The shaman and chief look over Davis' map. Hiigra nods. "This is when the thunder calls the gods from the sky and our initiates are Chosen," Hiigra answers. "The space between the counts is regular."
"Because you are being harvested," Davis signs. "That is what these glyphs mean, Hiigra. You are being harvested like livestock. They space these visits apart, so your population can increase back to the point where they can take more of you without impacting your numbers." Davis leans forward. "If you doubt me, if you truly doubt what I say about the Imperium, tap on the screen. There's something that you need to see."
The vox begins a different montage, a video cut from all manner of sources, some painstakingly acquired from Bashakran rebels, some publicly available on Cortex every night. Casual mistreatment of wherren laborers transitions to brutal slave conditions. Video taken from a walk through a hab-sprawl somewhere shows the edges of a wherren ghetto, and shows the Imperial nobles shun away as they walk past. Finally, a professional Arena feed shows fresh-from-the-tribe wherren thrown into the killing fields, used as filler between the real fights, hunted through mazes before being dispatched to cheers.
"Lies!" the shaman grunts, and in an instant Davis feels claws on his neck. Weapons come up, but it's Swims who shouts next. "It is the truth! You may not know how to read humans, but I am one of you! Hear it in my voice, see it in my signs!" The shaman just gives up, releasing Davis and wilting against the longhouse wall. The sudden and complete emotional defeat evident in the shaman's body language even stops Swims short. He sees the same anger and loss he felt when he offered up the Akamu for a chance to escape Aikoro.
Hiigra remains where he is, vox in his hand. He shakes with rage. Beside him, the group of elders and other wherren in the longhouse are engaging in an increasing rabble. Some doubt the vox. Some fear reprisal more than they hate being cattle. Some would march on the Imperial research camp right now.
"Stop!" Hiigra shouts. "We cannot attack them! We could kill everyone at the ring-place and then what? More would come and kill us from the sky. We must... we must wait." Hiigra tosses the vox to the ground and stalks, pacing back and forth. "Shaman!" The shaman snaps back to here and now. "The initiates will be Chosen soon, yes?"
The shaman nods. "It should be soon, a few days."
"Then we wait until then. We will kill the gods and take their silver flyer, and we will fly it to each village and see what their chiefs say when wherren come down from the sky. When wherren lay bodies of gods at warbosses' feet."
It's not the worst plan you've heard, but you all know that there won't be any scheduled Imperial stops, not with their orbital wrecked and their forces scattered.
Meanwhile, Cowboy finishes his jerky. The goings-on in the longhouse sound pretty heated, but there's no sign of shenanigans outside. No double-crossing, no ambushes. Cowboy starts to feel like a fifth wheel, just sitting around when everyone's working. He figures he shouldn't leave the village, so going off with the hunters and gatherers is out, but there's two females and an older male wherren working within sight of the longhouse. One female is stretching and scraping hides on a frame, while the other two are working on stone tools. Hand-axes and spearheads and bone needles and such. Well, I can whittle at some flint, Cowboy thinks, and heads over. As he might expect, the three aliens stop short and back away from their work as he approaches. Cowboy waves 'em back, and picks up a fresh piece of flint. It takes a few minutes, but the aliens gingerly return to their work beside Cowboy.
The female chipping stone looks at Cowboy and asks, "How do you know how to do that? You carry fire and thunder and metal. Why do you bother to work stone?"
"There won't be any flyers coming," Davis signs. "In order to reach you, we had to destroy the Imperium's presence in the skies, and their forces are scattered. However, they will still try to rally other tribes against us. We must strike first, prepare our forces and let the other tribes know of the truth, so we may all stand together against the Imperium. We have friends in the sky, and they might be able to lend us aid, but most important is the ring. The rings are doorways, doorways that you can open to places that are far beyond Whirr. We need to rebuild one, so our forces may come through and push the Imperium off of this world. Are there any rings, or sufficient ring pieces to add up to a whole one in this village or your allies' villages?"
