Davis hears the impact and waits in the middle of the village with Swims for their arrival. Once they break through on the north end of the village, Davis hustles over there, Swims right behind him.
Swims' eyebrows raise at the sight of the two Sheen shells and the "stand-off". "These machines are our allies," he calls to the gathered wherren, reinforcing Cowboy's statement. "Put down your weapons, please. They have traveled a long way and... um.... are tired. And cranky."
Hey, that one understood you," the less-battered Sheen says. In a louder, slower voice, it adds, "Hey! You! Go find Daaaviiisss!"
Swims pats Davis on the shoulder and signs, "I liked them better when they were in space and couldn't talk. Have fun."
"I'm Davis," Davis says, stepping forward. "I assume the third one didn't make it down?"
"Oh, it made it down," the Sheen with the spears in its chassis replies. "Gave its impeller too much juice way too early, blew the capacitor, and tried to make a water landing. There are big fucking rocks in that river."
Davis cringes. "Ouch. So, what do we call you two?"
"Ouch nothing. It was quick and painless, it was just a shitty way to die. As for names... I'm Charlie. That's Martin."
Martin pipes up. "Where's this camp, and when are we hitting it? You... people... don't look ready for this."
"Give us a day, we'll be ready. In the mean time, we'll be going over the plan and putting a final strategy together." Davis smiles. "And you two can get to know the locals, get comfortable with each other, maybe work on your people skills."
"We're plenty comfortable," Charlie says. "They stay away from us, we don't shoot them."
"Wait a minute," Martin adds. "We're down here on this squishy, wet, humid, muddy hellhole sitting on our metal asses for a whole day?!"
"We've been down here for two now," Davis says. "Welcome to the war, Martin. As for working on those relations, let's start by getting those spears out of your joints." He looks over at the wherren warriors. "Could you pull those spears out of our new friends, please?"
There's no movement from the wherren.
Davis turns up the smile a few notches. "Relax, they're here to help us. Sure, they look different, but they're on our side, alright?"
"They do not look on our side, and they barely look on your side," one warrior signs.
"Oh, come on," Swims frustratedly signs, and steps towards Charlie. There's a whiir and snap of weaponry. Swims stops, raises his hands, and steps back. "Davis, they like the spears," Swims says.
"I thought this one understood us when we said back the fuck off," Charlie says.
"Martin, Charlie, take a chill, or I'll demote you both to Joe and Emilio, got it? We're all going to have to work together here, alright? That means that the wherren need to get comfortable working with you, and that you two need to take it down a few notches, alright? If you want to keep the spears, fine, but otherwise, let them pull the damn things out so we can get this show off on the right foot. Are we clear, Charlie? Martin?"
"Davis, are you a Sheen doctor?" Martin asks. "Do you go to the local zoo for treatment? There could be vital functionality exposed behind those vicious fire-hardened wooden murder-sticks. You don't know!" Charlie... glares? at Martin, reaches up with a claw, and snaps off both spears where they've found purchase in his joints. "All better."
"Well, there could have been vital functionality," Martin offers.
"Okay, are we ready to work together now? Swims-the-Black and I will work on getting the wherren okay with this, and you two try to be a little more cooperative and a little less confrontational, right?"
"Do what you like. Charlie and I will wait for your signal to attack. Perhaps in the meantime we shall peruse this quaint hamlet for items we could use to augment our offensive capabilities for the upcoming massacre."
"Oh, yes," the spook remembers. "If they're not trying to kill anyone, or if they drop their weapons and surrender, we don't kill them. Do you guys have something that just knocks them out or immobilizes them?"
"Death tends to immobilize people quite effectively," Martin says.
"Except for the twitching," Charlie adds.
"Yes, sometimes there's twitching," Martin agrees.
"Okay, but without the death part," Davis says. "Killing people who are trying to surrender or aren't fighting isn't a good thing."
"If they're not fighting, what the hell are they doing in a battle?" Charlie asks, genuinely confused. "And surrendering is for quitters. You can't just quit in the middle of a battle!"
"Sometimes, fighting breaks out in places where there's people who aren't involved or who don't want to fight," Davis says. "And if we're losing a battle, and don't want to die, we surrender so we won't get killed. Remember, that whole 'death' thing usually means a lot more for us than it does for you. Think of it like it is here. You guys get blasted to pieces here, what happens?"
