eyestwo
Michael''s act was treated like the disrespect that it was, and the elder foreman started pointing at the ground and jabbering with soft anxiousness. Massy islands of men and women milled soundlessly behind him, glancing apprehensively amongst themselves and staring out of wide and disquieted eyes. And behind them protruded a colony of structures like wigwams, the huts fashioned of canvas pulled over metal skeletons. Above them hummed a thousand chrome-colored mushroom-structures eating away at the rainbow-hued lichen-covered rock-face; the automated drills had been turned down to a low stutter, and the maze of conveyor-channels shuttled a thin stream of ore toward a pit of unknown depth that had been dug out of the ground beside the Bejana habitation.
Arrayed against the Bejana was the entire railgun-toting combat troop that could be mustered from the remnants of the Allied Forces, their exosuits sooted black in streaks and looking the worse for wear and having been sealed up multiple times over with large, discolored execrescences so that the blimpy things all seemed rather lopsided and unnatural.
At the head of the ragged troop were those that comprised the acting command line plus entourage. From the remnants of the TAF First Brigade: Sergeant Hrodwulf Granger, CFCs Norma Myrmec and Szymon Gombrovich, the veteran CFCs Messanal Carrera, Fenian McCloskey, Palir Durant and Chenna Punnar, and the PLPs, Michael Thane, Zachariah Greenberg, Aminata Waggon and Alisha Ruiz. PLP Deng was, Betelgeuse noted, nowhere to be seen.
From the remnants of the PDF Jegorich First Brigade: Subaltern Tenzhian Cacliocos, Staff Sergeant Entuban Kanos, Sergeants Von Fenak and Allih Belekov, and the PLPs Thete Jutson (Sergeant), Voke Thatcher, Douglas McKay and Betelgeuse Sakar. A Private Edith Pavlov had secreted herself between Betelgeuse and Douglas, but she had been discrete enough that this fact was not commented upon by anyone.
By some curious turn of events, the PLP Michael Thane had been, for unfathomable reasons, tasked by Hrodwulf to lead the TAF force in this first contact with the Bejana.
"What is he saying?" Michael snapped harshly, his skin white as an albino under the glare of the Bejana floodlights, his beady eyes boring holes into the Jegorichian officer some meters to his left. Not an ounce of respect passed between him and Subaltern Cacliocos.
"He''s speaking in dialect," Cacliocos said simply, checking his wrist-transceiver to ensure that he was transmitting over the custom joint-force comms-link rigged up by the comms personnel. Folding his arms across his chest, he added: "I don''t understand him myself."
comical
"I am knowing several words, sir," Entuban interjected, stepping up and addressing himself to Cacliocos. "But I cannot hear what he is saying because of this suit."
why not get the hell over here
"Michael, you have to stop that," Norma sounded, her voice soft with affected sensuousness. She sidled up beside Michael, her plump cheeks bunching, and Betelgeuse found that her red lashes were longer than he remembered. "He''s scared. You need to cool it with all the extra movement."
"Best be careful Mikey. We don''t know what they''re capable of. Fear leads to rash decisions. Your fear, their fear," Hrodwulf remarked, raising his left forearm noncommittally. He stood several meters behind and to the right of Michael, ensconced within a grim-faced entourage that kept their hands on their railguns and oozed hypervigilance.
Norma was scanning the faces of the Jegorichians, eyeing the backline, squinting at the PLPs and perhaps frowning as she saw Edith; and when Betelgeuse'' eyes met hers, nothing, not even recognition, passed between them. She pressed her lips tightly together, returning her attention to the elder foreman.
"Sergeant Granger, they do not have any weapons," Cacliocos said, stressing his words with keen vigor. "They are non-combatants. It is not necessary to resort to violence."
Belekov cleared his throat obnoxiously, and Betelgeuse supposed it had been wise not to permit him speaking privileges over the joint-force comms-link.
"Okay, well, this isn''t going anywhere without the fucking ability to communicate."
But Michael''s grousing had no sooner dropped than Norma had closed the gap with the elder foreman, one arm holding out an oxygen canister, and the tension rose perceptibly with the suddenness of her action.
what are you doing
chill the fuck outdrastic
This place is a goddamn powder-keg,
Although… I wouldn''t be surprised if she manages to get somewhere,Increment
<blockquote>
Owing to a broad curiosity respecting different aspects of culture, Norma Myrmec is able to connect closely with others.