While Hiigra and the elders talk, Davis turns back to the team. "Okay, that went pretty well, but we still have an Imperial problem. I'm thinking we call up to the Sheen, see if they have any Mantas they can drop down to us, get some of their combat shells down here for additional support. Anyone got any other ways we can lock this place down while we put together the gateway?"
"In my opinion, the village isn't defendable," Hugh says. "The attackers would have all the advantages in concealment and cover, and we know they won't hesitate to level the place. You got a half-decent ambush spot here, if they come in and don't suspect it, but our sightlines suck and there's nothing to fortify, no natural chokepoints. Digging in would mean literally surrounding the village with an earth wall of some sort, and I didn't pack a bulldozer."
He looks around.
"Once somebody comes in shooting at this place, it's toast. We gotta plan around that."
Zaef has been silently observing the whole spectacle, although he turned pale at the Arena footage. Now, however, he speaks to the others in accented English. "Perhaps we can convince the Whiirr to make ready for war? If they move, they will be harder to hit. All we need is a fast response time-not a big target like a garrison."
Zaef shrugs sheepishly at Hugh. Hey, it's what you told me, inventor of high mobility battlefield tactics. "Just an idea. We'd still need to do something with Whiirr who can't fight. But if we can't defend this place, we may have to give it up and move the tribe. And I'm don't think they're ready to hear that."
Zaef then pauses, frowning. "I misspoke that, didn't I?"
The female chipping stone looks at Cowboy and asks, "How do you know how to do that? You carry fire and thunder and metal. Why do you bother to work stone?"
Cowboy accepts the question with great responsibility.
"My daddy always said a sharp blade is always going to be better than fire, thunder, and metal. I asked him why. He said it's because sometimes you might not have fire n' thunder and asked what if they were take away from me? I would still know how to work stone and still be powerful. Your gods rely far too much on their thunderin' metal. I think you are the ones who have the power. You are many and they are few on this planet. My daddy used to talk of the great war of independence in my homeland. He said a man defending his home is worth ten trying to take it."
Pacing around the perimeter of the village, Angel surveys the likely site of at least one battle, occasionally stopping to check sightlines through his rifle.
Not good ground - as much as the Magnificent Seven style stand might be dramatic, the Imperium could still hammer this village, hard. Maybe as a lure, if the Imperials could be channeled down the river, confident in their own tech, a hard and fast ambush...
Angel considers the river. If he had a sealed suit, he could walk or crouch under the water line and simply come right out of the river. He makes a note to remember that if it comes time to plant Claymores, but hopefully they won't be in the village when that happens. There's just... there's nothing good about trying to defend the collection of huts and houses.
One of the hunting parties returns early, a fresh grahwl kill slung on the shoulders of two braves. Angel overhears them boasting of the crazed animal's unusual and vicious attack, and how the lead hunter felled it with a single spear-stroke. A few paces later, and Angel spots Cowboy sitting with three wherren, scraping hide and making spears.
The curious wherren seems to get the gist of Cowboy's explanation, and she stops short when the lieutenant mentions the Revolutionary War. "You... you all already fought your gods and won? You are free, like the other one said?" Cowboy figures she means Davis or Swims' little opening talk. The other two pause, and the older male adds, "I do remember others like you. I was here when they came with trade the same day the gods came to take their Chosen. The gods walked to the holy rings with the ones like you, but later on... much later on, I remember them coming back. They did not take the Chosen that day. They took the chief instead, and our shaman, and anyone who had spoken to the ones like you. If your people are wrong and we anger the gods, I will be taken now too. Part of me feels it is not worth it, not for a few spears." The male takes one of the spearheads Cowboy was working on and inspects it. "You make a sharp spear, though. The other part of me believes that it is worth it to risk the gods' anger. We wherren can do what you have done. Make a sharp spear today, tomorrow make metal, the next day sunrods and silver flyers."
Davis frowns. "Hm. Captain Verrill and Zaef are right. Damn." He thinks for a second. "Well, how well defended is that camp? We might be able to take care of both problems at the same time."