"We would attempt to relocate back to orbit," Martin says. "But we understand that there might be atmospheric interference. The orbital might be on the opposite side of the planet. There might be sunspo-"
"Listen, meat, you're trying to make it like we can't die. We can, same as you. We knew we can buy it and we came anyway when you called. Don't pull this 'I'm more valuable than you' shit," Charlie interrupts, his optics dilating.
Davis takes a step towards Charlie and drops his smile. "Hey, no one's saying that here. I'm just trying to get the point across that killing an unarmed and surrendering enemy is a bad thing to do. I'm trying to be nice about it, but you want it straight up?"
"If you don't want us to kill people, just tell us which ones to leave alone," Charlie says. "But don't rationalize it. I - we - don't care. We are here because you need people to bleed and homes to burn. You tell us when, where, and how."
"And I am telling you that shit ain't that simple down here," Davis says, taking another step forward, passing into the space in between Charlie's front legs. "You don't want rationalizations? Fine. If we just needed the camp made dead, we could have had you guys drop a few tons of debris on their asses from orbit, job done. But we need you down here because this is just a preview for how this war is going to go from here on out. Humans, Wherren, Sheen, and whatever else decides to join up with us, working together. We're willing to make it work, the Wherren are willing to make it work, but this 'leave us alone and tell us who to kill' attitude isn't going to fucking help. I'm not asking for a philosophical discussion on if it's wrong to take a life or not, I'm asking for you to cooperate with our allies and follow the rules. I know you're built to kill and all that, but I also know that you're smarter than the dumb killing machines the Imperials and half the Narsai brass say you are. So, start acting like it. Got it?"
"We are cooperating. We just don't want to be pawed at - or speared by - primitives."
"And you know the best way to avoid that problem going forward? Trying to make friends. So drop the stand-off attitude and get to know them. I've got a good history of them on my vox, and the language." Davis grabs his vox and brings up the connection screen. "You might find you've got more in common with them than you think."
Martin and Charlie look intently at the vox for a few moments. "I got this," Charlie says. The machine steps forward, and the wherren step backwards with each movement. In bad Whiirr-sign, Charlie starts attempting to speak to the slowly-gathering village. Davis steps back as Charlie steps forward, and braces himself.
"Attention, hairy and um.. brave... wherren. We are your friends. Um... we are living beings, like you, except we do not live in a nasty swamp. But.. no, wait, stop. We, Martin and I, we want you to be free, just like this mouthy bastard wants!" Charlie waves a gunpod at Davis. "We want you to live in your nasty swamp if that's what you want! You can do whatever you want to do, but before you can do it, we've all got a lot of people to kill! They're out there at that research camp, and they've gotta die! This is your fucking planet! You are your own gods! Tomorrow we are going to pass out a shitload of firepower and together we are going to kill the shit out of those lying fucks!"
You have never before seen two Sheen do a fist bump. The gathered wherren have never seen anyone do a fist bump. They look equal parts confused and enthused. Cowboy spots the few wherren he toiled with earlier in the evening; they look like they got the message. Most of the village quickly comes around to the realization that the Sheen are not there to kill them, which finally relaxes the tension.
---
Davis breathes in again after Charlie's speech to the wherren seems to go over well, and maybe even helped out a bit. "Good shit," Davis says to the Sheen. "Thanks for that."
"I know it was good shit," Charlie says. "I'm a goddamn ambassador of peace."
Davis looks amused. "Peace through superior firepower?"
"Yep," is Charlie's succinct reply.
"Well, do you guys need anything tonight, besides somewhere inside and dry?" Davis asks. "We've got a Groi reactor here, if you can use that to recharge."
"We're fine," Martin says. "The humidity is the same whether we are inside one of your shanties or out."
"Inside would be better for operational security, though. We can make some space in the longhouse, I think."
"Davis, we are the best thing you have for operational security. We require no sleep and our senses are not hampered by environmental occlusion. We will remain outside and stand guard while you charge-"
"Sleep," Charlie interrupts.
"I know it's called sleep. I was making an analogy."
"Guys, guys, I'm not worried about the guards missing anything. I'm worried about our enemies finding out you're here. Trying to keep the element of surprise and all that. Make sense?"
Martin and Charlie share a moment, then shrug as well as a non-humanoid radially symmetric machine can, and head to the longhouse.
Davis watches them walk off. "How do you think that went?" he asks Swims. "I think it went pretty well."
