn't allowed to touch them anymore."

"I've said I was sorry!" Davis protested.

"That doesn't make it okay," snapped Jake. Scott had to wonder what Davis had done with the emergency buttons, but after brief considertion decided he actually didn't want to know.

"Okay, everybody back up. It was a bad idea to come down here, it's kinda small." They moved out of the narrow corridor in reverse order and Holcomb made his way back to the front. He pointed out the hallway on the right wall of the main room toward the far end.

"That's the secondary hall. We came in through the main one. We don't really know why we have two, but we do."

"Probably strategic or something," put in Ohio thoughtfully. "If one gets blocked off, you can get out the other."

"Don't we have the roof for that?" Davis asked him.

Ohio shrugged. "Well, maybe, but it's good to have all your bases covered."

"That was a crap pun!" Davis crowed triumphantly, jabbing a finger at Ohio.

"Wait, what?!"Ohio took a step back, swatting Davis' hand aside as he figured out what the rookie had caught in his last sentence that he hadn't. Then he swore.

"The whole "bases covered" thing when we're talking about defending an outpost," Davis explained, folding his arms. "How do you plead?" he demanded.

"Not guilty, dammit!"

Holcomb continued almost obliviously as they argued whether or not a pun could be a crap pun if it was unintentional, so Scott guessed that they either did this all the time or Holcomb had just given up on keeping them focused. "And that doorway there," he went on, pointed out the one across from the secondary hall but a little closer to the far wall, "leads to the store room and the toilet. Toilet's on the right, flush and put the seat down when you're done or Jake will rip your face off."

"Damn straight," Jake said with a firm nod. Scott doubted she could, but something made him feel pretty sure she wasn't above trying anyway.

"We only get to bathe once every three months or so when we get a fresh water tank, so don't worry about the shower. You're only gonna be here for a week, but still. It helps if you try not to think about it."

"Noted," Scott replied.

"The store room's where we keep supplies. Ammo and food, mostly. We try to ration stuff, but if you need ammo I'm pretty sure we've got more than we're ever gonna need. And, well, that about does it for the inside of the base." Holcomb shrugged. "The last thing is A-BOB."

"A-BOB...?"

"Our robot." Holcomb turned to Davis. "Davis, you seen A-BOB?"

"Um, why're you asking me?" the younger man replied, breaking off easily from his argument mid-sentence. Ohio folded his arms and leaned against the wall to wait.

"I'm asking you because he seems to like you best," Holcomb replied. "So, seen him?"

"Nope." And without pause he was back to making whatever point he'd been trying to make in the crap pun debate. Holcomb sighed.

"Alright, we gotta find A-BOB."

"I know where he is," said Jake.

"Wait, what? You do?" Holcomb sounded surprised.

"Yeah. Follow me." Jake, instead of walking around Ohio and Davis to get back to the main hall, opted to go across the room to the secondary. Holcomb fell into step behind her and Scott after him, leaving Davis and Ohio to bring up the rear if they were so inclined.

"Dare I ask why you know where he is?" asked Holcomb resignedly.

"Because he got on my nerves. I told him to go away."

"Why do I get the feeling you were more specific than that?"

"Because you know me too well."