This is a drabble (a story of exactly 100 words, not counting the title). The characters and concepts belong to Tribune, Atlantis, and Roddenberry-Kirschner. It's set after Decision, but before Avatar.
Boone stared at the thing on his arm for the millionth time. When he'd accepted the position with the Companions, he hadn't planned on having to wear something that resembled a cross between an insect and a squid all the time, and have it sink its 'legs' into his arm.
Still, it wasn't as if he had much choice. He was Companion Security. And it could never be taken away from him. He'd get used to it. It wasn't as if his life would ever be the same again.
His tan would certainly never be.
Earth: Final Conflict