"Nobody died, except for whoever managed to stick them with those spears," Swims replies. "I would rate it as 'okay'."
"Hopefully, that's our last personnel issue for this mission," Davis signs.
"Your gods are dead!" Nahan shouts. He punctuates his proclamation with a short burst into the air. The Narsai-style firearm startles even the handful of wherren brave enough to still brandish their weapons. Nahan puts his second burst into the closest armed alien.
"They do not hear you! They are not coming!" Hokros adds. The village chief, shaman, and a scattered few others (for Hokros can hardly tell male from female, let along social status amongst wherren) lay in a limp, ragged line where they were executed. Just then, a beamer shot sprays cinders and hot mud across Hokros' gray-green fatigues. He jumps back and fires a long burst into the treetops surrounding the wherren village. The four sweating humans fall back under a suppressing fusillade of particle beams and stinger salvos from the treeline. Five armored Imperials leapfrog from trees to the huts and tents. The leader waves two of his men after the escaping murderers, who have already made it into the forest. Bullets and beams rip through wooden struts and spang off the few stone buildings.
---
Manus steps over the corpses of the tribe's secular and spiritual leaders and watches Arpana call the tribe to the village clearing. Dropchief Vilos Arpana was lucky to have survived the orbital. Likewise, Manus considered himself lucky to have Arpana with them. He listens to the Expansion officer speak to the aliens in their own language. Arpana explains how they were sorry they did not arrive sooner. He tells the wherren about the war in the heavens, how the Narsai tribe rebelled and have come to Whiirr to destroy not its peoples' bodies, but their souls. The Dropchief motions to Manus to finish the impromptu ceremony.
"Gather your weapons!" Manus' amplified voice carries through the village. "Your gods need warriors, now more than ever! The enemy we face is the strongest foe we have known! They will assault your minds and your hearts, but you must stay strong! Hold to your faith, believe in each other, and trust in us! You will have your vengeance on those that did this! Your bravery will live in the halls of your forefathers forever! You - all of you - have been Chosen!"
Zaef stares at two Sheen war shells making some bizarre gesture after presenting one of the most unusual inspirational speeches he's ever heard, and finds it eerily similar to the fragmented hallucinations of his drug days. Wordlessly, he slips back into the longhouse and tries to ride out the weirdness as it comes.
Hugh and Angel hit the dirt. The camp is only a a few hundred meters away and they've got drones circling the jungle outside the clearing - one of those drones passes over the two soldiers now, weaving through the first layer of tree branches. Its hum almost blends in with the rain forest's background noise, but Hugh has heard enough attack drones to recognize one anywhere. They lie still until the drone passes, then conceal themselves more carefully and wait. They count two drones circling the camp, and time their patrols to slip inside to get a look across the clearing at the camp itself.
It's eerie seeing the place it all started. The clearing's been extended far past the natural range of the tall wheat-grass, at least 80-100 meters around the camp. Sad stumps and swaths of brown mud attest to the vigorous deforestation efforts, although the grass grows tall and unkempt in clumps as you get closer to the camp. The Groi shipwreck is still there, but the Imperium has constructed half-cylindrical quickset habs close by. A dome covers much of the original clearing. It is tall enough to provide line of sight to the jungle on all sides - indeed, there is a cluster of surveillance cameras on top next to the vox broadcaster - but doesn't quite crest the canopy. Three Turai walk the clearing, scanning the treeline with their guncams. Their demeanor suggests they're nervous and jumpy. Angel spots two more soldiers as they exit one of the habs, and marks that as a possible barracks, maybe a mess. Two more drones scan the clearing and sky above the camp.
What's odd is that there are several unarmored Imperials outside at night moving complicated-looking equipment out of the dome and down... into the ground? There's some sort of underground bunker, tunnel, or pit entrance about 10 meters outside of the dome and barracks, and judging by the haphazard efforts, this commotion might be some sort of emergency.
The outer drones pass again and Angel and Hugh flank right, slowly crawling through dead leaves, mud, and moss. The dome has two doors; Hugh notes a man and woman in brown tunics leave the dome and enter a second cylinder-hab, while Angel finds two more Turai leaving a larger access hatch that opens onto part of the clearing that looks like a landing site for mantas or similar vehicles. These Turai roll out several containers of unknown contents. They keep at it, emptying whatever room that hatch leads to, until Hugh and Angel hear the faint but unmistakable whine of impellers overhead.
