Xeno Core

The gray alien pulls his knife from the still twitching body of the dead tribal. The tripodal creature is the last of this group, who now lay in cooling mounds around the trio. Bruen spots a gleam, shining from one of the many clawed creatures as it sinks below the water.

He directs Zek to search the corpse while he keeps watch for more threats. The alien splashes his way over to stand beside the young general. Each watching a different direction, they scan the murky swamp for signs of more of the vicious primitives.

"Clear," declares Bruen.

"Aye."

Zek bursts from the muddy water at that moment, a small object that multiplies the light striking it into a blinding rainbow clasped in all her tendrils. Unwilling to upset her, Bruen allows the young Somner to keep her shiny crystal. She'll let him know what it is when the mood takes her. He indulgently turns to lead the small group back to their camp.

The ground beneath them begins to rise as they walk, becoming firmer as it climbs above the level of the water. Thick fronds wind across the ground, holding it safe against the hungry water. Bruen catches the young thaumatist with more than the usual number of eyes tracking him during the short trek and tries not to worry about what she plans.

The fronds give way to tall mushrooms with visible mycelium as thick as his tentacles plunging into the rich black soil. Vines wrap their pale trunks and hang from the caps high above. Small buzzing things like balls of blue fur with wings flit between stalks. Flat chitinous beasts scurry about on segmented legs, feasting on fallen leaves.

Something small and fast strikes the stalk of a nearby fungus, a few ubits above their heads. Bits of wet pulp strike Bruen's face. Loud chittering draws the groups attention, and three of the asymmetrical tripods scuttle out from hiding spots in the fungal forest.

In their smaller claws are metal and wood weapons resembling the rifles the gray people favor. Around their yellowish shells are tightfitting garments of the same smokey color as the mushrooms. Bags strapped to their hard backs bulge with objects. One of them steps forward and makes louder demands in its stacatto language.

The armored gray alien walks forward to meet the tripod between the two groups. After a few short and frustrating exchanges and much waving of weaponry Gelly's suit makes sufficient progress in translating the natives' language. He begins to relate the demands of the primitives.

"They want us to leave, and to kill any chiefs as we come across."

"Let them know that we shall honor their requests to the best of our capacity," Bruen flippantly replies.

"They also want our guns."

"Not just yet," he says slowly. "First we must show them how they work."

"Aye."

The two turn at almost the same moment, unleashing fire at their waylayers. Gelly's charged flechettes strike the leader with two clouds of sharp metal, but his final shot drifts to the left.

"Mud," complains the alien, face darkening behind the visor of his helm.

Bruen's own rifle beam sends burning light into the unprotected bodies of the other two and slices one nearly in half. A lump of metal fired by one of them strikes the young general in the thorax before the energy beam sears its way through the tripodal being. The smell of burnt flesh fills the already aromatic air. Three smoking corpses fall to the soggy soil.

Zek stands contentedly, watching one of the blue fuzzballs flitter about.

"We can dig it out of ye later, run," shouts the gray alien.

More projectiles strike the trunks around them and the three apply themselves to running. Gelly places himself behind the others, and Bruen can hear metal ping off the armored form more than once as they run. Blue soaks Bruen's tunic and shines in the dim light. He starts to feel dizzy from the loss of blood but forces himself to keep moving.

The shooting stops right before they reach the portal. A squad of eight patrol the area and run over to assist when they see the state of the young general. Unable to speak through the weakness and pain, he can only listen as the Somner directs the troopers.

They fetch her the supplies she needs to operate, as well as sending a team out into the swamp to reinforce Mos Gol. His unresisting form is carried through the portal, though he retains consciousness. The armored alien stays by his side the entire way but takes up a position outside the medical tent.

His impressions are blurry, but he sees vague images of the thaumatist hovering over him before all else is subsumed in his awareness of the hole in his chitin. She speaks to him, but the words are meaningless in his delirium. Pain blossoms like an undersea eruption before sizzling away into numb relief.

When the world stops spinning, he can see her standing above him. Blood runs down her upper tendrils, and one of them clutches a crumpled lump of lead. Her bearing is proud, though she holds her pedipalps contritely.

"I assume I'll live," Bruen manages to state, and notices a new catch in his breathing. It doesn't hurt, but that could just be the lingering effects of whatever Zek did while he was barely aware. "Use it when you make me a new spear, Somner," he says, with a gesture to the spent projectile she holds. The way his voice rasps slightly causes her to flinch.

The young thaumatist nods once when he does not continue and withdraws from the tent. Before the flap can fully swing closed black gauntlets pull it open again. Gelly walks inside, his armored form filling the cramped interior.

"Some old one, Ryul? Riyl? Whatever, he came lookin' for ye. Turned his self around and went the other way when he seen me," the alien chortles.

"We don't let most aliens into our camps," explains Bruen. "Especially not as well armed as yourself, merchant."

"Sure. Ye able to show me to the mess tent, or should I just try nibblin' on a bit of everythin' lyin' around?"

The thought of the gray alien eating Zek's supplies inspires Bruen to stand. When his tentacles refuse to support him, the armored officer leaps forward to support his limp body. Gelly helps the young general back onto his cot.

"Just flag down an unmodified soldier," Bruen gasps from the uncomfortable bedding.

Gelly does so, and Bruen orders the casteless soldier to bring back enough food for them both. The gray officer pulls his helmet off and sets it beside the entrance. Seeing no obvious seating he drops to the ground, legs folding beneath him.

The officer keeps up a running commentary in his odd dialect, preventing Bruen from sinking into the void of sleep. Bruen is relating a story from his training when the tent flap opens. The soldier returns, baskets held in his lower tendrils from which angry hissing can be heard.

"We're very far away from any coastal hatcheries, how did you manage live misr?"

The foreign officer seems confused, but a glance at the envy obvious in the casteless warrior's behavior, how he reluctantly releases the basket into Bruen's eager clutches and understanding lights his two lonely eyes.

"Mos Riyl had them carried here when he saw what your dust eater was leading around." A pointed look with his primary eyes at the officer in question accompanies this statement. "Enjoy them," the warrior adds, then places the second basket into Gelly's gauntleted hands.

Bruen opens his basket, careful not to let any of the misr out, and extracts one of the creatures with his upper tendrils. The animal is half a ubit long, and striped black and red, with white speckles along its back. Limbless and covered in leathery folds of skin, the creature's face is dominated by its snapping mouth. Bruen slurps it up, crunching the tiny bones with relish.

"Have one before ye go?" Gelly generously offers his basket to the soldier. He helps himself before the odd alien can change his mind, and Bruen stifles his reaction. The soldier may never gain such a chance again. Bruen continues eating, pretending not to notice the exchange.

Once the casteless soldier leaves, Bruen remarks quietly, "You may have given him false hope. Do you wish him as a personal retainer?"

"He looked like he wanted one," says Gelly, unconcerned. The clumsy creature crushes the poor misr before it's even out of the basket, but Gelly eats it anyway. "I've eaten worse."

"The misr are reserved for upper castes and their personal favorites. By gifting Drev one, you've told the camp you favor him, or have some dire need he can fulfil. For the honor you bestowed upon him, Drev will follow you anywhere."

"They're no so good as that," grouses the alien.