[Teal]

Three

For several long days Jas had just walked, trying to head in as straight a line as he could. His tears had long since dried up, leaving an emptiness in his heart almost as barren as the arid grassland he was trudging despondently across.
Why could people be so unfair, he wondered, miserably. He hadn't hurt them – he hadn't done anything to them…! Were they getting their own back, for what his race had done to them…? Or was it just because he was different…? And if that was the only reason…
In the middle distance was a smallish, stone building – civilisation, at last…! He traipsed over, too tired and too hungry to run, to see if maybe there was someone home.
As he got closer, he noticed the broad-mouth of what looked like a siren-bell, and the heavy muzzle of some kind of weaponry. So it was some kind of military emplacement? A guard-tower of some kind?
Well, soon find out. He roamed round the foundations and looked for a door.
"Hi!" a rough voice called out from somewhere way above.
Jas looked up at the top of the tower, shielding his eyes with one hand, and found another slig up there. "Hi," he called back. "Uh… can you help me?"
"Dunno. Wotcher need help wi', anyways?"
"I'm lost."
"Oh. Uh… where d'yer wanna get ter?"
"Uh…" Jas shrugged, and tried to imitate the other slig's accent. "Dunno. Anywhere inhabited."
"Oh. Er," the slig scratched his head. "Well… Be down in a mo'. Wait there."
There was the rattle of hydraulic footsteps, a muted thunk as a door opened somewhere, and next second the slig rounded the corner.
Jas blinked, startled – he hadn’t realised the other was so tall – about a third as tall again as he was. Maybe it was just that he was short; he didn’t know how big he was going to get, so…
“Wha's yer name, shortie?” the slig asked. “I'm Rang."
"Uhm…" Jas racked his mind for a second, then; "Jask. But most call me Spider."
"Spider, huh? Yep, suits yer. Yer look like a spider."
"So, uh… can you help me, or not?"
"D'pends." Rang gave him a look. "By the way, where'd yer get the funny accent?"
"Uh… funny accent?"
"Yeah, all proper-soundin' an' poncey."
"Uh…" Jas shrugged. "My egg got stolen from the hatcheries by a gang of muds. They didn't know I was a slig 'til I hatched."
"Whoo!" Rang whistled. "Yer mean yer've been livin' wi' muds for mosta yer life? Yeech; it's a wonder y'ain't gone screwy. Wouldn't tell the bosses, if I were yer; yer don't want ta know what they do ter mudlovers…"
"Hey, I didn't say I were a mudlover; if I were I'd have stayed," Jas snapped, getting the hang of the accent and the argumentative manner of the other slig. "So c'mon, can yer help me or not?"
"Well… where'd yer want ter go?" Rang shrugged, and pointed. "Some o' the fact'ries are thataway, and The Hatcheries are over there," He turned back to the door. “Yer can see better from the roof.”
Jas trailed him into the building, wondering what he was letting himself in for… perhaps he should’ve just drowned himself in the lake when he had the chance…
"Here – have summat ter eat, yer lookin' half-starved," Rang threw him an old, stale Scrab Cake. "Ain't got much else, here. We're waitin' on a delivery; shoulda been here two days ago, lazy buggers. Guess yer can hitch a ride back ter the Hatcheries when they arrive – them's wantin' new guards, an' all."
"Oh?" Jas wolfed it down, starvingly hungry; the food was luckily not mouldy, but is was very stale and hard, almost inedible by now. However, as it was the first thing he'd eaten in days, to him it tasted as good as anything fresh.
"Yeah. I've heard it's a lousy job an' all, but they don' pay yer too badly, an' there ain't many bosses about," Rang was halfway up his ladder to the roof again. "But keep out o' the way o' the Three, I don' know much about 'em, jus' that they're nasty pieces o' work. An' watch out fer Frelik. He's not so dangerous as the Three, but he's meant ter be a pretty tough one all the same; bolshie an’ bad-tempered, always startin' fights…"
Jas followed him to the roof.
“Over thataway,” Rang pointed sunward. “Are the Hatcheries. Deliv’ry comes from there. Keep yer eyes peeled fer it – I’m goin’ indoors fer a nap. Gimme a shout when yer see it.” With that, he vanished back inside.
For a while, Jas just sat and gazed out at the landscape. As Rang had said, you did get a pretty good view from up there – in the direction he’d come from he could see the faint sheen of a body of water away in the distance, and the dark line of the forest.