A manta-ship, its port fuselage ripped and hulled, slows its approach to the camp. It wobbles on straining impellers but manages a rough landing in the space near the dome. The vehicle's hatches immediately spring open. The Turai who were moving junk out of the dome start waving over others from the underground area. This group heads for the manta and starts shouting back and forth with a dozen people trying to make their way off the ship. Five need to be helped down the ramp; some are favoring one leg over the other, one's missing an arm, one needs two to support her painful-looking stagger down the ramp. Two are stretchered out; the Turai carry these directly into the dome through the area they cleared. The other wounded follow them into the dome, while the others mill about outside a few minutes. They have scraped-together weapons, a meager smattering of luggage, and random loose personal items. There is one Turai, her armor holed in two places, who seems to act as the group's mother hen. She gets some orders from one of the base Turai and proceeds into the barracks hab along with those able to walk.
The refugees head inside their appointed buildings, leaving the manta crew (one man in Turai armor and a second in a simple emergency skinsuit) to go over their battered craft. They're joined by four Turai who stand guard over the ship. The two pilots are arguing about something; it's hard to hear over the manta's idling systems but the armored man keeps motioning above them and then gesticulating at the manta's damage. Eventually a researcher staggers tiredly out from the second hab and adds to the shouting for a few minutes. The armored man seems to lose the argument; he throws his hands up in defeat while the skinsuit motions to cut the manta's engines. After silencing the vehicle, the Turai pilot wants something from the other pilot. They both head up the hatch into the manta. Next, there's a great deal of painful-sounding high-pitched whining that culminates in a series of startling pops. The pilots exit the manta and it is clear they are livid. The armored pilot kicks the manta's hull in disgust. He makes it clear it's the skinsuited guy's fault and stomps towards the barracks hab, leaving his copilot outside with the Turai and the grounded ship.
The wherren village is quiet when Hugh and Angel return later that night. The team is sleeping off another exhausting day in the longhouse along with two silent, unmoving Sheen warshells. The pair make notes about the research camp's layout and security, rehydrate from the rapidly-diminishing reserve tank, and lie down for a few hours of rest before getting up to do it all over again.
Cowboy has spent months with "indigenous personnel" from all manner of nations, colors, and creeds, and he has never seen a shittier bunch of shots than these wherren. He gives the fire command once more and a thundering BRAP of massed semi-automatic fire rustles what little avian life remains from the canopy. All except for the one wherren who had it on safe and is clicking away futilely. Or the one who had it on automatic and just sprayed a magazine into the river and sky. Or the one who's still so scared by the noise that he dropped his rifle.
---
Semo and Zaef have been tasked with teaching the wherren how the Imperials fight hand-to-hand. Not to teach the wherren how to do the same, but rather how a wherren brave can use the weapons and skills she knows to adapt to the Turai fighting style. Semo's killed at least a full Quad of Turai in melee, and Zaef of course was an Arena fighter. They're easily the best people for the job, and the wherren already have taken a shine to Semo, being the largest human on the team.
They've basically been fighting the entire morning, switching up every couple of partners so as not to completely pass out from exhaustion. It seems to work better than the shooting instruction, at least. The villagers come fairly well prepared to throw down, but they need to be taught human weaknesses, how to battle human agility, and how to get through human armor.
---
Cowboy swaps out duties with Luis for a bit, joining Davis and Hugh in the longhouse where they have the recon information spread out. Davis' initial ideas have to be discarded; the presence of the Imperial manta and many more noncombatants makes the rough plan he had counted on unusable. The revelation that there are drones outside the research camp's clearing, and that said drones will spot the shaman and his Chosen before they even reach the camp, sparks a new plan.
In the end, they decide that arming the shaman's small group with SCARs - and the ensuing confusion and curiosity at the camp - will work to the team's advantage. The camp shouldn't feel too threatened by a small group, and if they ask about the weapons, it opens an opportunity for the shaman to pass along a vox. If that happens, Davis is sure he can convince the Imperials to surrender without a fight. And if they won't, the rest of the team will be in place (using the shaman's distraction to slip through the drone patrols) and ready to open fire.
