Whatre the odds of being attacked by ocean roots if were on land? Ayaka asked. She had already been briefed about the assumed safety of the plants on land, but was still wary of the root network at the bottom of the New Australian Sea.

We estimate it at less than one in fifty, Commander. We stopped getting reactions from the roots at about a kilometer from the shore when we sent down the mana batteries as bait, but well be testing it with a few landers full of marines before we greenlight any researchers or explorers landing. Begging your pardon, you just arent as trained as we are when it comes to havoc and mayhem, Maam, Major Kelly OShanrahan answered. He was the commanding officer of the Farsights marines, and it was his job to ensure the safety of the exploration teams on the ground.

Once were positive that the surface is safe for extended stays, then you can come down and establish a more permanent camp, he continued. Before that, I can only allow brief expeditions, since we just dont know how the locals will react to long-term residences.

Locals, Major? Ayaka faintly smiled at the marine.

Aye, Maam. Locals. In marine country, were split about sixty-forty for the root network being sapient. But you know leathernecks, well gamble on anything.

(Ed note: Marine country is the dedicated area on naval vessels that the marine contingents stay in. They like to keep a separation between the services aboard ship to prevent friction and conflict between marines and sailors, and it developed into A Tradition over the centuries.)

I see.... Another thought occurred to Ayaka and her brow knit in a frown. Im sure well have at least a few thatll refuse to return to the surface. Whatll happen to them?

Well, Maam, while Id like to send them to the ocean surface in a rowboat without oars, the likeliest outcome is that theyll be reassigned to the Proxima and replaced with someone from there who IS willing to go. Not like we have any shortage of eggheads willing to risk their biscuits for a chance at immortality in textbooks.

After all, while we technically can force them to go back down, you cant force good work out of scientists. So well just dock their pay, replace them, and when its convenient, the brass will load up a ship and send them home.

Ill let the team know, and put together a list of people that request reassignment, Major. Youll have it before were cleared to depart for the surface. Thank you, Ayaka said.

Understood, Maam. Well have you dirtside in no time.

Ayaka nodded and swiped her AR display closed. She sent a request to the research team leads for them to put together a list of their team members requesting reassignment and a second list of who their preferred replacements would be, then discarded her perfect posture and leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

......

Keep your eyes and ears open and your trigger fingers loose, marines. No respawns anymore, so no dumbfuckery will be allowed. Looking at you, Chang, Lieutenant Jason Morris said to the company of marines in the lander with him. A wave of chuckles followed his words, along with the soft metallic sound of soldiers in full battle rattle performing final checks on their gear.

A comms request popped up on his HUD. He blinked to answer it and the pilot appeared in his field of view.

Weve been cleared to fly. Your boys strapped in back there? Things might get rough, the pilot said.

Were always ready. Lets get this show on the road, theres dumbfuckery to be had.

Copy that, the pilot said and Lieutenant Morris was immediately slammed into his crash harness by the hammer of god.

Coulda warned me, asshat. Beers on you when we get back, the marine company commander grunted, but the pilot only laughed and cut the comm channel as he performed completely unnecessary evasive maneuvers. Jason spat a stream of cursing that would make any NCO proud for the full minute it took to reach their destination.

Archangel to jarheads, you are clear to unass my ride, the pilot announced over the speakers in the landers passenger cabin. In case you didnt understand me the first time, that means get the fuck off my lander, marines. As he said that, the aft bulkhead fell open and slammed to the ground.

The marines crash harnesses released them and they sprinted down the ramp, setting up a perimeter around the landing zone in a focused silence that spoke of long hours, months, or even years of training in the time-dilated simulation. Every marine in the Bravo Company Bulldogs had a place, and each of them knew exactly, to the millimeter, where that place was.

The lifter rose back into the air to provide fire support, should it be needed, and the marines waited in place, eerily silent, for five full minutes as their HUDs generated a threat map.

Time to get to work, marines. We need a functioning camp in twenty hours, clear?

Clear as crystal, Sir! came the enthusiastic chorus of replies.

Jason racked his plasma caster in its place on the back of his armor. He wasnt necessarily the type to enjoy getting up close and personal with his targets, but a plasma caster just seemed like the better weapon choice for use on a planet populated entirely by possibly sapient plant life. It wasnt like a pulse carbine would do much to a tree, after all. Or a root, for that matter.

He looked up and watched as container after container came screaming down from orbit and slammed into the ground after a brief flare of thrusters to make the end of the trip as survivable as the beginning for anything inside the containers. Then he saw that some joker had managed to somehow find spray paint and tag each container with elaborate graffiti that spelled out the chorus of the old song by Baha Men, Who let the dogs out?