Spots: The Gang's All Here

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

87. Reunions.	89. Come Together.

88. The Gang's All Here

An hour later, Claws receives another call. He leans against the wall to take it while the Kitties work through basic shield shape-changing drills.

Claws. "Walker."

Security. "You having some sort of party up there, Corporal?"

Claws. "Hah, I wish. Someone else asking to come up?"

Security. "Says his name is Holden and he's got a big-*** sword. Hope you haven't pissed him off."

Claws, laughing. "No, that's my team lead. Let him by."

A few minutes later, Scythe shows up. "I really don't like how they run that checkpoint."

Claws. "Nice to see you too, boss."

Scythe stands next to him, nods. "How's it going?"

Claws. "Pretty good, I think."

Scythe taps the hilt of his sword. "Mind if I...?"

Claws grins. "Go ahead." Calls. "Hey, Spots. Scythe wants a piece of someone and I choose you."

Spots breaks off an explanation to Whiskers. "What? Oh, sure." She trots forward.

Scythe walks out to join her, bows. She bows back and he draws the katana with ritual ease.

Claws. "Defend."

Scythe brings the sword down in an overhead cut and then steps forward, slashing. He takes it slow, and Spots retreats: every time the sword meets the shield, it makes a sound like a cross between sparks hissing, chalkboard scratch and a distant tiny handbell.

Whiskers to Hairball, muttered. "****, is that thing sharp?"

Fang. "I've seen him halve target dummies with it."

Fang2, unable to resist. "In twain!"

Hairball. "****."

Claws. "Attack."

Spots springs forth, using the "blunt" edge of the practice shield to parry. The first time Scythe's sword catches on the translucent edge, sending a pulse of light down the previously-invisible curve, he starts. Now it's Spots's turn to go slow, letting him learn to guess where her shield's edge will be...

...when he thinks he knows where it extends, she changes it. And then she starts shifting it with every exchange, in, out, thicker, thinner. She pushes him back easily. Color races the edge of her shield as she lifts and punches.

Scythe, halfway to the wall. "Nice! Okay, that's good."

Spots stops and bows to him. He bows back. "Looks good. What about the rest of you?"

Hairball, smiling. "Cut us some slack, boss, we just got here."

Claws. "Get back to work, folks." He nods to Scythe. "Here, come see." He brings the other man to the wallscreen and taps it, points. "This is the power consumption curve for that exercise you just did."

Scythe squints at it. "Not quite as bad as I expected." Still watching. "Hell, pretty good actually, given power's this thing's Achilles' heel."

Claws. "Yeah, I got some comparisons..." He brings up a new set of graphs. "This is me, Spots and Fang runnin' through the same drill."

Scythe whistles.

Claws. "Yeah, that's what I said."

Scythe. "Think you can bring the rest of you up to her standard?"

Claws. "That... I don't know. Depends on how much time I got. If we can all start feelin' it the way she feels it, we might be able to make this monster draw the same amount of juice as the bog-standard shield. But it's gonna take time. I don't think we got it."

Scythe. "Between you and me, I don't think so either. Do you have a plan?"

Claws. "Yeah, of sorts. Actually it's Sam Colt's idea, but it might work."

Scythe. "That being?"

Claws. "He suggested yokin' our power together at the squad level. Dunno how he plans to do it, some kind of lasers. Idea bein', someone goes low, they get automagically topped up by someone with more."

Scythe. "So extra goes to the people using the shield. Preferably the people who use it best, except when it's needed somewhere else." He narrows his eyes. "Lot of problems with that."

Claws. "Yeah."

Scythe. "Lot of potential, though. Need serious squad-level training."

Claws. "Yeah. I'm so glad you showed up, boss." They watch the drill a moment. Then, quiet. "Thanks for lettin' me do this."

Scythe. "No problem." Grins. "Got some extra sleep on you. I'm not complaining."

Claws grins. Nods toward a table in the corner. "Gonna go get yours?"

Scythe. "My..."

Claws. "Equipment. You didn't think I didn't think you weren't gonna come, right?"

Scythe works through that, laughs. "Anticipating my anticipating?"

Claws. "Well, hopin', maybe. Was gonna ask you if you didn't come." Watching the others. "You know, we always take for granted that we're gonna shoot anything we want to kill. Big guns, little guns, it's all guns. The crabs almost never shoot at us: we never questioned that either. It never occurred to us that maybe the reason they don't shoot at us is because all their wars are probably hand-to-hand."

Scythe squints, then smiles wryly. "Right. Eat the enemy, get their battle plan, kill them."

Claws. "Yup."

Scythe. "So you're training some flimsy humans to go hand-to-hand with the crabs... why? We can't eat them."

Claws. "No. But I get the unhappy feelin', boss, that we're locked into a paradigm. And you know what happens when you get used to a box."

Scythe. "Someone shuts you in it."

Claws. "Yeah. Puttin' a cuttin' edge on that shield's finally given us a tool we can use to go face-to-face with these ****ers. Damned if I don't want to know how to use it when the gun ain't the tool for the job." He lifts his hands. "But hey. This was all Magda's idea."

Scythe grins, squeezes his shoulder. "I'm sure it was. I'll go get my shield. One request."

Claws. "Request, har har. That's rich."

Scythe. "You're the boss in the training room. So yes, a request."

Claws. "Go ahead, Mister Holden."

Scythe. "There's a hell of a party going on down the hall. One of Dusty's Dogs woke up from his coma."

Claws. "Call this off early for that? Hell yeah."

Scythe high-fives him and goes to collect his equipment. Claws grins... and then looks at the power consumption curves, still flickering on the wallscreen. They reflect onto his eyes, and he sobers.

87. Reunions.	89. Come Together.