---
As noon passes and the training progresses, the noise does become slightly worrisome. It's a full day of gunfire, and even with the humidity, hot air, and thick foliage, this training is like an auditory beacon. Davis doesn't have time to worry, though. After getting a fairly solid plan together, the agent spends nearly every minute flitting from person to person, speaking with them about novel concepts like prisoners being different from slaves, how there are rules to how prisoners are treated, why we don't want to execute everyone at the camp, and so on. It is a tiring, repetitive, and difficult process.
---
It's taken Cowboy, Luis, and Swims-the-Black working together for several hours, but they've finally managed to bring the bulk of the wherren village from "has seen a firearm in a movie once" to "child soldier". A precious few wherren have shown better-than-average shooting skill; Cowboy takes these aside for small-group instruction. He sets up some targets across the river north of the village and starts training the aliens on marksmanship. The scattered gunfire eventually draws Martin and Charlie out as well. They scramble up to the firing line and settle down on four limbs.
"You mind if we let loose?" Martin asks Cowboy in English. "Somebody's gotta teach these hairy bastards how to shoot."
The scattered gunfire eventually draws Martin and Charlie out as well. They scramble up to the firing line and settle down on four limbs.
"You mind if we let loose?" Martin asks Cowboy in English. "Somebody's gotta teach these hairy bastards how to shoot."
"Be my guest. Maybe they'll pick up a thing or two."
Cowboy sits back and watches the Sheen light up the targets across the river, not being able to resist critiquing their technique.
"You're coming up a bit off-center on those last few. Are you sure your targeting has been calibrated? The last thing we need is you guys shooting the enemy in the arm or leg."
"Oh yeah?" Charlie gets up from its sitting position and turns towards Cowboy. "Sounds like a meatbag thinks it knows how to shoot. Get us some targets, Martin."
Cowboy unslings his rifle and checks the action while Martin wades out into the river.
"I'm going to throw rocks across your field of view. Whoever hits ten first wins," Martin explains.
Damn that toaster can throw a rock, Cowboy thinks as he hardly has time to bring his rifle up before a large flat river stone sails past him. Charlie doesn't fare any better - the Sheen's accelerator round (the closest equivalent it has to DeFranco's SCAR) blows a chunk from a tree across the river.
"What the fuck?!" Charlie curses at Martin. As a result, the next rock is flung even faster and lower. It skips off the water surface three times.
"Hey, feel free to shoot at any of these," Martin teases. Its next toss is a lazy arc, a fake-out that Cowboy anticipated. His rifle barks and the stone shatters in midair.
"That was bullshit!" Charlie calls.
The impromptu contest draws a few onlookers. It's not just about accuracy, either. Since both sophonts are firing at the same rock, it's about speed as well. Charlie has the speed, and for a hefty string of tosses the Sheen plants rounds on target a split-second before Cowboy's shots split the air. Then there's a shift where it's almost like Charlie gets overconfident, while Cowboy redoubles his focus. Charlie'll fire first but miss, leaving Cowboy open to make a clean hit. Cowboy actually fires first a few times, and when he does fire, he does not miss. Each failure on the Sheen's part is accompanied by some petulant comment or another. Humidity in the sensors. Insect interference. More commonly it's a simple cry of "bullshit!"
It's the last target. Charlie's picked up its game and has caught back up with silent precision. Martin flings the last stone out into the air.
The whump and bang are simultaneous. The rock explodes. Then a microsecond later an accelerator round pulps a tree across the way. Cowboy's hit his tenth target!
"Score one for the meatbags," he tells Charlie. Martin laughs.
"It was- he wasn't- oh, fuck it," Charlie acquiesces. "You can shoot, little hairy man. You can shoot."
The contest between man and machine quickly spreads, and before too long the wherren are setting up their own competitions. Most are similar to the game of horse, where one warrior attempts a difficult shot that his opponent must also match. The team brought an equal mixture of XM10s and SCARs, so the beams and gunshots blaze away as the sun drops lower. Spent brass glistens on the muddy riverbank and the smell of gunsmoke hangs in the air. Charlie and Martin let loose with some of their heavier ordnance, and before long the opposite bank looks more like World War I than Fiji.
Even Hiigra has taken a shine to this, bringing his Imperial beamer to bear on many a small target. He's not bad, although not up to the skill level of the humans. Cowboy's idly talking to one of the wherren when Hiigra's target - a fist-sized metal disk - spangs free of its wooden mounting. Hiigra's startled - he hadn't even aimed yet. That in turn makes Cowboy dart for cover. He's beginning to move when the gunshot finally catches up with the bullet. The echoing report came from downriver. A long way downriver.
