'Pru'
Okay, so I'm reposting the whole story here. Bear with me please...!
One
Summer was drawing to a close on Mudos; the muggy summer days slowly freshening, and the frequent, autumnal easterly winds brought air fresh with the scent of damp vegetation and the promise of rain. Jas, a young slig who’d been brought up by mudokons, was lazing about, bereft of both pants and mask, enjoying the fading evening sunshine. He’d been hard at work all day, helping collect supplies to be preserved for the leaner winter months, and felt he’d earned this break-
A sharp, strident cry echoed from inside his shelter – so Pru had finally woken up. With a sigh, he sat up and crawled inside…
Pru – short for “Prudence” – was the abortive attempt by Vykker's Labs to "build a better soldier". Using an unwanted queen egg – Skillya didn't want the competition – the scientists had tinkered with the unhatched infant's genetics, spliced in genes here and there. As a result, Pru looked like a bizarre mudokon-slig hybrid; predominantly slig, with mudokon lower limbs. Her egg should have been destroyed, but by some quirk of fate she ended up in a slig hatchery, which was from where Bea and her team rescued her. The elderly mudokon had been looking after the hatchling, for a time, while she was very little, but as she grew Jas decided maybe he ought to lend a hand. The “lending a hand” was turning into almost a full-time responsibility…
Jas looked down into the reed nest that the infant lay and squalled from. “What’s up with yer this evening, hey?” he asked, settling against the wall and picking her up.
She squealed with typically infant laughter and batted his snout with her stubby little hands, unconcerned at his maskless appearance, kicking her stumpy legs about in midair.
He grinned and bounced her, gently. Funny how Glukkons think we’re so ugly they make us wear masks, but kids don’t seem to care one way or the other… he mused, silently. It was the same with the little mudokons – a good number of the adults reacted with some degree of disgust at seeing him trot about without his mask, but the infants just didn’t seem to care.
Pru made a hungry whimper and battered at his snout again.
“Yer hungry? Okay, let’s go find yer some munchies, then…” A little awkwardly with the infant in his arms, he managed to get his pants on, then slid down the ladder to the ground and went off to find something for his diminutive charge to eat…
And so the days wore on. The hot, close summer days faded into a balmy autumn, scattered with welcome rain showers. It was a welcome change from the seemingly unending stifling heat of the previous months.
Jas was by now investing much time and effort in looking after Pru. Trouble was, he was starting to think of her as a little sister, which could make things awkward when she got older… Bea had told him that Pru was more than likely going to be fertile when she was older – and would likely want to take a mate, no matter about Jas’ sterility. Bea suspected that Pru would produce offspring just as all queens did – they’d just be non-fertile.
Pru, they’d discovered, was a fragile little creature. All that genetic tinkering had weakened her immune system, and she was often sickly… And minding her was a job that took the patience of a saint, at times. Most of the time she'd be content to lay and suck her hand, but Odd forbid that you stopped talking to her. She'd sit and listen to any amount of garbage, just so long as she didn't think she was being ignored…
She had a way of finding out if you were ignoring her, too. She'd lay and begin to "uff", which was a soft, barely audible whimper, a demand for attention that you’d only hear if you were paying attention. If you didn't hear the whimper, she'd let rip with a strident, ear-piercing wail. And she always managed to look surprised and delighted to see you when you leapt over to see what was wrong.
But she got stronger as she grew, and almost to the second that she’d learnt to toddle about on her stubby little legs she turned from an often-sickly baby into a little tearaway, getting into everything and generally causing mischief, which Jas had to then get her out of. And as she grew, sharp bony spines pushed out of the back of her head and neck, making an impressively formidable crest, but also making her harder to grab safely…
As soon as she’d learnt to walk, she grew like a weed. Her scrawny little frame filled out rapidly; although she still looked a mismatched jumble of species, by now she was a powerful, dangerous-looking mismatched jumble. She had the massive bulk of a Big Brother slig, although she looked very obviously female, lean, powerful mudokon legs, wicked hooked claws on her toes, a crest of short spines down the back of her neck… and a scrab's dreadful temper.
