Which only made her appear an utter dumbchuck to her supposed human inferiors, who couldn’t help but set a charge of excitement buzzing throughout the room. Any human would instantly spot that something big was going on.
Not for the first time, the Hardit completed the roll call, satisfied that she had accounted for every human worker. The correct scent-marked clothing might be present, but not the bodies inside. Hortez’s overalls were currently swamping a petite girl from Team Alpha called Kalynda. As far as the Hardits were concerned, Kalynda was supposed to be bringing food back from the kitchens for Team Alpha’s breakfast, a task actually being carried out by an ally from Team Delta. The Aux had jumped into the game of swapping clothing so enthusiastically that Madge had tried and failed to rein it in. What was supposed to be their secret advantage had transformed into a game played for the simple pleasure of flipping a finger up in the Hardits’ snouts.
Sushantat started issuing the assignments, giving no sign that she knew any of this.
A call came over the overseer’s wrist comm, instantly clamping the room into silence. The humans had been waiting for this.
The Hardit’s natural attitude was one of listlessness, as if encountering the humans was an arduous imposition that deserved a long lie down afterwards. Sushantat was the most active of the lot, officially number two, but effectively running the day-to-day Aux operations in Beta’s area. That impression of laziness evaporated when the call came through. Her ears flattened against her head; her lips pulled back to reveal a jaw filled with sharp teeth through which she sucked air into suddenly purposeful muscles.
“The situation changes,” she said. “All of you wait here.”
Sushantat left. Striding as far as the doorway, she then dropped to all fours and cantered away, her motion making a loud skittering noise surprisingly similar to the Trogs.
“Is that it?” shouted Number 72 in disdain. There were murmurs of anger from the other Aux. She was a gaunt woman who wouldn’t share her human name. “We risked our lives for what? To stay here?” She spat at Arun. “Look at him, the magnificent General 106. His plan has won us a day cooped up in this hellhole.”
Adrienne confronted 72, toe-to-toe. “Shut up!” she barked.
But 72 was right, thought Arun. What had Hortez told him? To give hope to the hopeless, only to snatch it away… that was the greatest cruelty of all. And for all his big dreams, the only thing Arun had actually achieved so far was to store up a great expectation of hope.
He ran, dashing past Beta’s supply store, machine room, parts room, and out in the main corridor where the smell was neutral and the floor regularly cleaned.
Sushantat was still out of sight, but Arun’s hearing had been gene-optimized and augmented by amplifiers and wetware filters. Following the skittering sound of the speeding Hardit echoing off the hard corridor surfaces was simple. But the Hardit’s sense of smell was acute. Could she smell him following? If she could and stopped him, then he was dead.
Too late to worry about that now, he decided.
He was committed.
He followed her in an arc around the edges of the novice area and out again to a passageway off the main corridor where the ceiling had been lowered. Nice and snug for Hardits; just the way they liked it.
As he passed more junctions, he trusted more to his instinctive sense of direction.
Finally he came to a closed door. It had been two minutes since he’d last heard Sushantat. Either she was behind that door or he’d lost her.
Nothing to lose!
He pushed the door access stud. As soon as the door slid into its housing, he was assailed by a wave of Hardit-stink.
The room had been lowered even more than the passageway outside. It was extensive, though, with banks of computer equipment winking status lights in the shadowy depths. He didn’t get much of a look because rubbing together in a tail-swishing huddle were four Hardits.
“See, I told you,” said Sushantat through her voice synthesizer when Arun burst into the room. “This animal has followed me all the way back from its hovel.”
There were three other Hardits here: Hen Beddes-Stolarz, Tawfiq Woomer-Calix, and the boss that the humans rarely saw: Biljah Hilleskill-Khull.
They looked uninterested in Arun’s arrival, as if there were more important matters. But what did he really know about Hardits and their politics? He’d have to start laying his bets or his plan would fall at the first hurdle.