*Would you all cut it the fuck out now? You can hear us from orbit.* Angel's voice cuts in over the team's radios. The assembled wherren look at the mangled target, then back downriver. Angel waves, and it's just a smudge of green on green in the hazy distance. Even Charlie and Martin hang it up for the night after that.
Zaef got a good chuckle out of Angel’s remark. It had certainly brought the Sheen’s cockiness down a notch.
He was taking a break from the sparring, letting Semo handle the pupils for the time being. Zaef never had much tolerance for teaching people, made only worse whenever Brinai or Onas would coerce him into teaching the rookies how to fight melee. The students were usually piss-poor and needed to be taught from scratch, barely able to hold onto a blade. Thankfully, the Wherren couldn’t be compared to the usual greenhorns he had to watch.
For better, or worse.
From what he’d seen planetside(which, admittedly, wasn’t much), the Whiirr primarily hunted beasts that were bigger than they were, so they had little to no experience fighting human-sized foes and what sort of tactics would be used against them. While Semo placed a focus on human weaknesses and how to combat them, Zaef was doing his best to call the Wherren’s own weaknesses to their attention without giving away just how much he knew. So far, no one seemed the wiser. Or just didn’t care.
The sounds of the spar died down, and Semo, while victorious, was looking beat. Zaef got up and walked over. “I’ll take it from here. You missed Angel’s impressive shot, by the way.” He turns back to the braves and draws his swords. “Who’s next?”
"Imperial Turai are often outnumbered by their enemies," Swims-the-Black says from the sidelines. "Braves, you may or may not be more skilled than your opponent, but you will outnumber them. Teamwork can overcome skill. Now fight!"
The wherren braves look at one another, unsure about the shift in training process. Swims walks over and pushes one hunter to the dirt.
"This one's just been shot while you hesitated! There's one less of you now! Don't stand there, take him down!" Swims points at Zaef and the six closest wherren charge.
Zaef smirks and readies himself to redirect his opponents's attacks towards other teammates. If they're gonna fight with a group, they better know how to fight as one.
They come at Zaef fast, spurred into charging without thinking by Swims-the-Black. The first guy eats it hard - two training batons to both sides of his thick neck. He goes down, strings cut, sucking dirt. Zaef sidesteps, spins into a vicious elbow to a second wherren's kidney, and slams a baton into the back of his leg. That one stumbles into the rest of the charging braves, ruining their initial spear-thrusts, but there's too many, too fast. A painful overhand blow slams down onto Zaef's shoulder, and he staggers back, trying to regain his balance before the warriors can take advantage of the opening.
Zaef recovers quick enough to catch one wherren's attack in his crossed batons. He levers the brave's spear around and kicks the shaft, springing the weapon into the face of another wherren. That guy reels, but isn't done - Swims is communicating which strikes should count as "lethal", and this one wasn't. Undeterred, Zaef blocks another spear, dodges a kick, and while that first wherren is looking back at the friend he just hit, Zaef clubs him in the knee. The wherren howls and limps but it just makes him angrier. Zaef knows wherren are tough, and he's not pulling any of his strikes, but that alien walks off a hit that could've broken or dislocated a human's knee and comes back in with a riposte that Zaef narrowly avoids.
The first wherren is down - Swims doesn't even need to tell him he's "dead", it looks like he's legitimately unconscious. Three more are nursing painful hits. Zaef's shoulder is burning. He feels like he might actually get the upper hand soon here, but something changes. The remaining wherren stop screaming and leaping and start reading each other. Zaef turns to make a strike, another wherren at his flank stabs in and interrupts the Bloodwraith's attack. So Zaef feints, turns to meet the inevitable counterattack and actually steps on the brave's spear, driving it into the ground. He hauls off and kicks the wherren in his toothy maw on his way down. Blood sprays, the wherren hits the ground a moment after Zaef. Zaef's out of the wherren's ring of death, and he comes at the one with the hurt knee next, coming in high and from the flank, where the wherren have trouble reacting quickly due to their different shoulder configuration. two shots to the lower back and kidneys sends that warrior down. Swims calls the two of them "dead" as the rest of the braves swing at Zaef. He stops one, then two, but a third padded practice spear stabs into his side, knocking wind from Zaef's lungs.
