FIGHT! FIGHT! Shalik & Cogs are having a FIGHT!

There I was, driving down the highway, when lo and behold, the voices in my head got into a donnybrook. It seems that Constance—

*KICK*

—ow!—I mean Cogs is incensed that Shalik is taking up altogether too much of my time as of late. She was my Golden Child until the Sherpa Holmes story took off...

"Oy, chica!"

"I do beg your pardon! But are you addressing me?"

"I don't see any other Latinas floating around, do you?"

"I am not a Latina."

"My apologies. Oy, squaw!"

"I am not a squaw, either."

"Then what are you?"

"Indian."

Cogs sighed and rolled her eyes. "That brings us back to, Oy, squaw!"

"Wrong type of Indian. I am from the Indian subcontinent—more commonly referred to by the Empire as the Raj."

"Well, la-de-dah!"

"I am quite sure that I do not need to be spoken to quite so rudely by a child."

"I am quite sure that you do. My story was going along marvelously until you showed up."

"Such an impudent little trollop! I believe if you continue being this rude to me, I shall be forced to take you across my knee and give you a sound thrashing!"

"You and what bloody army?"

"Why you impudent, little—"

"Shush! Whatever you are, you're hogging my limelight. You will cease. Now!"

"I am sorry, but I refuse to stand here to be harassed by a waif. Good day!" Shalik turned to stalk off. It was at this point that Cogs cocked back her arm and punched Shalik squarely in the nose. From there it quickly degraded into a full blown battle. Shalik may have been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Cog's street smarts gave her enough of an edge that the fight was fairly even.

Meanwhile, as the two women pummeled one another in an effort to regain my attention as primary character, a group of men in full combat kit huddled off to one side. Alpha Company, (3-201st, 86th Airborne, Terran Confederate Army, "You point it out, we'll take it out!") sat in a small circle watching the proceedings as they ate their Rapid Heat Meals (spoken aloud as "Rahems"), pondering the fisticuffs.

"Sarge, should we intervene?"

Sergeant Baines glared at the PFC. "Who you gonna hit first? The lady, or the little girl?"

"I . . . uh . . . neither?"

"Right, moron. Besides, you know the LZ we're going into is hot. You in a hurry to get there?"

"Uh, no."

"Then shut your pie hole and do something useful, like sharpen your knife."

The PFC took his k-bar out and began to drag it back and forth over a whetstone.

It's never dull inside my noggin...