A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth
| 83. A Little Kink in the Plan. | 85. Empathy, Unexpected. |
|---|
84. Internal Pressure
Peaches. "Completely? Nothing, not even an old model?"
Avril. "Not a thing." Looks up at Samuel-Colt. "What are they doing?"
Samuel-Colt, descending arpeggio. "We are not the Enemy, Lieutenant-Paul-Avril. We can only guess at their motivations."
Avril. "So... guess?"
Spots. "Sir." Avril glances at her. "A little courtesy, please."
Avril flushes, looks at Samuel-Colt. "Do you have any guesses you can share, Samuel-Colt?"
"No."
Full stop. Everyone looks at him.
Claws. "No? That's it?"
Samuel-Colt, sharp single note. "No." Spreads his upper hands. "If the Enemy has soldiers to send, they should be sending them. To abruptly withdraw is not in keeping with their normal tactics."
Peaches, frustrated and starting to slur. "What has been in keeping with their normal tactics lately?" Rubs her forehead. "Okay, I'm losing it. We'll just have to wait for them to come back. Send one person out per patrol with the trank rounds—no, two if we have the ammo—and let's hope we get something to shoot down soon."
Avril. "I'll spread the news. You rest, Savannah."
Peaches. "No choice... Thank you... Samuel-Colt."
Samuel-Colt. "It is our pleasure, Lieutenant-Savannah-Bonnet. Unless there is something else?"
Avril. "No, you can go. Thank you."
Samuel-Colt turns. Stops when Spots and Claws don't move.
Spots. "Samuel-Colt?"
Samuel-Colt. "We are awaiting our escorts."
Avril stares at him. His eyes narrow. To Spots and Claws: "Dismissed."
Outside in the corridor, Claws swears under his breath. "You tryin' to get us in trouble, Sam? Tearin' us between the officers and you? How exactly is that gonna help anyone?"
Samuel-Colt, low minor melody. "We must protect myself, Claws."
Spots. "From what? What is it that you see that you aren't telling us?"
Samuel-Colt keeps moving. They follow him to his room, where he stops at the door and faces them.
Claws. "It's not 'aren't tellin'' this time. It's 'can't,' ain't it."
Spots. "Can't... like physically? Biologically?"
Claws, muttering. "Quit that psychic crap, it's creepy."
Spots to Samuel-Colt. "So you do know something."
Samuel-Colt, minor arpeggio, slow, falling. "Only guesses, Mother-soldier. We promise you that. If we knew for certain..."
Spots. "You would tell us?"
Samuel-Colt, with a sharp rasp, not musical at all. "You could compel us to tell you."
Claws, uneasy. "Is that another biological thing?"
Samuel-Colt, falling note, somehow sad. "Of course, Peer. Good night."
The door shuts on them. They stare at it for a few moments. Then:
Spots. "So there's some biological component to this?"
Claws. "Um... yeah. He sorta literally can't tell us some things, and the only thing that's lettin' him squirm through the loopholes is that he put in a shift as a politico and some of the wiring's still there."
Spots. "Huh. Interesting."
Claws glances at her. "You're not upset?"
"What?" She starts walking back. "Why would I be upset?"
Claws. "Because he told me and not you."
Spots chuckles. "This isn't high school, Claws. I'm not going to get jealous of you being friends with him because I want to be friends with him too."
Claws. "I'm not—****, I guess I am friends with him. Sort of."
Spots's mouth twitches. She continues. "Besides, you would never have talked to him had it not been for me, right? I seem to remember you trying to pull me back into a hiding place when I first saw him in the Armory."
Claws. "I guess not, no. Well, no, never. Who talks to the Fiddlers? They're creepy. Like giant grasshoppers."
Spots. "More like giant shrimp. But anyway. There you go. Instead of being jealous, I get to be happy because I'm responsible for the two of you hitting it off."
Claws. "Nice way of thinkin' of it."
Spots. "I'm a nice... hmm."
"Hmm?"
Spots stops, folding her arms and looking at him. "It wouldn't have worked. You pulling me into a hiding place back then. He could have smelled us."
Claws. "Well, yeah."
Spots. "What if they smelled us near their holes? Maybe that confused them and that's why they're hiding right now."
Claws. "Maaaaybe."
Spots, watching his eyes. "I know that look. What far more horrible thing are you thinking?"
Claws. "Or maybe they're massin' in preparation for our invasion. If you find a couple of ants by their lonesome in your house, what do you think?"
Spots. "That they're finding a trail for all the other ants. Huh. You think they think we were point for an invasion?"
Claws. "Maybe."
Spots. "Seems as good a theory as none, which is what they've got right now. Are you going to tell the lieutenant?"
Claws. "Yeah. Tomorrow. She's kinda got enough on her plate right now. And we're a good two hours late for our own sacks. Come on, Mom."
Spots. "You really want me to start calling you 'son'?"
Claws. "I wouldn't mind."
Spots. "..."
Spots, hurrying after him. "!"
| 83. A Little Kink in the Plan. | 85. Empathy, Unexpected. |
|---|
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