It goes bad after that. Zaef can't breathe, can't turn, can't stop a spear-haft from cracking down across his back. Zaef hits the ground and then feels the crushing weight of a wherren on his back, feels the practice spear at his neck.
Swims calls it off and the wherren help their friends up and check their welts and bruises. Swims-the-Black pulls Zaef to his feet, and in halting Imperial says, "You fought... good, you gave them confidence. I glad I leave- left Arena before you were there."
Zaef takes a couple seconds to get his breath back, then tries signing a reply. "We should both be glad to have left alive. How did a Jade Caretaker get shuffled in with monstrous criminals and stubborn rebels?"
"When that Jade Caretaker openly defies the Emperor above Bashakra, he is reduced to a stubborn rebel in the eyes of the Imperium," Swims replies.
Zaef sighs. "Another life ruined by the pacification. And another stubborn rebel born as well."
"And has your new life as a rebel proven all you dreamed it would be?" Swims asks.
"For the most part, it was as difficult as I figured it would be. The only thing I was not expecting was the...single-mindedness of the Bashakrans. There are times when they are just as foolhardy and arrogant as the Imperium. They haven't become the monster they are fighting. At least, not yet."
"I worry when and if they win," Swims agrees. "Will they know how to govern any better than what came before? A victory over the Emperor is only the first step."
"That is the problem. They are not thinking of governing, or finding a better way to do so. It's revenge they are thinking of right now. Nothing else."
"That is why they have partnered with the Narsai'i," Swims says. "They are not in this for revenge. Their eyes are new, and they see it all differently than you or I."
Zaef chuckles a little."Clearly. They wouldn't have requested help from the Sheen or the Groi otherwise."
Swims laughs, a startling bark. "I think the Sheen are just unused to being soldiers. Like the braves you taught today. The Groi... I do not think they will help us."
"It is more that the Narsai'i would consider recruiting both the Groi and the Sheen as allies. Most would not think of such a thing out of bias."
"True," the old shipmaster admits. "And the Bashakrans would not ask for the surrender of an entire Imperial base. But there is another side to them that you have yet to see." Swims takes a seat near the sparring area.
Zaef shrugs. "If you must choose between two evils, choose the lesser one."
"No, no, this is not about good or evil," Swims says. "Thus far, Davis has done a lot of talking, and he is a convincing speaker. But tonight, if things go wrong, you will see why the others are here. They are a surprising people. Open-minded, clever, and the most efficient killers I have ever seen."
"I'm not so naive to think of things as clearly evil or clearly good. It's an adage about having to make tough decisions. And, despite having seen this ugly side of the Narsai'i, you seem to have already made your choice." Or have you, Alef-ka? Zaef tries to keep his body language conversational.
"And it was a hard choice, but I think it was the right choice." Swims shifts, trying to explain more. "I did not mean to misrepresent their skill as ugly... how do I say this? They themselves have a proverb, but I cannot remember how it goes. They walk but travel light, and..." Swims has clearly lost his train of thought for a moment when suddenly he remembers. "Ah! 'Walk softly but carry a big gun.'"
Zaef digests the saying for a couple moments. "You mean they can be willing to negotiate and fight to the death as necessary?"
"Indeed it does," Swims says. "We'll see which of those offers the Turai take them up on soon." Around the camp, the village is already preparing for the hours-long march, whether it's to the research camp with the team or to nearby villages to spread the news of freedom (and to avoid a possible Imperial counterattack).
The team makes ready to move out. The keg, reactor, and remaining weapons crates are loaded up to be carried by the platoon-sized force of armed wherren accompanying the team. The ATV and trailer are left behind; the vehicle's too loud for their planned stealthy approach. In the shaman's stone hut, the old alien paints the five Chosen wherren with the white whorls and glyphs common to the Gateway.
It is just after dusk when the village clears out. The rain forest's noises gently shift and a cloudless night provides an eerie cold light. Charlie and Martin seem to be in high spirits; they scamper through the mammoth tree trunks and circle the procession of warriors with boundless energy. Their rampaging and rustling manages to startle or drive off quite a lot of wildlife. It's not just the Sheen, either. Banur, the ranking warrior leading the wherren platoon, laughs and jokes along with the alien braves during the first hour or so of travel. There's an air of excitement, that you're finally out here doing something, as well as a nervousness brought on by a combination of new weapons, new allies, and no safety net.