“Mistress,” he cried, “I beg you. Let me convey valuable information. In Ala… arghh!”
Arun’s breath was squeezed from his body as he crashed to the ground, rolled up into a ball of agony. As he fell, his eyes caught sight of Tawfiq holding out the grubby little box that sent waves of intolerable pain through his overalls.
He tried to wrench his jaw open to explain, to beg… to breathe. But the pain gripped him so tightly that all he could move were his eyeballs.
He pleaded with all he had left, forcing his eyes to look up at Tawfiq. She seemed to understand, was showing him mercy, because she switched off the pain device.
Arun’s muscles spasmed back into some semblance of working order. He drew in one breath. Then another. Just as he was about to tell them his lie, Tawfiq turned the pain device back on.
She hadn’t shown mercy at all! She was taking care that he didn’t asphyxiate too quickly. If she wanted to prolong his pain, she had to let him breathe occasionally.
Tawfiq alternated bouts of agony with the briefest of respites until Arun was too dazed and his brain too oxygen starved to feel the pain.
Amazingly, he discovered he was breathing again.
Did that mean he had died?
“… waste our time. This one is diseased. It is better to kill him quickly.”
As his brain reconnected with his hearing, Arun noticed artificial human words drifting into his ears. The Hardits were speaking in their own language simultaneously with the computer translation. Each synthetic voice sounded identical, but the angry alien voices did not. Arun recognized the speaker as Sushantat, the one he had followed… the Hardit he could see bringing out her own pain controller and adjusting its setting…
Arun was engulfed in a new level of agony. Instead of his muscles locking up and feeling as if they were being skewered by a thousand viciously barbed needles, this new torture was like drowning in an ocean of hellfire. His muscles were free for him to spasm, to writhe and groan. This setting was not designed to inflict pain.
This was killing him.
He could feel his insides fry, his spirit consumed in the flames that he could feel but not see, the fire that burned inside him.
He tried again to plead but he still could not speak. His jaw muscles refused to obey because any movement was even more agony.
With a supreme effort of will, he opened a tiny gap in his mouth and tried to speak. All that emerged was a primal grunt and an acrid smell of smoldering.
He tried telling himself that this grunt had been only a start, something he could build upon. But he had expended all his reserves of courage and strength to utter it. He was spent.
The pain lessened.
He managed to glance up at Sushantat.
She was talking with the others, her hand still activating the pain device, but ignoring him now.
Sushantat hadn’t reduced his punishment, Arun realized, this was his body shorting out, shutting down in readiness for oblivion. His brain numbed too. Thoughts were difficult to form. Blurring. A last thought came clearly: he was dying. This was where he ended.
No! He would not allow it!
Others had thought he had a destiny. The Aux had placed a great expectation upon him. He. Must. Not. Fail. Them.
“Al-a-bam-a,” he cried. His voice heaved like a child talking through uncontrollable sobbing. “Not a… fire! Slave… revolt.”
Biljah stopped speaking and looked at this writhing human.
“Guns,” Arun cried.
The pain switched off.
Waves of sensation replaced the numbness.
He preferred the numbness because the alternative was worse. He screamed with the pain.
Arun sat there moaning for a long time. How long, he had no idea – his timer implants weren’t functioning. Then he noticed two things. He was lying in a pool of his own vomit and Biljah was yelling at him to explain himself.
He gave himself another handful of breaths and then answered. “Mistress Sushantat said there was a fire at Alabama.”
“I don’t remember saying that,” said Sushantat.
“You must have,” said Biljah. “How else could the human have known?”
Arun tensed, praying that the Hardits wouldn’t answer their own question. The humans knew about the fire because they had organized it, but the idea that humans could do such a thing was still inconceivable to the arrogant monkeys. Sushantat appeared to have conceded.
Arun continued. “I connected the news of the fire with rumors I’ve heard about Alabama. There are secret caches of guns and explosives. Could this be the start of a slave revolt?”