Hiigra shrugs. "I would not have dreamt of attacking them yesterday. Now... well, it is hard to count them. They all look the same, but perhaps a little more than your number. There are others, ones who look closer to you, not in the silver metal skin, that number about the same. They do not suffer trespass long enough to know more than that."
"So, maybe 20 or 25 Imperials, about half of them Turai," Davis adds up. "Captain Verrill, how would you take them on? Some kind of flanking move?"
"I'd need to know more about the fortifications and the surroundings first," Hugh says. "Generally speaking, going up against a dug-in enemy is never gonna be a fair fight. Question is, how do we blitz them most effectively? And that's why we need to know what the area looks like in more detail. Chief Hiigra, how close can your scouts get to the camp before they are noticed?"
"There was no reason to before," Hiigra replies. "But I would wager my best hunters could cross the large clearing and get within a spear-throw of their buildings."
"What kind of buildings are there, and how many are there?" Davis asks. "Do they have any walls around the outside of the camp?"
"They are large and round, as tall or taller than this longhouse. There are no walls but when the gods claimed their sacred place they told us not to cross into the clearing."
"Words like that are a good way to keep out people, but only if the people believe you can back them up or have reason to honor their wishes. They've never deserved the honor they've demanded from you, and we may be able to help you match their power, Luis says.
"Easy on the flowery speeches, Stanhill," Hugh says. "The problem's that we've got shit for concealment throughout the clearing and no effective fire support. Times like these I wish we packed a proper mortar or something. As it is, we gotta get the Sarge and his grenade launcher up to the treeline to shell it. I figure Angel can take point, find a hiding place and observe. Trouble is, how do we move the rest of us assholes close enough to overrun them?"
Talk of trade abandoned for battle planning, the team and the wherren sit down and hash out the situation. The ATV's fast but too noisy, plus it's their only way to easily move the Groi artifacts. Smoke grenades and a frontal assault are thrown out as too risky. They'll have surprise and numbers on their side, but the Turai have better cover and a killing ground surrounding their camp. You need an advantage, some kind of distraction or force multiplier, and it's Davis who finally asks for it. Hiigra, Shaman, is there a procedure for when the Imperials fail to come to select the initiates?"
The shaman takes the question. "They have never failed to come. Always within a few days of the omen," he says, tapping his vox.
"I fear I must ask something dangerous of you and your initiates then, Shaman." Davis says with a grim look on his face. "If we were able to draw some of the Imperial soldiers out of their base, we should be able to cut them down and take the camp, and the initiates from your village approaching the base, claiming that the Imperial fliers have not come should suffice for that. We will be able to hide you with smoke and arm you with weapons that they will not detect, but not provide obstacles to stop their weapons fire. Once we have attacked, the initiates will be able to run for protection, but until then, they will be exposed." Davis pauses. "Still, we need something more. Captain Verrill, do you think it's worth risking a call up to the Sheen for fire support and reinforcements?"
"We're shit out of other options," Hugh says. "If we can time it right, we could have some of them drawn out by the Wherren party, then hit them there, the Sarge grenades the compound and the Sheen land some war shells on top of it. If it all comes together at the same time, I think we'll maximize our chances. It's still pretty iffy, but it might work."
"Sounds like all my other plans, then," Davis says with a grin. "We should be able to call our...partners in the sky to come down here in flyers and join the fight at the right moment. Hiigra, Shaman, we're asking a lot of you and your tribe with this plan. Is this acceptable to you? Any comments, any suggestions, any objections, please, say so. We are equals in this, and we need your input to make this a success."
"Is all this for the holy rings?" Hiigra asks. "I said the sacred place was the only source I knew of; I did not say we could not ask other villages. If we attack them, they will know, and they will kill us. Not just me, you, the initiates, the shaman... they will flash their deathlights into our village and everyone - everything - will die."
Hugh frowns, uncomfortable with both using the wherren as bait as well as the ramifications should the plan not go off as intended. "I would prefer not to ask you and your people to risk your lives for us when you hardly know who we are. Maybe we can come up with a different way to lure them from their camp."
