Spots: Start with Violence

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

76. Butterflies.	78. Guilt.

77. Start with Violence

Outside the Boardroom. Avril is waiting beside the closed door. Spots and Claws arrive first, stop at attention.

Claws. "Sir. Corporal Walker and Private Guitart reporting as ordered."

Avril. "At ease. Where's the alien?"

Spots. "On his way, sir."

Avril. "We'll wait here, then."

Spots. "Lieutenant? May we ask... what's this about?"

Avril looks at them, is about to speak, when the Violinist turns the corner. "Ah. Samuel-Colt. Thank you for joining us."

Samuel-Colt, rising arpeggio. "We are at your service, Lieutenant-Paul-Avril."

Avril nods. "Good. We need your help." He pushes open the door.

The Boardroom. All the human bodies have been removed but the floor is slick and the walls spattered. The crab's hulk remains where Peaches dropped it, behind the upended dissection table. There is shattered glass all around the entrance. Neither Peaches's nor the intelligence officer's empty pistols have been recovered yet, and are eloquent.

Spots, whispering. "Mother of God."

Claws. "****. Don't tell me that thing was still ****in' alive when we brought it in."

Avril. "It appears so, Corporal."

Claws. "****! It was dead!"

Spots looks at Samuel-Colt. The Fiddler rests one upper-arm hand on Claws's shoulder, startling him.

Samuel-Colt, very low drone. "If it was designed to mimic death it would do so very completely. You would not have been able to tell. Even your instruments would have been fooled."

Claws, jaw clenched. "You ****in' warned us, didn't you. And we didn't ****in' listen." To Avril. "How many died?"

Avril. "We're not sure. One of the specialists was still breathing. Four, maybe five. And Lieutenant Bonnet was wounded bringing it down." To Samuel-Colt. "What can you tell us about this? Was this thing designed to infiltrate our base?"

Claws, angry. "****, no. It was designed so stupid-****in' ********s could drag it inside the base's defenses."

Spots. "Claws. Lieutenant Bonnet ordered us to bring it in. It wasn't our decision."

Claws. "No, but she based it on data we gave her. Which was obviously. ****in'. Wrong."

Spots. "If it was designed to fool us into thinking it was dead by actually being dead for an hour and a half, Claws, I don't think you can call it 'obvious.' Unless God lent you His omniscience and didn't inform us?"

Samuel-Colt, interested. "Would your deity inform you of such a change?"

Spots. "He often—" She stops, then shakes her head. "Samuel-Colt. This crab?"

Samuel-Colt looks at it, single note plucked. "I can smell nothing. I cannot work with the dead except as you do, by visual observation."

Avril. "You're saying you need a live one to give us any information on a change this big? There's nothing you can tell us?"

Samuel-Colt. "A live specimen would be more illuminating, yes."

Before Avril can speak, Spots says, "This disguising of it. Why would you do that if you were designing it?"

Claws. "He told us already. Way back when. For recon. They fall fake-dead in the Warren, their own collect 'em when our backs are turned."

Samuel-Colt. "That was our supposition, yes. Infiltration is not a tactic used by the Enemy."

Spots. "Samuel-Colt? We found the location where the Enemy enters the Warren. They appear to use holes. And a door."

Samuel-Colt. "Those are not uncommon methods."

Avril, frustration showing. "Is there anything you can tell us about this? Anything we could use?"

Samuel-Colt, slow melody. "Lieutenant-Paul-Avril, you already know that the Enemy is designing new models. We can guess at their purpose, which you have also already done. We can dissect the body, which you already do. If you bring us a living crab, we might be able to divine more from the pheromonal signature and the carapace scent-markers. But we are no more omniscient than the Mother's Guardian. We cannot commune with the dead."

Claws looks at him sharply.

Avril. "Fine. Corporal, Private, you are dismissed. Samuel-Colt, thank you for your time."

Samuel-Colt, falling arpeggio. "You are welcome." He steps outside. Spots and Claws follow.

Claws turns immediately, stepping so aggressively into the Violinist's space that Samuel-Colt back-pedals. "You know more about this than you're tellin'. So ****in' TELL US."

Spots, grabbing his shoulder. "Claws!"

Claws. "It's true, isn't it? Isn't it? **** you, TELL ME!"

Spots. "CLAWS!"

Samuel-Colt. "I have suppositions, Mother's-Guardian. Nothing more. And some things I will not give breath to speak unless they can be corroborated."

Claws. "And if we bring you a live one? That'll be ****in' enough?"

Spots. "Travis, please!"

Samuel-Colt. "It may be."

Claws. "Then we'll ****in' bring you a live one. And you'll find out what the **** is going on here, if you have to ****in' eat him yourself. Do you understand?"

Spots. "TRAVIS!"

Samuel-Colt. "Mother's-Guardian, you presume too much." He raises a scythed claw. "Our peers may speak to us that way. Others must show more courtesy."

Claws. "You want me to ****in' paint your arm just to get you to talk? You want us to start this off with violence? I'll do it. I'll bind us together against our ****in' wills if that's what it takes!"

Spots gets between them and shoves Claws back. "That's enough. Enough! This is what the Enemy wants. This is what the Enemy has wanted since God cast him out of Heaven. Stop!"

Claws turns his back on them and leaves.

76. Butterflies.	78. Guilt.