Darkside was always crowded. It wasn't the largest colony - indeed, it was among the smallest, only dwarfing MIR, LaGrange, and a few low-Earth orbit platforms maintained by the company - but it was still the launching-point for almost all Deep Space expeditions. It's population was transitory, except for a small group of researchers and a platoon of Marines to staff the facility. Otherwise, all residents were merely waiting for a ship to take them to their ultimate destination.

That latter described Hollis's group. Sitting with his squad, Staff Sergeant Hollis Baker lifted a toast to his men. Louie had finally scored a sweet assignment at the Cop, the Copernicus Research Station. By this time next week, Hollis and the rest of his platoon would be serving on (in? - the terminology always confused him) an actual functioning Dyson Sphere.

They had been scheduled to leave this morning, actually; a minor scuffle with some deviants out past Mars had delayed the transport, however, and their departure had been delayed by a day. With an extra day to kill, Hollis and his squad had decided to celebrate their good fortune, taking over most of Darkside's eastern cafeteria to blow off some steam from their extended lay-over.

"Is this seat taken?" a pleasant voice asked. Hollis didn't know the woman it belonged to, but his men appreciated her attention nonetheless. She was attractive, she was smiling, and she seemed to have eyes for the Sergeant alone.

"Why no miss, that seat is all yours."

Baker shoos one of his Marines down the bench six inches with a lifted eyebrow, and makes room himself the other way.

"I do have to warn you though. Smith there can get a bit grabby if you don't watch his hands, and under no circumstances allow your fingers to get anywhere near the Moose's mouth."

Corporal "Moose" Muszynski smiles along with the joke, revealing a set of broad white teeth like ivory shovels. Baker grabs a recyclable cup off of a stack and indicates a pitcher.

"Would you like a drink, miss...?"

"Colleen," the woman replies as she squeezes in between Baker and Smith. "A drink would be lovely, Sergeant. Thank you."

She leans her elbows on the table and grins across at Moose. "So, Moose. How'd you get that name? I notice a decided lack of antlers."

The Moose's smile gets even wides as he stands up, and towers over everyone at the table.

"Well miss, I figure it would be even easier to sho-"

"Corporal Muszynski! Remember yourself!"

"Aww come on, Top! I was just kidding!"

The Marines' hoots of inappropriate encouragment turn into laughter and mocking as the Moose deflates. If Colleen can't tell that these men are all drunk, she must be aggressively naive.

Colleen arches a brow, and smirks, while keeping her eyes locked on Moose's belt as he sits. "So, compensation, of course." She leans over and winks at Baker. "How about that drink, soldier? Care to fill a girl in on the celebration?"

Baker grins and waves his arm to encompass his dozen Marines, all fairly well in their cups.

"We have finally gotten our next posting, and are rotating out of here."

The men cheer. One of them jumps up and leans over the table at Colleen.

"Yeah! Gonna finally get off of this sunless, airless, funless, cold, miserable, no-scenery-worth-looking-at ball of dirt! Goin' to a Dyson Sphere. Finally going somewhere with a female population larger than will fit in a shuttle!"

The men cheer, louder. Baker laughs in a subdued way and has a drink.

"Word came down to our Lieutenant that we're shipping out. Should have already, in fact, except-"

"Except some damn pirates went and caused trouble and now we got a whole 'nother 24 hours to party! I just wish there was some p-"

"Stow that poop, Marine! We have female company and I am your Sergeant so you will treat the lady with respect. And I don't just mean when I'm right here. You boy's can't all be as stupid as Smitty, and the Moose must have told you that even if I was on Venus I'd still have my eye on you."

Baker pulls down his lower eyelid to emphasize just which eye he is talking about and laughs again, a deep bass chuckle from his belly.

Colleen grabs her drink and raises it in the air towards the table. "A toast, then, to a fine crew of Marines."

She proceeds to chug the drink with Marine-like ease. Slapping the cup down, she motions for a refill.

"I'm no stranger to the Corps, Sergeant," she says with a grin. "Part of the reason I come down here is because no one else has the decency to treat me like a person. That's my favourite part of soldiers." She pauses, then adds, "Well, maybe my second-favourite part."

The Marines laugh raucously, and drink Colleen's toast. Baker chuckles.

"Well miss, you're more than welcome to join us. The boys have already got all their gear stowed to be loaded, and in my professional opinion as a highly decorated, experienced Sergeant it is always better to go into the freezer drunk instead of hung over. You go in drunk, you'll come out sober. You go in hungover, you'll wish you came out dead."

Some of the more experienced Marines, such as Corporal "Moose," nod in agreement.

"I've never been frozen," Colleen remarks. "The few times I've gotten to travel off Darkside, it's been in one of the high-clearance warp ships." She frowns, while waving for another refill (her third, now). "What're the sleeper ships like?"

"Not so bad. The worst part is going under and waking up. Back when we were still fighting wars when I was a kid I was shipped on a Division transport, and that was awful."

Baker frowns, and looks every second of his thirty-four years. Next to the eighteen year old Smitty it seems ancient.

"The Navy has realized, of course, that while a proper Battleship takes a lot of men to fight, the troop haulers don't. Aside from the command crew and engineering they really only have to bring a doctor and the cooks for themselves. We feed ourselves and maintain our own equipment when we aren't under, and when we are they don't have to 'mind us at all. So if they had their druthers we wouldn't have any one-platoon corvettes like they one we're shipping on tomorrow, just the huge liners like Ypres."

Baker simulates the size in scale by holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, and then his hands eight inches from one another.

"And wake-up morning is a poop show when you have ten-thousand shivering, complaining Marines all trying to get showered, dressed, and fed."

"That's a lot of showers," Colleen muses as she sips her drink.

Shaking her head, she smiles at Baker. "How many transports have you slept on, Sergeant?"

Baker muses.

"Si... no. Seventeen. Seventeen sleeps."

Baker starrier ticking off fingers, counting trips silently.

Moose's jaw drops.

"Seventeen? Top, I've been in ten years and I've shipped sleeper six times. God damn."

"Wow," Colleen breathes. "Seventeen? You must have so much ... experience."

Baker leans back and scratches his ribs, and then finishes his beer before pouring another one.

"I've gotten lucky. Or not. Lot of combat drops, and most of the fellows who I shipped out of basic with aren't in anymore. Really easy to get roped into a real estate deal if you don't stay frosty."

Colleen now seems completely enraptured by the Sergeant (though she does manage to slap Smith's hand away without looking). "You've got to have some really fascinating stories."