"Gods or not, you need warriors," Hiigra says. "We will do our part if this is the best way to proceed. But I urge you to remember the children and families outside this longhouse, and remember what we stand to lose should your plan fail."
"That is why we must attack the camp, Hiigra," Davis signs. "It is not just to capture a ring. Captain Verrill is right, this village is not defendable, and we do not want to be fighting in the homes of your tribe. This way, we can move the fight out of your village and into a location that is both easier to defend, and is far away from your people. We will need to convince the neighboring tribes to assist us before long, and it is better to do so sooner than later. If we were to give you more voxes with what we have shown you on them, what else would you need to convince your allies to come to our aid?"
The metal-tusked chief shakes his head in amusement as he realizes the catch-22. "An undeniable victory over the gods would be a potent argument," he says.
Davis smiles. "Well, we'd better win, then. After that, we will be able to take our message to the other villages and help them see what you know now." Davis stops for a moment, and looks Hiigra in the eyes. "Are you certain this is what you want, Hiigra? Captain Verrill is right. We're asking a lot from you and your tribe for a group of aliens you haven't met before an hour ago. We are not here to tell you what to do, to force you to participate in our battles. That's what the Imperium does, and we are here so that you never have to bow to the will of another. If what we ask is too much, say so, and we will find another way."
Hiigra's head sways and his thick brows furrow in thought. "You are going to attack them with or without my tribe's aid. If you fail, you will not be around to protect us from reprisal. If we help, there is a greater chance of victory. So! We will help." The decision sounds has a finality to it that the elders and shaman pick up on. The wherren get up slowly, inspecting the maps and plans drawn on the longhouse floor. "We will clear a resting place for you and tomorrow you will show us how to use the weapons you have brought."
The team is actually given the longhouse to eat and sleep in for the night. Luis breaks out his comms and tries to get a fix on the orbital Gateway and their Sheen allies. They haven't picked up anything passively from the machines yet, but chances are they're lying low, waiting for the team to contact them with their status.
"Stick to Arabic," Davis suggests. "The Ambassador picked it up, so the Sheen should understand it, but the Imperials won't. See what the conditions are in orbit and if they can spare some Mantas and shells down here."
While Luis coordinates with the Sheen in orbit, Davis turns to Hugh. "We need to get the keg and lozenge out of the cave and into the village as soon as possible, before the atmosphere outside the village gets too hostile to move it easily."
"Agreed," Hugh says. "How do we store them securely, though? You'll forgive me if the huts don't exactly scream 'Fort Knox' at me. Or any fort at all."
"We'll have to sleep with them," Davis says, "the watch rotation will take care of the rest. We'll be moving on the camp in a day, tops, so we won't need to look after them for long."
"I really hope you know what you're doing, Davis," Hugh says. "Me, I'm making this up as I go."
"We both know what we're doing, Captain Verrill," Davis says. "That's how we manage to survive making it up as we go." Luis motions that they've got a signal, and Davis turns towards the vox equipment.
"That and a lucky streak broader than the fucking Sahara," Hugh mumbles to himself.
"I've got 'em," Luis says, after confirming his frequency and direction. He keys the vox and says in Arabic, "Ground to orbit, anyone up there?"
There's a pause of a few seconds where Luis wonders if the Sheen actually might not be there. Then a scratchy modulated reply in Arabic responds, *Meatfucker reads you. We are all that remain. We are glad you have found a safe place to transmit. What is your status?*
"We have reached the Whirr village near the research camp and established contact with the local tribe, but we lost our Manta during insertion. We are planning an assault on the camp in co-operation with the Whirr. Can you assist?"