By now, Pru was a good six feet tall, and quite terrifying to look upon if you didn't expect to see her. Bea was trying very hard to teach her patience and justice, but so far Pru wasn’t living up to her name. Yes, she was intelligent, practical and pretty astute most of the time, but she was sassy, armed with wit as sharp as a razor, and every bit as subtle as the average brick. Most had learned by now that a scrab's temper and a slig's jumpy disposition did not make for the most gentle and placid of individuals. If you managed to catch her on one of her good days you'd be likely to end up on the receiving end of a barbed witticism.
Unless your name was Jas, of course. Then she was playful, and warm, and friendly, which confused hell out of her chosen mate when she’d been skewering a mud on an acid-dry comment seconds beforehand… And her mercurial moods just got worse when she started getting broody…
Two
Jas sat on the broad platform outside the doorway, enjoying the warmth from the dying evening sun as he ate – well, tried to eat – supper. One of the older mudokons had cooked tonight, using up some of the older stock that’d end up being inedible if they left it much longer, and the concoction he’d created tasted nice enough, but… Well, the root vegetables had gone tough, and the stem crops all woody, and so it was a little like chewing a haystack. The muds could cope perfectly well, but Jas’ sharp little teeth weren’t quite made for chewing such vegetation to a pulp… Yeah, so sligs these days were typical omnivores – some of the muds said, rather uncharitably, that they were absolutely-bloody-everythingovores, as they did eat pretty much anything and everything that headed their direction – but they’d descended from carnivores, as was evidenced by a mouthful of wickedly sharp little teeth. So Jas was struggling, somewhat; he’d end up chewing all the flavour out of each mouthful and be left with a stringy lump, which would then be almost impossible to swallow.
“You still eating, Jas…?” a soft voice said, humour in its gentle tones.
He looked up, to find Bea climbing the ladder to his and Pru’s shelter, and just made exaggerated chewing motions for illustration. “It’s a bit stringy,” he said, when he’d finally swallowed.
Bea chuckled, and sat down on the platform next to her foster son, resting her tired old bones. “How is she?” she asked.
“What, Pru?” Jas prodded what was left of supper, chased a lump of something green and woody around the bowl with his spoon and decided he wasn’t really hungry, any more. “She’s fine, I think – she ain’t let me in again to go check, yet. But… yeah, I reckon she’s fine. Dead tired, but okay otherwise.”
“That’s good to hear,” Bea nodded to herself, satisfied. “How many eggs?”
“Four.”
“Four?! I was expecting one, two at most,” Bea exclaimed, eyes going wide.
“I think she was, too…” Jas replied, dryly.
“Do you think she’ll mind if I see how she is…?”
Jas shook his head. “I don’ think she’ll be too worried. She’ll mebbe grumble a bit, but… well, yer not me, so…” he shrugged.
Bea smiled, and pushed the heavy curtain closing the entrance to the shelter a little to one side. “Pru?” she called, gently.
Pru had been asleep inside, exhausted, curled protectively around a clutch of waxy, grey-green eggs, but a chink of brilliant scarlet showed from somewhere under the elaborate mask at the call. “Oh, hi Bea,” Pru yawned.
“How are you feeling?”
A faint laugh. “Dead on my feet. Least, I would be if I was standin’ up. An’ if yer were anyone else, I’d be kickin’ yer clean through that doorway.”
“Even Jas?”
“Ooh, yeah, even li’l Jaskie.”
It was Bea’s turn to laugh. “Do I take that as a compliment?” she asked, with a smile.
Pru just smiled and closed her eye again. “Didn’ know havin’ kids took so much out o’ yer,” she said, faintly. “Literally.”
Bea chuckled, knelt down next to the huge queen’s nest. “Mind if I check them?”
