SENJO – FIRST SQUAD – AT THE DROP SHIP<br/><br/>As Lance Corporal Beneke stomped away I looked impassively at his retreating back. I had an entire planet's worth of data compressed into my mechanical brain, all manner of files and media. One of them was a piece of fiction film –<em>science fiction</em>– about a future world under the control of machines, with one of them, called a<em>Terminator</em>, sent back in time to kill the mother of the man who led the human rebellion that overthrew the machines. It was a timeless tale of the human endeavour and psyche facing its own fears and even simple stories such as that one had lessons for me to learn.<br/><br/>There was one scene in that story where the Terminator, damaged after combat, was repairing itself in a motel room. The janitor outside complained of the smell and in response the machine cycled through a menu of appropriate retorts applicable to the situation to finally choose a curse that sent the meddling janitor away.<br/><br/>My reaction to Beneke's retort was not entirely dissimilar. There was no emotion, but there was the opportunity to improve the situation for squad morale. I found, in my data storage, a suitable reply and used it. I raised my voice and spoke to the big man's retreating back.<br/><br/><strong>"I prefer the term <em>fucking sweet cheeks</em> myself."</strong>