*We are not equipped for orbital drops," Meatfucker replies. "What is left of the Imperial facility has been used to block the Gateway. There is enough debris that we could attempt an orbital strike, but a... manned... orbit-to-ground operation is chancy at best. We could attempt it, however, if you need support.* The machine pauses, then adds, *You should know - Guns Guns Guns and Meatbag Massacre have not checked in. All transmissions from the outsystem gate stopped 7.4 minutes after insertion. We are not equipped with long-range sensors, but our optics picked up what we believe to be a free-floating Gateway spiraling free of a large debris cloud. Evidence points to the outsystem facility's reactor going critical. What are your orders? The orbital is blocked. We could attempt to send a probe to investigate the outsystem gate, although beaming oneself back over such distance is not a risk to be taken lightly. Gathering enough debris of the correct material for an orbital strike or sending shells will take time as well, but let's be honest, it's just dropping rocks on monkeys.*
"Understood. I will inform Captain Verrill and find out what he wants," Luis says. Hugh takes the news from Luis with a nod. "No need to risk the Sheen, then," Hugh thinks out loud. "A dumb orbital strike is plenty, the way I see it."
"Not if we're going to have the distraction. I don't think putting the shaman and the initiates in danger close is a good idea," Davis says, then switches to Arabic to transmit to the Sheen. "How many shells can you get down here? We'll take as many as you can safely spare and send down here."
*There is nothing safe about any of this,* Meatfucker sends. *I number six shells; I could perhaps construct a method to land three of them.*
Davis looks over at Hugh, who nods. "Send them down. How soon can they be at our location?"
*I'll let you know. We have never made parachutes out of corpses before.*
Davis cocks an eyebrow. "Well, there's a first time for everything."
Hugh passes the info along to the rest of the team, along with the news that they'll be retrieving the Groi keg and lozenge from the caves, plus the wherren are going to need weapons training. The sun is setting, and it looks like it's going to be a long night and an even longer tomorrow.
Davis walks over to Swims-the-Black, who has remained rather quiet since his outburst at the shaman. "What do you think about all this?"
"It's better they get over their fear of Imperial beamers now," he says. "The losses they take will be theirs, but so will the victory."
Davis nods. "Let's hope so. I saw how the shaman reacted to the truth. Think he could stand to hear some supporting words from someone experienced? I remember seeing that shade on you from...well, you remember when."
Swims nods in sympathy, remembering the loss of his crew, his ship, and his old life. "I will talk to him. The chief is right; their only choice is to fight with us. Our very appearance here has dictated the Imperium's response should we be discovered."
Davis picks up his rifle and gathers his things. "I don't plan on letting them down, Swims-the-Black. I meant what I told Hiigra, all of it."
"I know you did. I watched you say it. Trust me, they know you are not lying."
The male takes one of the spearheads Cowboy was working on and inspects it. "You make a sharp spear, though. The other part of me believes that it is worth it to risk the gods' anger. We wherren can do what you have done. Make a sharp spear today, tomorrow make metal, the next day sunrods and silver flyers."
"Ain't nothing stopping you from doing so. My tribe has a history of rising up against powerful foes...and winning. Me and friends are here to help you do that."
Luis checks the vox map for the fourth time in as many minutes. Zaef, Luis, and four wherren hunters have been following the so-called trail back to the caves. They're moving as fast as they think they can get away with without getting lost or blatantly giving away their position. The caves are a little too close to where Zaef and Angel encountered the Khiraba scout. They left with plenty of sun left, but it'll still be cutting it close. And, if the Imperials are out here in the jungle and just waiting for nightfall to attack, six people running through their lines with practically the only way of getting off the planet or getting reinforcements is a recipe for disaster.
It is a nerve-wracking few hours to the caves. Noone speaks other than to give directions. Every noise sets the humans on edge and eventually the wherren follow suit. It is a tremendous relief when Luis' pathfinding finally reveals the cave mouth and the Groi artifacts hidden within, just as they left them. The wherren manhandle the keg into their sling, and the group heads into the jungle as the sun dips towards the horizon.
---
Swims-the-Black moves the hide flap aside and ducks to enter the shaman's stone hut.
"What are you do-"
"Sit down," Swims stops the shaman. "I saw how you took the news today. Your faith in your gods was shaken. You don't know if you can trust these humans. You were taken advantage of, and you are ashamed for it. You fear you are being taken advantage of still. You fear retribution if we are wrong."
The shaman glares. "And am I wrong to feel this way?"