Davis hears Charlie's rapid measured stomps crash through undergrowth next to him. "Hey Davis," Charlie begins in English, "I get the general plan - throw the painted guys out there, get the Imperials asking questions, then shoot enough to get 'em to give up. Where are we for all this?"
Davis spits his Camelbak tube out and looks up at Charlie's visual sensors. "I need you two to hang back with the wherren reinforcements, out of visual contact of the camp." They might be blatantly robotic, but Davis can still sense Charlie tense up at his orders. "Now, before you start, I want you to think. What are the Imperials gonna do the instant they see you?"
"Run screaming into the woods?" Charlie guesses.
"They're gonna remember all the scary stories they were told about the Sheen when they were kids, and they're gonna open fire, trying to take you two down," Davis says. "You'll both go down damn quick, and then our negotiations are fucked. I think we can both agree that would be a bad thing."
"Besides your vote of confidence there," Charlie snarks, "When do we show up?"
"Hey, you're tough, not invincible, and both too valuable to lose right now. I don't see a need to throw the two of you to your deaths, fair?"
"Right. So when would you like to throw us to our deaths?" Charlie asks. "We survived that orbital. A handful of Turai dirtside just aren't in the same league. When and where do we move in? It never really got mentioned when you all were drawing maps in the dirt."
"If shit goes sideways, you two lead the wherren rearguard in to attack. Some of them will stay back to guard the keg and the lozenge, but the rest will move in hard and fast to back us up. If it goes well, we disarm the Turai in the base first, and you two will come in after we're sure we don't have any unpleasant surprises, and I've had time to let them know about you two. No need in starting a panic. Afterwards, you'll probably be on guard duty with the rest of us, either on the wall or with the prisoners."
"Fuck," Charlie says, and the machine actually looks like Davis pissed in its energon. "I thought there'd be more shooting. You know, a fight." It perks up a little. "You could keep the painted guys back in the woods and just shoot everyone outside and blow up that manta, then shout at them to give up. I'd think the painted guys probably don't wanna be hanging out there like bait either."
"That's Plan E," Davis says with a smile.
Davis' smile does not appear to have an effect on the machine, and although Charlie goes back to tromping along with the wherren, it does not scamper as excitedly as before.
Davis shrugs. "Probably should talk to the Ambassador about some kind of Sheen boot camp once we get back."
---
The hot Whiirr night stretches on, and as the assault force draws near to the research camp the talking dies off and each group - wherren warriors and Sheen, the shaman and Chosen, and the Delta team - spreads out for their approach.
Hugh sends Angel out ahead of the main group to get a fresh pair of eyes on the target. Angel notes the camp hasn't changed their outer perimeter; he gets close and hides against a fallen tree as two drones scout the woods past the treeline. The machines pass and Angel crawls through dead leaves and mud to an opening in the foliage.
The manta's still in the same spot Angel last saw it, and there's still some flickering light coming from the side hatch. Angel doesn't know if it's the same people - they could've simply worn different clothes - but there are two people in and out of the manta with all manner of tools and parts.
Aside from the manta repairs, there's a lot less bustle to the camp this time around. Two Turai are hanging out on the north side of the barracks-hab closest to Davis' planned entry. They have the stereotypical "bored guard" stance Angel has seen on countless people - usually right before he spices up their evenings. A group of three more cloaked Turai are actually walking the perimeter about halfway between the camp buildings and the thicker vegetation at the treeline. Angel spots them when they disturb a swath of tall grass. The refugees seem to have settled in just fine. Piles of crates and other containers - most likely shoved outside to make room for all the newcomers - sit in poorly organized piles around the main dome. Each pile has a tarp over it to keep off the seemingly random downpours.
The inner pair of drones lazily circle the camp as well. Angel thinks he might have been made for a tense moment, but the jungle is full of false positives. One of the common saw-beaked Toucan Sams trots across the clearing near Angel, and the drones continue on their patrol. The surveillance tower that rises from the dome silently surveys the entire camp.
Angel's seen enough. He waits for the outer drones to pass one more time, then crawls back through the moonlit jungle to his team. The soggy, muddy Delta (but when is Angel NOT covered in whatever environment he's currently in?) creeps out of the undergrowth right next to Hugh. He relays the new intel.
"I don't see anything new here that breaks the plan," Arketta says. In the background, the shaman and Chosen are checking their SCAR-Hs one last time. "What's next, Captain Verrill?" she asks.
Admiral Duck Sauce