</blockquote>
"Sir, I think CFC Myrmec has the right idea. Shall we have Staff Entuban see if he can''t help out with some simple communication?" Betelgeuse suggested, addressing Cacliocos. He was transmitting over the joint-forces comms-link, courtesy of Cacliocos'' specially conferred transmission privileges.
"Go ahead," Cacliocos nodded, his facial muscles twitching at the TAF contingent''s nervousness.
The giant lumbered forward, purposely shouldering past a glaring Michael and making for the elder foreman who by now was recoiling in barely disguised fear. But the old Bejana did not shirk his position, holding his ground valiantly against Entuban''s advancing girth.
It is bravery against a greater force,
berkabarkaburka
The elder foreman was shortly joined by a young and handsome Bejana youth whose skin glinted with an oily sheen. The younger man adjusted his rebreather and, kneeling to take a closer look at the jerry can, raised his head to regard Entuban with a rather confused shrug.
Thinking that the Bejana couldn''t hear him through his exosuit, Entuban yelled the word louder, then conjugated it, then added a smattering of other foreign sounds whose syntax sounded clumsy in Entuban''s mouth. The expressions never shed their confusion. Frustrated, he yelled so loud the automated voice dampeners kicked in and then all Betelgeuse could hear was a dull, unintelligible mutter.
"maintaining separate lines of communications for operational purposes"
"That''s rather new, you thinking," Voke jibed. "Don''t know if we can trust what comes out of Downie''s brain."
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
don''tup
"Douglas, would it kill you to keep quiet?" Thete sounded, her exasperation overspilling into her expression. "Not everything needs to be commented upon."
"But hey it''s just damn stupid, ain''t it?" Douglas chortled. "I''m thinking maybe the Democucks are getting too poor to be fighting this war properly, y''know?"
"By now you should know how the system treats flows of information," Betelgeuse responded, his voice thick with insouciance.
"Whut dat mean?" the one-armed man inquired.
"It means," Thete translated, and some meters away her prosthetic eye was staring with as much irritation as a non-biological eye could muster, "that they''re making it hard to communicate along unofficial channels, for God''s sake."
brother
Nogodonlydemocracy
The attempted trade with the Bejana had reached a critical juncture. By the force of his words (and a rather edifying masterclass in communicating meaning by gestures) Entuban had impressed upon the elder and younger Bejana the Allied Forces'' intent to exchange hypergolic fuel for oxygen.
what are they doing? Where are they going?
no
envy human
gravity
"They don''t have Incunabula," Betelgeuse commented suddenly, frowning, feeling like this was a detail he should have noticed earlier.
"Of course," Thete returned matter-of-factly, stepping forward beside Douglas as she did so. "The Bejana have never accepted the Democracy''s claim over Desert and never accepted their gifts. They may not be a homogenous people, being comprised of various tribe, but in this rejection of Democratic gifts they are quite united."
is
Voke hiccuped, and Betelgeuse glanced back out of reflex to find his expression stuck somewhere between surprise and consternation. Something about the revelation that the Bejana had no Incunabula fundamentally disturbed Voke.
Betelgeuse returned his attention to the developing scene. He saw the Bejana men stream up between the canvas tentages and then enter into one of the larger structure; when they exited they had with them several massive trolleys stacked full of oxygen tanks—large, 1200-litre cylinders that resembled torpedoes—and they returned post-haste to the area of exchange, the trolleys trundling violently over the gravel-strewn ground.
Now before Entuban and Norma again, they unloaded the wagon and arranged the tanks in a neat pile before the remnants of the Allied Forces.
It was all about amounts now. The negotiation began in earnest, if it could be called a negotiation. The remnant force had ten or so jerry cans of hypergolic fuel that they were willing to part with and in exchange the Bejana had originally been willing to provide enough oxygen to last the whole force 48 hours—approximately 125 tanks.
Hrodwulf wanted more. The Bejana provided 200 tanks. Then 250.
Hrodwulf wanted more, still more.
Cacliocos stood by silently, and Betelgeuse could see, through the man''s blood-streaked visor, the usual vein start to pulse across his temple. The Bejana were starting to stir. There were maybe a thousand of them, and their expressions and alien eyes were turning fraught. Edith prodded Betelgeuse in his side and indicated something important with her eyes, but even without her mediation Betelgeuse could understand the gist of what the Bejana were whispering to each other.
Cacliocos had had enough. The arrangement had long ago ceased to be a trade.
"Sergeant Granger, we''ll not be able to carry all of it. No way we have enough space," he said
"We''ll pump it into the APCs'' tanks and pressurize it. The regulators can handle multiple times the atmospheric pressure of these tanks, I''m sure."
