Isn't That a Girl's Name?

"Georgia? Isn't that a girl's name?" The newly minted Agent Georgia groaned and rubbed his face wearily. "Don't remind me," he grumbled. "I mean, this project isn't even off the ground yet and I'm already someone up top has it in for me. Why the hell was that name so high up the list?" "There's a list?" the well-built, fair-haired guy Georgia was now supposed to call "Michigan" asked, inspecting his new locker. "I thought it was all random." "There's like, what, two women here so far?" Georgia complained. "I mean, Carolina I get, but Montana? That's not a girl's name, is it? Why can't I swap with her?" "It's not exactly a guy's name, either," Michigan pointed out. He slung his duffle bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the locker room floor with a dull thud. "How many people are here so far, anyway." Georgia leaned against his own locker, watching Michigan unpack while he counted on his fingers. A wiry, pale-faced man with neatly-cropped dark hair, he looked at the world through narrowed grey eyes that seemed to find something funny about everything and everyone—except his new code name. "Let's see, there's me, you, Montana, Carolina, that Wyoming guy, and a couple others. I heard they've got a bunch of ex-Marines coming in on the next shuttle, too. Maybe I can call seniority and make one of the new guys trade with me." "Marines, huh?" Michigan asked. He neatly stacked a few extra jumpsuits at the bottom of his locker. "They pulled me from the Army for this gig. "41st Infantry, straight out of Reach. They said my PT scores were off the charts, whatever that means. What about you? Where'd they dig you up?" "Oh," Georgia said with a dismissive shrug. "I'm Navy. Don't have a clue what they wanted with me, but at this point I just go where they tell me." "Really?" Michigan actually sounded impressed. "You see any action before this? In the war?" Georgia rolled his eyes. "I pulled my share of tours. All shipboard stuff, though. No boarding actions are anything like that. Isn't this a program for commandos? What do they expect me to do, fly this ship for them?" "I guess we'll find out soon enough." Michigan set an empty canteen on top of the jumpsuits and frowned at his empty duffel. "Really should have brought more stuff..."  "At least I don't have to worry about getting blown up by the Covenant out here," Georgia continued. "And I don't have to write reports anymore. Or talk to inquiry boards. Hell, it hardly feels like we're in the military at all." "Hell yeah," Michigan replied, perking up. "That's what's so great about this, man. We'll get to test out a bunch of cool equipment and we get paid extra for it. All I want to know is why I couldn't sign on sooner." "Probably because this whole deal didn't exist until a few weeks ago," Georgia pointed out. "There's supposed to be fifty of us out here. That's probably where they came up with the old American states business. Minus the Canadian ones, of course." "Speaking of the military," Michigan said thoughtfully. "What were you in the Navy? I was just a PFC when they called me up. What were you, some kind of petty officer?" Georgia threw open his own locker, scowling as he saw his new monicker printed on the nameplate. "Actually, I was a commander."  Michigan looked stunned. He very nearly came to attention right there until Georgia waved him down. "Sorry, sir, I had no idea—"  "Oh, just forget I said anything," Georgia muttered dismissively, focusing on his empty locker. "And ditch the 'sir' crap while your at it. I don't think any of that matters here, anyway." "Yes, sir—I mean, sure, whatever you want." Michigan relaxed again, but he still looked like he expected Georgia to turn around and bite his head off. "But what's a Navy commander doing here?"  "That's what I said," Georgia said irritably. "But they wanted me here, so here I am. With a stupid name and no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do." "Well, at least we're all in this together," Michigan pointed out. "That's what that counselor guy said, right? We're a team now. All for one and one for all." "Sure, whatever keeps you motivated. Guess you haven't seen the ranking board yet." "The what board?"  Georgia turned and gave Michigan a wry smile. For such a laid-back guy, he sure looked like he knew a whole lot more than he let on. "So you haven't seen it then. They're going to be ranking us somehow. Number one to number fifty, the best to the worse. Guess we'll see how long that whole teamwork stuff lasts once that thing goes up." He snapped the locker shut and strode abruptly from the room. "Well, whatever. I'm gonna go see if it isn't too late to get this name switched.. Catch you later." "Yeah," Michigan said, watching him go with a shake of his head. "A commander, huh? Doesn't sound like much of an officer to me." **  "Fly the ship, huh?"  