"No," Swims says. "But you need to be stronger than this, because truth alone will change nothing. Imagine the truth all those Chosen initiates learned once they were taken by the Imperium and enslaved. Truth is the beginning, witch doctor. I watched everything I knew melt away because of these people, and I am still here fighting with them. The Imperium gave me authority and wealth and took my honor and made me stand watch over genocide. These humans took my ship, my crew, and my peace. They WILL use your people, shaman, but not as warriors, not as slaves. Davis and his humans need us free so they can hold up Whiirr as an example. We are a means to an end, an attempt to convince the Imperium that they do not simply wish to burn and destroy everything in their path. There are many worlds, shaman, and they want to show them that they want freedom for everyone. They want this so much that they are willing to come here and fight for a people who are not their own. They gain no military advantage from this... indeed, this is a risky and dangerous plan. They are willing to die to free a species other than their own. The least you can do is put aside your shame and stand with them."
---
Grawhl meat is nasty, Cowboy decides. Not even hot sauce makes a dent in the greasy, stringy meat. His new group of wherren friends chuckle, but it's clear a predator kill like this is more for status than its taste.
---
The sun is just about gone when Hugh and Angel leave for the Imperial research camp. There's been no news from the keg team, which means everything is proceeding to plan or they were all killed before they had a chance to radio it in. If the Khiraba are out there, there's no sense broadcasting anything more than necessary.
With four team members out, Davis, Arketta, Cowboy, Swims, Kang, and Semo busy themselves for tomorrow's work. There's a fairly even mix between firearms and XM10s that need to be checked and organized. A half dozen CQB-style SCARs are set aside for the initiates and shaman, as they won't set off Imperial weapons sensors like the beamers will. There's a perimeter to see to, and a quick education about the dangers of the Claymore mine.
---
Hugh and Angel are still gone when Team Kegger returns. Davis especially feels a palpable weight lift off his shoulders when he sees the wherren and his teammates trudge back into the village carrying the silver coffin and chrome cylinder that are the only lifeline back to Earth.
Davis is sitting in the middle of the village, just absorbing the village atmosphere and events after getting the keg and lozenge stored away in the longhouse. He can hear Semo tell a young wherren not to touch the weapons again and smirks. Swims meanders over and plops down next to Davis, scratching at another new bug bite.
"Talked to the shaman," Swims says. "I think he needed to hear it from one of his own people."
Davis slaps at the insects as they materialize out of thin air around them, continuing their odd attraction for his flesh. He nods. "Good. I can't possibly imagine what's going through his mind right now, but you've lived through something like that twice, once when they took you from here, and again over Bashakra. Thanks for doing that."
"And again over Aikoro," Swims adds. "You perhaps do not realize how much you ask of your allies, Davis." Swims laughs. "They do not yet grasp that this is a PR stunt, and yet this is a PR stunt that frees a species. Noone will ever say you think small."
Davis hangs his head at Swims' words, the guilt hitting him straight in the chest. "I...I do know, Swims-the-Black, and words cannot express how sorry I am for what I have asked of you. I have lain awake at night, thinking about what I have asked of you, and what I need to ask of your people." He rubs his face with his hands, and looks up at Swims, his eyes heavy with sadness for what he's done. "I'm sorry, Swims-the-Black. For Aikoro, for this, for everything."
"I am your friend, and I forgive you - have forgiven you, several times over. I would still be on that Groi shell if I didn't believe in this." Swims' fur shifts just a little with his body language, grows a little colder. "But I will tell you what I told that poor deluded witch doctor in that stone hut over there. You need to be stronger than this still. Wherren are going to kill wherren over this. The Sheen are... I do not know what their deal is, but I see your misgivings about them already."