“Preposterous,” said Sushantat. “He lies to save his life.”
“But can we be sure what he says is not true?” asked Hen.
“If you give credence to this one’s words,” said Sushantat, “then we should send the Jotuns and their primitive soldiers in their shiny armor to investigate. That is their role, isn’t it? To die in battle?”
Biljah considered. “I do not wish to smell their contempt if we cry panic over an incident that turns out to be innocent.”
“Well, if you are so worried about them, organize the agricultural humans based at the depot to report on the situation,” said Sushantat.
“I cannot,” replied Biljah. “There is a crop fire fifteen miles northwest of the depot. I have already sent the local humans to extinguish it.”
“What!” Sushantat looked agitated. “Why did you not inform me? I begin to believe this human’s words. One or both events could be diversions. Send in the soldiers.”
“No,” said Biljah. “Not yet. Not until I’m sure.”
“What alternative do you have?” insisted Sushantat. “Do you expect me to fight? I refuse!”
Arun looked from one Hardit to the other, trying to understand the balance of the argument. All along he’d gambled that the Hardits would be unable to ignore a major fire in the food depot, but would be so scared of accidentally revealing their gun-smuggling operation that they would be desperate to avoid bringing in outsiders, such as the Marines.
Arun hadn’t considered that some Hardits were unaware of the gun smuggling, but that was the only way to explain Shushantat’s attitude. She might have just tried to murder him, but she appeared to be the most honest person in the room.
Then he realized that he was best out of the argument, and cast his eyes to the ground.
“There is a way,” said Tawfiq. “Team Beta suffers from a chronic oversupply of workers. If the situation were dangerous, then a few casualties from Beta would be to everyone’s advantage, even any surviving humans.”
Thank you. Tawfiq had just spoken the words Arun had been praying for.
“Too risky,” said Sushantat. “We need military assistance without delay.”
“Need I remind you who is in charge here?” Biljah’s artificially voiced words were expressionless, but Arun was sure she was issuing some stern scents to her subordinate.
The leader of the Hardits suddenly remembered Arun was there and switched off her human translation. The argument raged on for a short while. Arun couldn’t follow a word, but at the end of it, he was still alive and following Tawfiq back to Team Beta’s room.
Arun had barely made it out with his life, but he’d done the necessary.
Operation Clubhouse was back on.
—— Chapter 43 ——
“Mistress, this slave begs to report our status.”
Arun shook his head. Adrienne was enjoying this a little too much. Any human listening in would hear the smirk behind her words.
“Report,” came Tawfiq’s artificial voice through Adrienne’s radio, which was turned up loud enough to fill the truck cab.
“Thank you mistress. We have caught and interrogated an Agri-Aux.”
“And?”
“And they are concealing something.”
“Concealing what? Explosives? Weapons?”
“We have not discovered weapons. I meant that the Agri-Aux knows something but would not reveal what she knew.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” whispered Arun. He was sitting alongside Adrienne in the truck cab. Madge glowered at her from the driver’s seat.
“Do not trust the crop slaves,” said Tawfiq. “Stay on your guard.”
“Oh, mistress. I never knew you cared.”
Madge reached over and switched off the radio.
Arun could practically see the sparks fly between the two women.
“Go check the others are okay,” Madge ordered him between clenched teeth.
Arun took the hint. He opened up the hatch in the cab and climbed out, leaving Adrienne and Madge to work out between them who was in charge. Arun would back his squad mate without hesitation, but he understood that Madge wanted to prove she was the commander without Arun there to outnumber Adrienne.
He heaved himself up, closed the hatch and clambered over the spine of the lurching dung truck.
The truck’s powerplant was completely silent, but the heavy tread tires made enough racket to nearly drown out the angry squawks of the birds they disturbed as they drove along the same track they always used to get to Alabama.
Arun was sore all over from the Hardit’s pain shocks, but his sense of balance was undamaged. He stood up and walked toward the rear, arms thrown out for balance. On the road behind them he could see Springer driving the other truck. They waved to each other.
