Spots: Mother's Council

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

67. Summon the Council.	69. Roles and Protocol.

68. Mother's Council

Peaches is heading down the corridor toward the Door, Gunny at her back and Avril at her side.

Avril. "So according to the Fiddler the crabs are about to hit us. How'd we find this out?"

Peaches. "He talks to one of my privates." Avril glances at her. She shrugs, uncomfortable. "He'll only talk about certain topics with certain people. Alien protocol thing."

Avril. "If he only talks to your private, why are we going there now?"

Peaches. "Because I'm hoping he'll answer more questions. I've asked her to be there."

Avril. "So... you, me, this private—"

"And a corporal."

Avril. "And a corporal? How's he fit in?"

Peaches. "Remember the whole 'no woman without an honor guard thing?"

Avril. "Oh!" And looks over his shoulder at Gunny. "And you're bringing yours."

Peaches nods.

Avril, chagrined. "That makes me... the odd man out."

Peaches. "I'm sure he'll understand."

Fiddler's Conference Room, off the Lab. This is a large rectangular room with a conference table at one end and a large open space at the other next to a wall-screen, presumably to allow small-scale demonstrations. There's a small dais; the Fiddler is standing at the end of it. Spots and Claws are at its edge. They salute the entering officers; Samuel-Colt nods once to Peaches.

Peaches. "Um, thank you for seeing us, Samuel-Colt."

Samuel-Colt, bowing a slow melody. "Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet. Maiden's-Escort. Lieutenant-Paul-Avril."

Peaches flushes at the 'maiden's escort' part. Fortunately she doesn't see Gunny's expression. "Private Guitart and Corporal Walker tell me that you shared some useful information with them about the current situation. That the crabs are reproducing."

Samuel-Colt. "That is correct."

Peaches. "And this takes... two weeks. So we should be seeing them soon."

Samuel-Colt. "Presuming our theory is correct, yes."

Peaches. "Do you have any idea how many of the enemy we should expect?"

Samuel-Colt spreads his hands, with a quick melody. "We have not examined that data, Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet. One might make an estimate by examining any previous surges, but we strongly suspect that the Enemy was already entrenched when you landed. They would have finished their initial breeding before your arrival. Data would be limited. We would encourage you not to draw... hasty conclusions."

Avril. "So we know they're coming... right now... but not how many."

Claws. "Uh... do we know that they'll abandon Mark One?" When Samuel-Colt glances at him: "If they switch to breeding the new shells, will they leave any capacity to breed the old ones?"

Samuel-Colt, a bounced note. "Unlikely. If the new shells work better, they will not waste materiel on old ones."

Peaches, frowning. "Is there an overhead to making the new ones? I mean, do better crabs take longer, or more... uh... stuff... to make?"

Samuel-Colt. "At times, Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet. Depending on the design."

Avril. "Are they going to come from one place? Can we set up a choke-point?"

Claws, under his breath. "****."

Avril. "Corporal? Something to add?"

Claws. "We already tried that. We died."

Avril glances at Peaches, who says: "He's right. My predecessor tried to find the crab's lab. His offensive failed, badly."

Avril. "But why? It's just a matter of finding it, right?"

A tense silence. Spots looks at Samuel-Colt. "Samuel-Colt?"

"Mother-soldier."

"Do you know why that didn't work?"

Samuel-Colt, low drone. "Mother, most breeding chambers are closely protected. The one servicing this location is most certainly deep underground. It will have multiple exits; its passages will empty into various tunnels above it that allow the Enemy to penetrate our own corridors at multiple points. A single choke-point is tactically unsound; the Enemy would not make it so easy."

...

Peaches. "Why isn't this kind of thing in our briefings? Or background information?"

Samuel-Colt. "We do not know, Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet. Perhaps it is a 'need-to-know' issue."

Claws. "****! The people who need to know are the ones who are gettin' their ***es chewed off, you ask me."

Gunny. "Which no one did, Corporal."

Peaches, muttering. "Though he has a point."

Samuel-Colt. "In fairness, Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet, the Enemy innovating is not a usual activity. This information may not have been included because it may have been assumed that you would not need it."

Avril. "There's got to be something we can do. I noticed those traps you set up in the floor, those are good ideas. Maybe we can use them?"

Peaches. "We haven't been able to test those extensively yet..."

Spots, quieter. "Samuel-Colt? Is there anything you wish you could tell us?"

Samuel-Colt, minor arpeggio rising, sharply staccato. "Mother, even in some things I cannot speak without specific circumstance. But we must say again: the Enemy innovating is not a usual activity."

Claws. "****. Meanin' we're in the middle of somethin' special. A crab test-bed? Some special mother-crab that specializes in new breeds? Somethin' like that?"

Samuel-Colt says nothing, bows nothing.

Claws. "****."

Spots. "Why us? Why here?"

Samuel-Colt. "Mother... where would you have your children during a war? Where the fighting is fiercest?"

Spots. "Of course not—oh. We're in the middle of nowhere, aren't we."

Peaches. "****."

67. Summon the Council.	69. Roles and Protocol.