Davis sighs, and straightens up. "Thank you. I think the Sheen are simply unfamiliar with having to actually cooperate with humans, instead of just trying to kill them. We'll both learn a lot from this fight. And you should know, that this was not my first idea for our next move against the Imperium. I went through a half-dozen others before settling on this one. But do you know why I decided to push this one over all the others? All the PR stuff, that's just justification to get Barnes and the military to sign off on it. It's a really damn good justification, a good enough reason to do it by itself, but I'm here for them," Davis says, gesturing out at the village. "I don't know if you believed me before, but when I said that I'm here because I can't just sit by and watch the Imperium use your people this way, it's the truth. It's for the resistance, it's for the fight against the Imperium, and yeah, it's for you, but really, if I'm completely honest, I couldn't care less how this looks. Fuck the PR campaign. All this talk about freedom, but all they were planning on doing was occupying the next planet. If we can't get out here and actually spread some fucking freedom, what the hell are we doing out here?"
"It is certainly not for the fresh air," Swims grunts, slapping another cursed bug.
"Tell me the truth, Swims-the-Black," Davis signs. "What do you think of my motives? Do you believe me when I say that you and your people are more than just a means to an end? I've noticed the guardedness, the fear that I will use your people, that I have and will use my relationship you as some kind of means to an end, that our friendship is more like an advantage to me with Barnes and Brinai and with the Imperium than simply enjoying your company."
"I do not fear you using our friendship like some tool. Perhaps I do fear for my people, but I don't think you are the cause of that. I was there in the Pentagon. What you want is not what most of your people want. If this does not work, there will be no second tries." Swims tosses a stick into the fire and watches the smoke. "Why do you need to ask, anyway? You don't do this with Hugh or Arketta or the beardy one... Cowboy. Are you not friends with them, or do you trust them more than me?" Swims says, but his fur shows he's teasing now.
Davis smiles, and pushes at the big wherren. "Sure, I'm friends with them, but I didn't ask them to stand next to me when I married Ngawai. I trust them with my life in combat and I value their company, but they don't...understand me like you do. None of them would be able to tell me what you just have, to be able to just lay things out." He looks back to the fire. "I ask because I know you are keeping things from me, things that are bothering you, and it pains me to see my closest friend keep his burdens all to himself when I know I can help share the load. Like with what happened on the shell between you and Kao."
Swims nods. "Then I shall tell you my secret, and it shall become our secret. Kao is dead. I killed him with Dominic Bullchev's axe and buried him on the hill above our boat. I do not know why the Groi deposited him with us. Maybe they didn't know who he was. Maybe they did. Kao was certainly surprised."
Davis nods. "Good. Nice to know the bastard isn't lounging about on a Groi force field somewhere." He looks back at Swims. "But why did you hide this from me? I understand why you wouldn't want to be put on a pedestal over it, to have your name emblazoned across the Cortex as the one who killed an Emperor, but why hide it from me?"
"I didn't trust you not to use it," Swims says. "I thought the temptation might be too great. I was wrong. Also, some things are not your business. It was... personal."
"You were ashamed," Davis says. "I recognized that shade and look from the Akamu."
"Ashamed of keeping a secret from you. Felt I wasn't the one who deserved what I was given. I got over that, though... someone had to do him, I happened to be in the right place. Or the Groi planned it all out. I wouldn't bother asking them."
"After all the pain and suffering he had caused you, I can't think of a more deserving person to bury that axe in his face." Davis pauses. "Thanks, Swims-the-Black. Your secrets are safe with me. Always."
*I'll let you know. We have never made parachutes out of corpses before.*
Angel chuckles slightly. "You ever get an uncomfortableness about our allies?"
A few hours later, lacing through the Whirren jungle, Angel looks back at his companion. "You know what bugs me the most?" His voice low, quiet, and even. "Doesn't smell right. Not bad, not good, just...not the same."
"It's a jungle," Hugh says. "You get wet feet and everything tries to eat you. Don't particularly care about the subtle flavors of how it stinks."
The pair of Deltas stalk on towards the Imperial camp.
---
"You're just making this up," Arketta accuses Luis. She calls out of the longhouse. "Anyone even heard of Euchre?"
"What?" Cowboy shouts back. "Ain't that what they found the DNA in in Jurassic Park?"
Arketta looks back at Luis, vindicated. "I thought so. Let's play poker."
