Despite handing his phone and electronic watch over to the Specialists, Richard was still subject to an extra scan and pat down. At first, it puzzled him why, but he guessed that, given the instructor’s sarcastic reference to “government tracking chips,” the Specialists were also looking for any small earpieces, hidden radios, or even the slightest presence of electronic activity on Richard’s body. And it didn’t feel invasive, but it took rather long as they scanned and patted his body multiple times before he was finally done. In addition, one of the Specialists probed him with a small laser pointer-like device that he scanned over the upper body, collar, waistline, legs, all the way down to the soles of his feet that were planted on a glass platform with two squares to firmly indicate the appropriate standing position. And within a few seconds of this scan being completed, Richard was promptly informed by the Specialist, “Your uniform is being sized up and delivered as we speak. Your locker is number 220 in the Cadet Changing Hall.”
The locker room was illuminated by narrow, linear panels projecting a whitish-blue lighting, like the rest of the base. Apparently, gender had no bearing on locker assignments, as there were two other men and a young woman in Richard's row.
The uniform was a bit of a disappointment on first glance in his locker: it was practically a S.W.A.T. team uniform but the color was brightened to show a bluish hue mixed within the ordinary black. The upper and lower halves were suspended by simple wire hangers, while the boots stood at the bottom and a utility belt sat in a perfect loop on the top shelf.
Removing his t-shirt, Richard felt his lungs tension up a bit at the brief exposure to the chilly air that flooded through the space. He took a moment to glance up at the slit-like air vents that were producing this chilling stream of air, rolled his eyes at what seemed like an attempt by whoever was in charge here to force him to put his uniform on, and proceeded to do just that. Given that his regular Army jacket only went as far as his elbows back in Iraq and Syria, it made Richard’s skin crawl initially to have to feel this new uniform stretch all the way to his wrists. Luckily, the top jacket’s was thick enough to insulate Richard from the chill of the locker hall but was not too heavy that he felt like he was wearing a pilot’s flight suit. The material also made a stretchy grinding sound when Richard flexed his arms up and then stretched them out in a t-pose. It sounded as though the threads in his uniform were being elastically stretched to their limits even though the ex-Ranger felt very little resistance in the sleeve.
“Hey,” a mid-pitched male voice inquired behind Richard, prompting him to turn. A tall being with scaly orange skin, large black eyes that seemed to feature a grid of hexagons in them but no clear pupils, and slender fingers with bulbs at the ends stood across the bench in the same uniform as the one the ex-Ranger was putting on. “You ready for this, Earth-Human?”
“For training? I certainly hope so.” Richard did his best to hide the nervousness he had towards looking at this non-human recruit.
He expected the being to respond to him competitively; maybe say something along the lines of how far behind the human race was in understanding the greater cosmos. Instead, as Richard set one of his new Response Gear boots against the bench to tie up the laces and stuff his leggings into the shaft, this being simply replied, “That’s the first honest answer I’ve heard today since coming here. There’s hope for you yet, recruit.”
“Honest?”
“You don’t show overconfidence. You’re approaching the situation with wariness and an expectation of things going wrong at any moment.”
As the being turned to leave and Richard had just finished clipping on his new utility belt, the latter asked, “Are you a recruit yourself?”
“Yes, but I’m going a different route than you. Tactical Rescue Service. Since you’re on the right hand side of the aisle,” the being pointed to Richard’s side of the bench, “I’m assuming you’re on your way to becoming a Tactical Combat Operative. And the only way to truly survive that is to prepare for things not going your way.”
The alien walked off with a tall, wide-legged stride, the thumps from his zip-up Haix boots echoing off the stone hard floor. Okay. Richard’s internalized voice slowed the word with uncertainty as his chest thickened with intimidation. As if I didn’t have to do that already. But just how often do things not go according to plan here in this A.T.X.D. force? Richard huffed with a discomforted and unimpressed sigh. I guess I’ll find out shortly.
With his uniform on, his boot laces tightened, and his posture firm, Richard felt he was ready to face what the Rescue Service recruit had told him. So he headed out with the other human recruits on his side of the bench to training.