Starship pilot who carries a sword. Like, an actual, two foot long, honed steel sword.
"I know it's legal, Fanos," complained the sergeant from the opposite bunk as he pulled on his own boots. "I know regs allow it and the captain doesn't say anything. But I'm asking why you do it. Isn't it a godawful pain in that pilot station to have those things on your belt?"
Lieutenant Fanos Farokis finished fastening the high collar of his full parade uniform, the red-and-blues most soldiers in the Barrayaran imperial military service wore only for ultra-formal ceremonial occasions. Included in the regalia, along with cavalry boots almost as high as the knee, were a pair of dress swords, long and short, which could be worn paired on one hip or on opposite hips. His left hand came down to rest on the pommel of the longer sword, near a meter in length, as his right adjusted the formal sash over his chest. "What you said was, 'you're not even Vor,' Janov. And that's why. I'm not Vor, and I can wear these."
"I guess you don't care about promotions or who thinks you're strange," said Sgt. Janov, shrugging on the muted green jacket of his more commonly seen "undress greens" everyday uniform. "Since you're already a pilot, and it's not like they're going to waste the expensive implants. But it's literally ten of us on this fast courier, who are you showing off for?"
The cabin lighting gleamed off the silver circles on Fanos's forehead and temples, and off the horus-eye imperial security pins on Janov's collar next to his rank tabs. Fanos turned to face the sergeant directly and said, "You. Me. The analysts reading your reports. We both know why I don't care and why I do this, Janov. We both know why you're bunking with me."
"Because I asked for the assignment."
"Yes. You want to be the one to bust me if I turn out to be a rebel still."
Janov rolled his eyes and slowly stood up. Before speaking, he took his time methodically checking the power pack and safety on his service-issued Stunner - and its deadly cousin, his security-issued Nerve Disruptor - securing each in its holster on opposite hips in mirror to Fanos's dress swords. He then met his nominal superior's eyes directly, but with a relaxed stance, unaggressive. "No, Fanos. Because I'm the only jack-booted paranoid I trust to know you aren't, no matter what you did as a stupid teenager."
"Oh," Fanos said, deflating a little, nodding and breaking the intensity of the shared gaze. "Thank you. Still, it's the principle. If you know me that well, you know that about me."
Janov nodded. "I do. Let's not be late for your shift. You get to do the jump, after all."
Fanos smiled with real warmth, leading the way out of their bunk and to the control station, almost directly adjoining, saluting the other pilot - captain Smetana - as he keyed off and transferred control to the relief pilot. The swords did make settling into the padded control chair at the pilot's station in Nav and Comm on the cramped little fast courier jumpship a little awkward, but with practiced motions, he soon enough had the neural control helmet on - and the discomforts of his body went away, the ship becoming his skin once again.