On the sunward side there was a small, murky dust cloud forming in the distance. After watching it for a while, Jas found he could discern a dull rumbling, as of powerful engines, and sure enough in a few minutes he could clearly see the massive vehicle rumbling along.
He sat and watched as the heavy vehicle lumbered up outside. "Rang…!" he yelled. "Deliv'ry's here…!"
"Whoop-de-doo," he heard Rang's irritable reply from inside, and the clatter of mechanical footsteps as he went out to meet it. "'Bout bloody time, an' all."
The slig driver dropped out of the cab, lightly. "Where the frack 'ave yer been, Narik?" Rang demanded, stomping over. "I've been waitin' three days fer this delivery, yer lazy sod!"
"All right, all right, keep yer pants on," the other replied, keying in the code to open the back doors of the vehicle and bring the tail lift down. "There was a mixup in the schedulin', an' we ended up sendin' yer supplies ter guard-post eighty-one," He frowned at the lack of movement, then realised he’d got the code wrong.
Rang snorted. "So if I hadn't yelled at yer ter get yer finger out I'd be starvin' ter death about now, that it?"
"Aw, shaddup, Rang,” Narik snapped, trying the code again, and getting it wrong again. "Cushy job like this an' all yer do is moan," he said, finally getting the code right.
"Cushy? Cushy?! I'll give yer frickin' cushy…!" Rang leapt for him, frustratedly…
"Uh, Rang?" Jas poked his head out of the doorway.
Rang looked up, one hand firmly round his opponent's throat and the other brought back to punch him. "What?"
"Don't kill 'im. I can't drive yet."
"Oh," Rang sniffed and let go of Narik, disdainfully, then mooched round to the back of the vehicle, and next second there was the low whine of the tail lift operating.
"Thanks, kid," the other slig said, scrambling back to his feet. "I ain't seen yer before, 'ave I?"
"Nope," Jas shook his head. "I'm not from round here."
"Wha's yer name?"
"Jask – or Spider. Take yer pick."
The slig grinned. "I'm guessin' yer after a lift back ter The Hatcheries?"
"Uh-huh," Jas nodded.
"Climb aboard, then."

The Hatcheries may not have been the biggest plant on Oddworld, but they were still massive – a great foreboding place, hulking like a fat, ugly predatory beetle ready to pounce at the edge of a barren, dry desert. Jas sat and watched as Narik pulled the vehicle up into a docking bay, taking a layer of paint off the vehicle’s side as he misjudged the distance. The older slig had been talking at Jas for most of the journey, but once he’d realised it was mostly a load of rubbish he’d switched off and ‘enjoyed’ (if that was the word for it) the journey.
Narik had trundled off to the main offices and got him registered, so he could use the facilities, then trotted back with a gun that looked almost as big as Jas was.
“C’mon, kid – yer look like yer ain’t never touched a gun in yer life. I’m sure Hak won’t mind teachin’ yer a few o’ the basics…” Narik said, depositing the weapon in Jas’s arms and then setting off down the corridor.
“Who’s Hak?” Jas hurried to keep up.
“Yer don’ know old Hak? Hur, well yer will by the end o’ the week, tha’s fer sure…” Narik laughed, and took a left through a doorway, yelling; “Hey, Hak! Get yer lazy arse in here – we got a new kid who needs yer, uh… ‘gentle’ touch…!”
Next second and a deep voice rumbled from round the corner. “Do I hear a tad bit o’ sarcasm in the voice, Narik?”
Jas’ eyes almost popped out of his skull when the owner of the voice walked heavily round the corner; Hak was a Big Brother – although to call him ‘big’ didn’t do him justice. Hak was massive, taller than even others in the soldier class and towering over his smaller cousins. He must have weighed easily in excess of a ton.
The massive slig gave Jas a curious look. “You’re a short one, ain’t yer?”
“Eep,” was all Jas managed.
Hak laughed; it wasn’t the cold, nasal laugh Jas had noticed a lot of sligs had, but more of a reassuring bass rumble. “Well, c’mon, then. Yer won’ learn nothin’ standin’ there lookin’ dim…”
A good two and a half hours later Hak finallly decided enough was enough. When Jas, looking pretty breathless by now, asked what was next, he grinned and said, mildly. “Naw, yer done enough fer now. Go get yerself somethin’ ter eat, I don’ want yer keelin’ over this afternoon.”

The mess hall had a pall of pale bluish smoke hanging just below the ceiling, and was poorly lit. Looked like most of the sligs employed by the Hatcheries were in here; a handful were eating, but most were just smoking, drinking excessive amounts of coffee and playing cards, and squabbling over either the winnings or how much they thought their opponents had cheated.