Luis shrugs, "Fine, then. It's easier to explain if you actually have four players, I should have tried teaching it to you while we were in the Midwest." He grabs the rest of the deck from where he'd set it aside and shuffles the two parts together. He deals, and examines his hand in silence for a moment before asking the question that's been on his mind. ""Hey, Arketta? You've met my folks, what about yours?"
"It is wishful thinking that we both might someday meet them," Arketta says. "I am an Earthling now, and I know that what we fight for is worth saying goodbye to them. But that doesn't answer your question, does it?"
"Not really," Luis says, "But it's part of why I asked. I know you've given up as much in joining us as anyone, including Swims. And at least we can offer him the chance to help free his people. But the life you gave up..." He trails off, and glances at his cards momentarily, stalling for time, "It just doesn't seem fair."
"Come on, Luis," she replies. "Life isn't fair. We all make our choices and we live with the consequences. I miss them, but honestly trying to see them again would be dangerous."
Luis shakes his head, "It still doesn't feel fair. There's got to be some way to get in touch with them, even if we can't meet them. At the very least, you ought to be able to explain yourself to them. What use is an interplanetary rebellion if you can't get a message to one family?"
Arketta puts down her cards. "I... it's... it's tempting. Tempting to try to tell them what's really going on. I've seen the lies the Cortex ravilars spin about all of us. It hurts me to see them have to put up with it, but it would be so much worse if I talked to them and the Imperium found out about it. My mother and father know who I am. I can only hope that they know not to protest the lies. They'll stay safe."
Luis sighs, "All right, then. But once this is all over, once you can go from Earth to the Imperium without needing an armor division accompanying you, I want to meet them."
"I want that too," she says. "And trust me, they would love to meet you."
"Still, I wish there was something more we could do. It shouldn't take an interstellar war to put you back in contact with your parents." Luis pauses, "Of course, that's kind of what it took for me, so I guess I can't talk much. What are they like?"
"Mother is a soldier. That's how I always thought of her. Aggressive, planned, proper. My father often did not seem the strong one to others, but his strength was quieter, if that makes sense." Arketta thinks a moment, dismissing something. Luis can almost see the thought roll back into her head. "Maybe there is something we could do."
Luis sets his cards aside, barely realizing he has. "Yeah? What are you thinking?"
Arketta smirks. "They let Davis bring us all here to save Swims' people. Maybe we could kidnap my family."
"You think that's even possible?," Luis asks."Getting it cleared, convincing them, getting them out? If you think it can be done, I think it's worth a shot. It'd take a little more planning than just getting a message to them, but I guess it solves the long-term problem."
"This is Davis we're talking about. When have you seen him not get his way? As long as he can speak their language, he can convince anyone. And I am not concerned with clearance."
"Then we'll talk to Davis about it. If anyone could plan this, he can."
"Thanks, Luis." Arketta smiles mischievously. "We could play a few hands of strip poker before-"
A distant whump shockwaves through the village.
"Or... we could go see what just exploded," she says glumly, and picks up her rifle.
It doesn't take long for the Sheen to reach the camp. There's an increasing flutter of nighttime fauna from the north end of the village followed by creaking, cracking wood and rustling undergrowth, then frightened screaming. Two black, multilimbed, beweaponed, stocky warshells half-leap, half-roll, half-sprint out of the treeline and decelerate to a slow trundle as they enter the center clearing. While both are spattered with all sorts of mud and foliage bits, one has two spears protruding from joints in its plating. The few wherren who don't run screaming from the machines form a loose semicircle, spears at the ready.
"How do you say 'back the fuck off' in hairy shitbag?" the speared Sheen says in English. Its optics, mounted on both its center chassis and articulated weapon mounts, survey the armed wherren arrayed in front of it.
"How do you say 'back the fuck off' in hairy shitbag?" the speared Sheen says in English. Its optics, mounted on both its center chassis and articulated weapon mounts, survey the armed wherren arrayed in front of it.
Cowboy smirks, trying to hold back the laughter.
*gives a good whistle at the Whirr*
"Easy guys, they're with us. Friendlies." says the Texan as he jumps down off the the top of the longhouse and greets the Sheen.
Admiral Duck Sauce