"We have enough to last us," Cacliocos pressed.
"And how would you know? Forgive my lack of faith, considering what you told me about the Bejana speaking Aluaa," Hrodwulf faced Cacliocos, blue eyes glinting like shards of steel.
"The Bejana are not a single people, and do not have a single language. Every settlement, every tribe is different. We cannot take any more—look at how many of them there are," Cacliocos replied. And he saw fit to add: "There are many, many children."
"We best cap their population growth then," Hrodwulf said, his tone edged with immovable intent.
"What the hell are you saying? This is a trade. Do you understand what that means?" Cacliocos kept his voice level and flat, as Betelgeuse knew the Subaltern tended to do whenever he was fuming.
"You sure have a knack for unconstructive feedback," Hrodwulf said. "I doubt you have any cause to criticize me even if this all does shade into expropriation. You forget the Green Book permits us this optionNorma, what does it say, exactly?"
"It… save when the counterparty has allegiance to the Sylvan Protectorate, all expropriative measures for operational purposes are permitted," Norma responded. She and Entuban were by now dwarfed by the pile of oxygen tanks. Betelgeuse couldn''t help but notice her standing with her hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl receiving punishment and looking a little sick in the stomach.
"You… you would… to what end?" Cacliocos took several steps forward, barely managing to sound coherent.
"Sergeant Granger," Betelgeuse, seeing that Cacliocos was starting to exhibit signs of being emotionally overborne, stepped forward to interject, "if you push these people any further, the prospect of conflict will become unavoidable. You must consider if the benefits of this course of action outweighs the risk."
Betelgeuse Sakar
"Look—there is PLP Thane beside you. I am certain my rank is equal to his. Maybe you''ve forgotten having tasked him with leading the negotiations?" Betelgeuse returned calmly, his own glare latching onto Hrodwulf.
"Insubordinate little shit—"
Hrodwulf''s insult was cut short by a sudden commotion in the distance. All eyes turned: an exosuited figure was running between the tentages, holding in its right hand a weapon that appeared to be a shotgun but which Betelgeuse was sure did not form a part of the Standard Issue package. In its left hand was held by its neck a dead thing. A child, a Bejana girl, her neck broken and her head canted at an odd angle.
Four or five Bejana men were chasing the fleeing figure and firing their projectile weapons at it, and as the whole group came closer it was clear that the exosuited figure was limping because it had been hit in its leg.
MONKEY
"... Is that…"
Douglas'' words were the last thing Betelgeuse heard before chaos erupted and the Bejana whipped around in a moil and started shouting and raging in every direction.
crossbow boltthunk
Hrodwulf was already moving, screaming for the oxygen stores to be barricaded and raising his railgun and blasting the elder foreman point-blank in his abdomen, separating that old body into two halves about its thin waist.
The bedlam was raised and bodies flew around in all directions like haggard spirits finding their escape from temporal chaos. There were screams, yells and all the paraphernalia of nightmare confusion as armature rounds traced deadly arcs into the shuddering tumult.
Appendages were amputated steaming from twisting bodies, mists red and mortal had conquered the frontage, and, as death came reaping with impunity the people whose skin was the color of deep things, the ground cascaded with raw and sanguineous flows that caught the light in bulbous and engorged shapes.
The TAF had begun the general slaughter and the Jegorichians, caught by surprise, were just starting to overcome the inertia when Cacliocos ran across their arc of fire and waved his arms frantically.
stop them
"Cacliocos! Have you gone mad?" Hrodwulf roared, wheeling towards the Jegorichians, his entire form soaked in the old Bejana''s gore. In his right hand he grasped the younger Bejana''s silken ponytail, the man''s decapitated head hanging and turning lazily and revealing a young face swollen in death. Blood was still spurting in violent and parabolic gouts from the headless body twitching in the wet gravel.
"They are non-combatants, you fool!" Cacliocos returned, pointing at Belekov who had raised his weapon and seemed primed to joined the killing, catching the Sergeant''s eyes in a gaze so savage the he was forced to lower his weapon.
They were combatants the moment they turned their weapons upon us!rodwulf
Norma nodded, her face white as bone, and given her expression it was quite unclear with whom or what she was agreeing with.
Norma nodded, her face white as bone. Beside her was hollering an Entuban who was engaged in trying to intimidate Hrodwulf and his entourage, his exosuit chestpiece smoking from several bullet-holes courtesy of the Bejana he was trying to protect.
Ahman