When Tawfiq had sent Team Beta out to investigate the strange goings-on at Alabama, giving them strict instructions to never speak of what they found to anyone but her, it was Adrienne who had requested transport. The result was the tucks that ferried the broken-down human excrement from Detroit to the farmland depot: the Alabama Dung Express.
The poop trucks consisted of a wheeled frame to which four pods were attached by mag clamps, two pairs hanging from either side of a central spine. Instead of raw ingredients for fertilizer, today one of the pods had a different cargo.
Arun open up the hatch on top of the pod and shouted inside. “Everything all right in there?”
He was greeted with a cheer.
“I guess that’s a yes then. You want I should close the hatch?”
“No, it’s a lovely day. Keep it open.”
“You got it.”
Arun and many of the Aux inside the pod were wearing skirts and bonnets – the full high-tech protective kit. Esther’s people had donated eight crude suits earlier in the week, but today all of her Agri-Aux had decided to forego their full protective gear as part of their atonement.
Arun hoped she wasn’t going to be frakked off when she learned they’d taken the dung express rather than walk
“Hey, McEwan!” came a call from the hatch.
“What?”
“We can’t get radio reception down here. Catch!”
Someone threw a speaker up through the hatch. Arun clamped his radio to the hatch, connected the speaker then settled down, sitting astride the truck’s spine, looking out over the fields. Now that he was properly shielded, he could appreciate the beauty of the golden crops as they rippled in a light breeze under delicate flakes of pure white clouds. Arun could happily spend the entire day looking at clouds; they were so beautiful and he didn’t often get to see them.
In the distance he could see the last few wisps of smoke dissipating in the sky from one of the fake fires the Agri-Aux had started, using the smoke bombs provided by Pedro. Hopefully they had given off enough heat to look like a genuine fire to any orbiting satellite.
Arun turned his back on the smoke. That was someone else’s problem now. Having done his bit, he was looking forward to taking the rest of the day off. He’d never had a vacation before.
He settled down to enjoy the broadcast from Radio Hortez.
—— Chapter 44 ——
So there you have it, Scendence fans, The Stormers from 4th battalion, 101st Assault Regiment have knocked out Divine Inspiration from 5th battalion, 420th Tac. While we wait for the next game, stick with Radio Hortez as we return once again to Team Ultimate Victory’s Deception-Planning match from earlier today, against the Fieldgrays from 1st battalion, 410th Tac.
Each match uses a randomly selected game or challenge, and for this contest the Scendence AI has selected an old favorite, Skat. It’s an ancient Earth card game, folks. Skat’s a popular game because it rewards bluff, risk taking, and a grasp of probability statistics. Up till this point in the game, our bug-ugly contestant from Team Ultimate Victory has lost every hand. Fieldgrays opponent, Kadian Stadeker, has kept a straight face but now I can see his expression soften, a faint smile on his lips. He’s coasting to an easy victory against the surprise Troggie substitution for disgraced idiot, Arun McEwan. Or so he thinks. Let’s begin our replay by hearing what our scribe friend has to say after losing yet another hand.
“You do realize, Stadeker, that I have bluffed all along. I have allowed you to win up to this point. I have just been dealt an excellent hand and I shall beat you with it. It is not that I especially wish you to lose, but I wish to win more.”
“What do you mean? You want to win more than I do?”
“No. I wish to win more than I don’t want you to lose.”
“Eh? Your language skills are even worse than your card playing. You’re talking utter drent.”
“I regret to tell you, Stadeker, that you are incorrect. It is your ability to listen and comprehend that is utter drent.”
Kadian shrugs that barb away, but you can see on his face that he’s rattled.
“Eight of hearts.”
“You what?”
“Ten of bells. Unter of acorns.”
“What are you playing at, insect?”
Marine Cadet (The Human Legion Book 1) Page 27
