Jargon and acronyms are a form of condensed language. At their best, between people with shared understanding, they allow for rapid sharing of large amounts of information.
They can also do the opposite.
I don't advocate the below behavior, but it absolutely happens...
"Thank you," said Altern, jotting notes quickly on his data pad. "And what does 'A-R-B' stand for, again?"
"Armaments requisition board," said Cozumel. "That's the process we go through when we want new weapons that aren't in our inventory."
"I never would have guessed," said Altern, nodding as his fingers flew.
"I've gotta run," said Cozumel. "I think some of the other Azzles might have some time, though."
"Glad to hear it," said Altern. He scrolled up in his notes. Azzle, he read. Slang pronunciation for ASL: Assistant Squad Leader. "I know where the Azzles recharge, I'll ask them," he added.
"Have fun with that," said Cozumel. "And when you finish with your list, send me a copy, okay? I'm sure there's stuff in there I haven't seen before."
"I will," Altern promised, then stalled. "Wait, there are terms even you don't know?"
"We love our acronyms," replied Cozumel. "And I only know the ones I've encountered myself. A lot goes on in Hunter Base that I just don't see."
"Wow," murmured Altern. Cozumel had been in the Hunters over nine months—he was practically ancient. If he didn't know all there was to know, how would Altern ever manage?
He was still pondering this question when Cozumel departed. Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer, Altern looked down at his list of acronyms, terms, and jargon, and ran through it once more, trying to commit it to memory. Once he knew how to talk like a Hunter, he'd be one step closer to being a Hunter…
The door to the Hunter common room cycled again. "Hey, rook," came a voice.
It took Altern a moment to realize no one else was in the room and, ergo, he was the only one the words could have been addressed to. That didn't help them make sense. He looked up. "My designation is... Altern?"
His interrogator, a plain-looking, green-armored Hunter with Azzle markings, gave an elaborate roll of his eyes. "Rookies," he muttered. He entered the room and noiselessly eased the door shut behind him.
"Uh… D-class Hunter Third Rate Altern?" Altern tried, trying to tamp down his panic.
"Yeah, you're all rookies to me until you've seen real action," said the Azzle, walking for Altern's table. "If you survive, then I'll bother learning your names."
Altern felt himself shrinking away. "Well, what's real action to you?" he challenged, hating how his voice cracked. "What've you seen?"
The Azzle made a show of failing to suppress a snort. "Listen, rook. I'm Azzle Rekir. You can look up my service history on your own time, and when you do, feel free to be embarrassed for asking that question. Meanwhile, I've got something more pressing."
Rekir settled into the chair across from Altern. It should have put Altern at ease; instead it made him feel more squeezed than ever. "I heard," Rekir went on, "that you're putting together a Hunter Base acronym list."
Altern hesitated. He knew there was a right answer, but he didn't know what it was. Why did it feel like he was in trouble? "Yessss," he said slowly.
Rekir sighed. "I was afraid of that."
"Am I not supposed to?" Altern said, his worry spiking. "How can it be bad that I'm trying to understand?"
"Oh, that's not bad," said Rekir, waving his hand. "Trying to understand is a good thing. Nah, the problem is writing down a list that other people might see."
"What's the problem with that?" said Altern as his distress grew.
Before Rekir could answer, there was a crackle from his waist. "Report location," snapped a cold, decisive voice.
Rekir hefted his radio. "Hunter lounge two," he replied promptly.
"Stand by."
"Yes, sir." Rekir replaced the radio, then returned his gaze to Altern. "I'm gonna have to confiscate your list."
"But I need it!" Altern protested.
"You need to learn," corrected Rekir, "and you'll have to find some other way. It's too dangerous to let documents like that float around."
Altern looked down at it. "But it's not… classified information, is it?"
"Probably not, I'm sure you've been careful about that," Rekir granted. His expression became thoughtful. "Let me put it this way. It's in your interest to keep that info to yourself. It's best not to have that kind of knowledge circulate."
Altern's mouth opened before he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. "Huh?" was the best he could manage.
The door flew open. Altern gasped. In strode a vision of Hunter perfection: purposeful, deliberate, technically immaculate. Altern may not have recognized Rekir, but everyone knew Maverick Hunter Zero.
Altern's memory protocols helpfully supplied video of Zero wiping the simulator floor with Altern's whole squad. Altern squelched that subroutine, but too late.
As far as he could tell, though, he didn't even register in Zero's vision. The leader of the Zeroth Squad had eyes only for Rekir. "Rekir," he said, confirming this suspicion, "Shale of the Fourth Squad has accused us of taking spare parts to his squad's ride chasers."
Rekir sighed broadly. "I bet he did."
"Did we?" asked Zero.
"I really don't like that phrasing," Rekir replied. "I didn't 'take' anything, and they're not 'his' ride chasers, they all belong to the Maverick Hunters."
"What did you do?" Zero said, voice sharp.
"I helped Douglas keep up with his vehicle maintenance backlog," said Rekir, and Altern noted how the Azzle's tone had turned low and fast. "Zeroth Squad has op-tempo well above the nominal ay-are-are, so our em-tee-eff is lower than other squads'. That goes double for Fourth Squad, which has a mixed mission profile and a below-average op-tempo, not to mention that our tee-are-are is coming up in two months and theirs isn't for another six. You don't want to fail tee-are-are, do you?"
Zero shifted uncertainly. "No, of course not," he said, but his brow creased in worry. Altern didn't blame him; out of the jargon Rekir had just spewed, Altern understood maybe one term in four.
"Neither do I," Rekir agreed. "So I submitted a ten-eleven for more parts for our ride chasers, but it takes four weeks for those to go through without a you-en-are, which take a couple weeks to get outside of the blanket authorizations we get in wartime. I could have put in a CANAB, but even those take two weeks to process, and that's with an attached ten-sixty-seven."
It was unmistakable, even to Altern's rookie eyes: Zero was squirming. "Does that mean… we don't have enough parts?"
"We do," Altern said, "because I used the Delphi method to estimate our parts needs, filed a two-twelve for parts transfer, submitted an additional ten-eleven to plus-up Fourth Squad and backdated it, and did a hand-transfer per the BISSM."
Altern had to wonder if those were real terms.
Zero looked as unmoored as Altern felt. Though his expression was as stern as ever, he looked off-balance, something Altern had never seen in the simulator. "So we have enough parts," he said, hammering the only point he could see clearly.
"We have enough parts," confirmed Rekir. "And Fourth Squad will end up with more parts than when we started, so, really, we're doing them a favor."
Zero's frown deepened, but if this statement from Rekir concerned him, he didn't know what to do about it. "What do I say to the commander?"
"Tell him what I told you," said Rekir. "We're helping the maintenance shop reduce downtime by focusing its efforts on what breaks first. There are enough parts for everyone."
Zero nodded. "Reduce downtime. Fix what breaks first. Enough parts for everyone."
"You've got it, sir," said Rekir with a note of praise.
Zero's frown vanished. "Good," he said, turned on the spot, and departed, hair swish-swishing behind him.
When the door had closed behind his squad leader, Rekir gave an immensely self-satisfied stretch and sigh. He languorously looked over at Altern. "Thus endeth the lesson."
He plucked the data pad out of Altern's unresisting hand, deleted the jargon dictionary, and handed it back.
"Knowledge is power," Rekir said, smiling wickedly. "Guard it well."