Free Armor by John Steakley

is seven. Tenth is only five. You get tired, you know? Anyway it stops at ten. Nobody’s ever made more than ten major Drops.”
    “And most Drops aren’t majors,” Yin reminded him. “Most are just backups. Only one out of seven are majors because they rotate you that way. The odds are a lot better on backups. Nine for vets. Even greeners get eight.”
    “That’s why greeners should always drop backups first,” offered Bolov. “You get experience that way which helps you later on. It works out better, somehow. I don’t really understand it all. But say you’re like us and you do seven backups before your first major. The stat says you then get the same rating as if it were really your third major. You get a seven. See?”
    “Vaguely,” replied Felix, understanding a little. “How many Drops have you made, Bolov?”
    “Me? Eighteen. But only three were rated as major and, really, only two of them were really bad. For the other fifteen, I was rotated to the rear where it’s a hell of a lot safer. And there’s lots more warriors around you, most times. Course, none of ‘em were this Banshee shit.”
    “So your odds would be. . .?”
    “I’m at eight, now. We all are. We’ve got experience, the know-how, plus we get lots of rest.”
    “The more rest you get, the less chance of battle fatigue,” added Obel.
    “Hmm,” said Felix, thinking aloud. “Then I’m at four.” “Uh, no,” replied Bolov, a trifle embarrassed. “You dropped a scout. That’s different.”
    “That’s worse,” said Obel.
    “A lot worse,” added Yin.
    “Scouts never get better than six, no matter what. And since you’re also a greener …”
    “So I’m a what?”
    “You’re a one.”
    “What?”
    “One, Felix,” Bolov said tiredly, sadly, as if pronouncing sentence. “That’s one out of ten. A ten percent chance.” Felix stared at him, not speaking.
    “You should never have been Dropped as a scout your first time,” added Bolov hurriedly, consoling.
    “Not as a greener,” agreed Obel.
    “You were robbed,” insisted Yin.
    Nobody said anything for awhile after that. Occasionally the other three would stare at Felix, awaiting some reaction. But Felix was long past reacting to any of it. Long past lots of things, he thought.
    And then the line had brought them to the Can. There were only three spaces. Felix waited while the other three made Connection. And, just as he was about to step up. Forest appeared beside him.
    “You’re just now making Connection?” she asked, surprised “It was a long line.”
    “You don’t have to wait in line. You’re a scout. You get priority.” She stepped in front of the warrior behind Felix and made Connection. “Being a scout is a lot different from being a warrior, my friend.”
    Felix sighed, made Connection beside her. “I’ve heard that,” he said in a tired voice and watched his dials rise with the surge of power.
    He found that he could no longer finish the stick of nutrite he had started chewing. He spit it into the tube. He rinsed his mouth out with water and spit that out too. Beside him, Forest was making noisy chewing sounds.
    “I see you met our little trio,” she said after a particularly loud swallow.
    “Who?”
    “Bolov, Yin and Obel,” she said with a slight belch.
    “What did they tell you?”
    “Odds.”
    “Aw, shit,” she muttered. “What did they say?”
    “They said I was a one for ten. Were they right?” “Well, yeah,” she replied reluctantly. “Did that get to you?”
    “Probably.”
    “Well, I can see how it could. But Felix, that’s just a probability scale, you know, not a death sentence. It doesn’t have your name on it. For one thing, it assumes average ability, average reflexes. And you’re a lot quicker than that. Besides, you’ve already beat worse odds than that just by being here.”
    “You think so?”
    “I know so. So do you. Remember A Team? Two hundred and four Dropped, only you survived. As a scout, yet. Far as I know, that’s a first. You’re some kind of record.” “Some kind. . .” he said, distantly.
    “Never mind