Spots: Summon the Council

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

66. The Improbability of Sentience.	68. Mother's Council.

67. Summon the Council

Barracks, a few moments later, as Claws enters. Spots is sitting cross-legged on her bunk.

Claws. "What the f—err, ah... Spots. You waitin' up for me?"

Spots. "Yep.

Claws. "I'm not sixteen, you know."

Spots. "But you have been drinking."

Claws. "!"

Claws. "How the hell can you smell that from there?"

Spots. "Secret Mom Power. So, what's going on?"

Claws. "We're about to go talk to Peaches about the crabs goin' soft on us." He taps a request into the wall-screen.

Spots, when he's done. "Go brush your teeth." At his look: "I'm serious."

Shaking his head, Claws goes. When he comes out, Spots has a clean shirt for him and a few mints.

"You kiddin' me?"

"If it's important enough to go see the Lieutenant about it, it's important enough not to have her first impression of you be 'he smells like...' " Spots hesitates, wrinkles her nose. "Good beer. Hey, where did you find good beer on station?"

Claws. "You know the difference between good and bad beer?"

Spots. "Yes?"

Claws. "Good, you can teach me some other day. Let's go."

###

Cut to a small conference room off the Control Center.

Peaches. "They're what?"

Claws. "Breedin' the new shells, ma'am. They should be just about done, at that. Two weeks is the quote I've got and it's been over that."

Peaches. "And you had this from the Fiddler."

Claws. "Yes, ma'am. He was very forthcomin'."

Peaches. "Did he give you any details on what we could expect?"

Claws. " 'Fraid not, ma'am, except that two weeks was long enough to put hundreds of crabs on the field."

Peaches. "****." She presses her thumb against her browbone. "You think he's willing to talk about it?"

Claws. "He's willin', if we bring Private Guitart."

Peaches. "All right. Head over there now. I'll join you as soon as I find Lieutenant Avril."

66. The Improbability of Sentience.	68. Mother's Council.