Georgia stopped in his tracks. He turned to see a lanky woman leaning against the corner of the hallway he'd just passed, arms folded. Her stringy black hair was combed back in a neat, military cut that fell just below her shoulder line. Her eyes—narrowed and observant, just like his—told him that she'd heard every word.  "Oh, it's you," he said, thrusting his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. "Guess I should've known you'd already be snooping around. And what's this I'm supposed to call you now? Montana?" "You don't have to call me anything at all," Agent Montana replied, raising an eyebrow. "As far as I'm concerned, it's best if we pretend we've never met before. And no, I'm not trading names with you." "Well, shoot," Georgia said. "And I was so hopeful, too."  She shot him another look, one that he'd seen in those keen eyes of hers quite a few times before. Yes, it wouldn't be a good idea to get on her bad side, even if they weren't in the field anymore. Plenty of Insurrectionists and Covenant warriors had made that mistake in the past—Georgia had seen their pictures in the debriefings. They hadn't made for pleasant viewing.  "You won't get away with that confused crewman act for long," Montana informed him. "I just got out of a meeting with our new boss. He and that counselor they assigned him already have my entire career sketched out on a dossier. They know I'm from ONI. Hell, the smug bastard even told me he was looking forward to seeing me in action." "Well, sounds like someone just can't take a compliment." Georgia gave Montana a self-satisfied grin. "Besides, your file isn't the one that's covered in black ink. I can pretend to be whatever I want out here. It's one of the perks to being me." She shook her head. "Yeah, because having your entire file classified won't draw any attention at all..."  "Hey, he can make all the assumptions he wants. I just plan to sit back and enjoy my hazard pay while I'm not getting shot at." "Why am I not surprised? I bet you dragged your feet and made a fuss until they mentioned the extra pay. But don't think you can start pulling things over this guy. He thinks he's a lot smarter than he actually is, which makes him dangerous as far as ONI's concerned." "So I'm not the only one you're here to keep an eye on..."  "You? You're barely a footnote in my reports. I'm here to make sure ONI's investment pays off, not babysit you. Don't go getting a swollen head just because we're out of the field now. As long as you don't get in my way, you can do whatever the hell you want." "Don't worry, I'm on my best behavior." He shrugged. "Not like I can cause much trouble around here anyway. Isn't that why ONI tossed me into the program in the first place?" "If they knew what a slacker you'd turned into, they might not have even bothered. Are you really going to tell everyone that you're just some bridge jockey?" Georgia just laughed. "I think five years of black ops is more than enough time to give to ONI. I'm just going to take things easy from here on out. You can't say I haven't earned a little break." Montana's expression softened, if only a little. "Listen, I know you've had it rough out there in the field. But this work is important to the war effort. I know what you're capable of. We've all made sacrifices—" Georgia cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Don't patronize me. I'll do my bit, you don't have to worry about that. Just don't expect to be busting my ass out there anymore. For ONI or for anyone else. We both know where that's gotten me." He turned to go, but stopped and looked back again. "By the way, isn't this an awfully public place to be talking about this kind of shit?"  "Of course it is. That's why I rigged the security systems around the locker room to scramble everything they pick up when I'm around. Finished that little job while I was listening in on your conversation with that grunt back in the locker room." "Guess I should have been looking for you," he muttered ruefully. "Some things never change."  "And some things do," she replied, shaking her head. "You've changed, Georgia. What happened to the agent you used to be? The one who led half my ops? The one who did more for—" "He got sick and tired of being ONI's whipping boy," Georgia snapped, his colleague's barbs finally getting under his skin. "You try being the doormat sometime. See how long you stay motivated." His mask slipped back into place at once and he let out a short cough that was somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Anyway, even if I can't have your name I'm going to get myself a better one, even if I have to kick the Director's door down to get it. See you around, Montana."