Jas sank down at the side of the large room, and lay with his chin flat on a table, tentacles flopping lifelessly in front, feeling himself drifting, exhausted. Hak had been rigorous with his training, and he had another session with him this afternoon…
"Oi," a voice said into his ear, startling him awake.
He turned his head, to find it was just another slig. "What?" he groused, stretching back out on his table.
"Tha's my seat, short stuff."
Jas scowled at him. "It ain't got yer name on it. Go find yer own seat."
"I said," the slig repeated. "Tha's my seat. An' I wants it."
Jas’ tired brain made the connections remarkably quickly, recalling Rang’s words. Watch out fer Frelik; bolshie an’ bad-tempered, always pickin’ fights – so this must be him, then. He sneaked a glance around himself – more sligs were gathering, elbowing each other, and he could see a few that looked to be placing bets on the outcome. So I'm to be today's lunchtime entertainment, then? he thought, resignedly, and stood up.
"What if I don' want ter give it yer?" he said, boldly.
"Lemme put it this way," his opponent replied. "Either yer get yer scrawny self outta my way, or we can make somethin' of it."
"As yer goin' ter 'make somethin' of it' anyway, yer may as well shut yer stupid gabby mouth an' get on wi' it. Unless yer scared, o' course."
Frelik gave a honk of fury, and went for him. Calmly, Jas dodged the first blow and blocked the next, following it up with a punch of his own, firmly catching the other square in the face.
"Ack!" the other slig spluttered. "Yer really fer it now! I was goin' ter go easy on yer, seein' as yer new an' all, but yer really goin' ter get a thrashin' now… "
"Yer bluffin'," Jas stated, daringly, and automatically caught Frelik's wrist as he threw a punch at him, and with a smart twist flipped him to the floor. Good job he'd been forced to learn to fight when he was smaller – Gar had made sure of that – and good job his senses were back on the alert from that training session with Hak again, nerves fairly singing with tension.
Frelik scrambled to his feet with a snarl, snatched up a plate and hurled it. Jas ducked, startled – he hadn't been expecting that – and it sang past barely millimetres from his head. A crack on the snout from that would have put the fight out of him for sure… Not giving his opponent time to find another plate, Jas kicked him smartly in the ribs.
Frelik gave a groan and sank to his knees, clutching his chest. Jas cocked his head, watched as the other slig very nearly coughed his lungs up, supporting himself with the table. Finally, I can think about summat ter eat, Jas thought, stupidly turning away…
For next second and Frelik was up on his feet with a choking arm round under Jas' chin. The younger slig gave a startled yelp and kicked, sensing the floor vanish from under his feet… The sligs gathered watching were all yelling, by now, cheering as Frelik laughed and sensed he was about to claim another win… That did it. Jas scowled horribly and sank his teeth into Frelik's arm.
The other slig gave a howl of pain and dropped him like a hot coal, and in one smooth, fluid move, Jas snatched up the nearest piece of crockery and brained him with it before he could gather his wits.
"P'r'aps I can have me lunch, now," he said, dryly, looking down at the prone shape laying sprawled at his feet; Frelik left him well alone, after that.
"Hey, kid!" a voice called; it was Jark, sitting with another two of the more mature sligs at a table in the corner, all three of them contributing a lot to the pall of smoke hanging in the room. "C'mere."
Obediently, Jas wandered over, albeit a trifle nervously. "Wha's up?"
"Si' down," Jark nodded at the empty chair. "S'been a while since Frelik last got his ass kicked. Yer've relieved a bit o' boredom fer us."
One of the others, an ugly brute of a slig with only three and a half tentacles and more than his fair share of scars, offered him a lit cigarette. "Want a smoke, kid?"
"Uh…" Jas frowned at it. "S'okay. I don' smoke…"
"Aw, c'mon, one won' kill yer," Jark told him, lighting up his own. " 'Sides, it ain't every day that Drek gives his smokes away."
"Uh…" Jas repeated, chewed his lip, but gingerly accepted the proffered cigarette. "Well… I guess… hm… I'll try anythin' once…"
The slig – Drek – laughed. "Tha's the spirit, kiddo. Jus' take a good, hard pull on it…"
Jas winced, but did as instructed. The second the smoke hit the back of his throat he dissolved in a fit of coughing, to a chorus of hoots of laughter. A hand roughly clapped him on the back.
"See? Ain't sa bad, were it?" Drek honked, grinning.
Teary-eyed, Jas managed to smile back. "Yeah, whatever," he managed, swallowing the coughs. "I… think I'll let yer 'ave it back, now…"
Drek shrugged, grinning. “Not ter yer taste, hey kid?”
Jas mumbled something unintelligible, already more than nervous around these three, and excused himself to fetch something to eat.
Jark flicked ash on the floor, idly, and watched as he vanished off into the crowd. “Dunno why yer botherin’ wi’ the li’l Short-Ass,” he commented, dryly. “I mean, lookit’ him. Won’ last more’n a coupla days, the rate he’s goin’.”
Drek shrugged. “Hm. Mebbe yer right, but… I dunno. I reckon he’ll go far, wi’ a bit o’ help.”
Jark gave him a look. “He’ll need more’n a bit o’ help, Drek…” he commented, and glanced up. “An’ I don’ s’pose a bit o’ stretchin’ would go amiss,” he added, pointedly, as the younger slig returned.
Jas pulled a face and sat down. “I can’t help bein’ small.”
The other two just laughed.
Jark leaned back in his seat, braced the chair against the wall and put his feet up on the table. "Stick wi' us an' we'll make a decent slig of yer yet," he said, idly, and helped himself to a bit of Jas' lunch.
"What d'yer mean?" Jas replied, chewing.
"Well, lookit yer. Yer too damn sweet an' innocent fer yer own good."
The slig Jas had yet to put a name to gave a honk of laughter. "Aw, come off it, Jerk," he scoffed – it didn't take the Brain of Oddworld to see the 'humour' in the expectable transition from Jark to Jerk. "The words 'slig' an' 'sweet an' innocent' go together 'bout as well as leccy an' water."
"Hah! Tha's rich, comin' from yer! It was yer that said it in the first place!"
The other slig shrugged, and puffed away. "Mebbe I had a lapse o' sanity," he said, blowing smoke rings.
"Yeah, but," Jark waved his cigarette, idly. "Ain't yer got ter 'ave a bit o' sanity in the first place to 'ave a lapse of it?"
The slig looked up at him, darkly. "Are yer wanting yer ass kicked that badly, Jerk?" He asked, softly.
Jark grinned smugly. "Who's goin' ter kick it, tho', hey, Skan? You? Yer couldn't kick yer way outter a soggy paper bag."
With a snarl Skan kicked the table over, flipping Jark off his precarious perch. In seconds the two were at each others' throats, savagely; Jas managed to skid out of the way before he got embroiled in this one, too.
"Now this," a voice said at his elbow; he turned to see Drek standing and watching, nodding approvingly, his cigarette tracing a wiggly pattern of smoke on the turbulent air. "This is what yer call fightin', kiddo. Watch an' learn from the professionals."
And so Jas watched – watched as the two duellists sent chairs flying, kicking and punching and hacking away at each other… A stray slog gave a "yipe!" and barely got out of the way before getting squashed by a flying table.
"Yer a good kid," Drek went on, calmly, watching as Jark and Skan tore chunks out of each other. "But make sure yer don't go messin' with the big lads. Yer may be a half-decent fighter, but don' let it go ter yer 'ead; these two would eat yer fer breakfast. So don' get out o' yer depth."
"Voice of experience, huh?"
Drek gave him a cold look. "Don' you get sassy wi' me, my boy. Yer see this?" he pointed to the missing parts of his face.
Jas nodded, mutely, skipping backward out of the way as Jark skidded past, yelling, hotly pursued by Skan, who’d armed himself with a table leg.
The older slig just smiled and shook his head. "Jus' remember what they look like. An' if that ain't good enough, jus' try ter imagine what cut the missin' one an' a half off. If that still ain't good enough fer yer, I'll give yer a little clue; yer've got a set of 'em in yer mouth."
Jas winced. "Ouch."
"Yeah. Ouch." Drek agreed, wryly. "Jus' don' get sassy wi' 'em," he nodded toward the two combatants; Jark had somehow managed to wrestle Skan’s table-leg off him, but Skan had a broken bottle, now, and a handful of wicked-looking cutlery. "Least, not until yer think yer big enough an' strong enough ter best 'em in a fight like this," he exhaled a cloud, softly. "C'mon, kid – there's a place jus' round the corner where yer can get a bit o' peace. Yer can't hear yerself think in 'ere," He took one last look at Skan menacing Jark with his bottle, then motioned for Jas to follow him and clattered out.