“Go riiight ahead. I’m too Odd-damn tired to do it meself,” Pru yawned, faintly, and crossed her arms under her chin.
Bea smiled, pressed both palms to the warm surface of one large egg. It was too early for the young inside to make it tremble in response, as was the usual sign of a healthy egg, but she was experienced enough to know what ‘healthy’ felt like. She nodded, satisfied, checked the other three in the same way. One made her frown – seemed to be female, but… there was something about it that worried her. It was healthy enough, but… she bit her lip, debating whether she should tell her…
“Well?” Pru asked, nearly asleep.
“They all feel pretty healthy, Pru,” Bea said, reassuringly, and rose unsteadily to her old feet. “I’ll let you get your sleep.”
“Well?” Jas looked hopefully up at her as Bea let the curtain fall closed again behind her.
Bea sat down on the edge, feet dangling. “I… I’m not entirely sure, yet, Jas…”
“What yer mean?” he shuffled closer.
“Well…” she shook her head. “I don’t know, Jas… the brood all look healthy enough, but…”
“But?” he echoed, worriedly. “But what?”
“That’s what I’m not sure about,” she shook her head, frowning confusedly. “One looks healthy enough, but, well… there’s something about it I’m not sure of. I’m sure I’m just worrying about nothing, but…” she sighed. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens…”
Jas nodded, solemnly. He trusted the elderly mudokon’s judgement absolutely, so this little development worried him…
But as time went on, Bea’s fears seemed unfounded. No-one else seemed to sense the “darkness” she’d felt, as she was calling it – it wasn’t strictly a darkness, but, well… maybe more of a… blight...? She didn’t know how to describe it, and with no-one else to back her up most thought she was just imagining it.
The first of the clutch hatched a good few months later. Pru had let no-one except Bea anywhere near her nest for the last four weeks; not even Jas had been permitted any closer than two metres, so he’d been staying with Tam – a young mud, about his age – for the past weeks.
Pru sat cross legged and watched, raptly, as the hatchling fought to get out of its little prison. With a startling gentleness for her so-often-erratic temper, she reached out and helped it, pushing the shell apart…
Bea padded over, and smiled, warmly, watching as Pru picked up the now-squealing infant and cradled it in her powerful arms, a look of something akin to wonder on her face…
The other three hatched over the next couple of days. Two of them were male, and had no real difficulty hatching, but the last was the little female that Bea had been worrying about, and she’d have been in really dire straits had the elderly lady not been on hand to help her hatch…
Pru watched, anxiously, as Bea gently wrapped the exhausted infant in a blanket. “What’s goin’ ter happen now?” she asked.
Bea looked up at her. “I’m taking her to one of the healers – maybe he’ll know what’s wrong with her…” she replied, worriedly, cradling the trembling baby close to her body, to keep her warm.
Pru nodded, weakly. “Is she goin’ ter die, Bea…?” she managed, faintly.
Bea looked away. “I… don’t know, Pru… I… maybe she’s just tired.”
“Maybe,” Pru watched as Bea ran to find one of the healers, and sighed, softly, hardly daring to hope... The baby wasn't just tired, even she knew that, but... what was wrong with the little mite...?
The little female improved a little as days went by, but not much. Bea suggested that the healers ought to look after her, as Pru simply didn’t have the time to devote to her, what with the other three youngsters to look after… Reluctantly Pru agreed, and found that the less she knew – and so the less she could worry about – the better she felt…
She’d left Bea in charge of her brood, for a little while; they were just learning to walk, and were exhausting her. Bea was good with children, though, so she was perfectly happy that the elderly mudokon would keep them safe. Pru wanted a little while away from them, to do what she felt like, without them round her ankles the whole time. So she was out with Jas; just walking, at the moment, enjoying the brief time of freedom.
“Nice to get away for a bit,” she said, pushing through the foliage behind her mate’s smaller form.
He gave a laugh. “I’ll bet,” he agreed. “They still keepin’ yer up at night?”
“Yeah,” she groused, and gave him a prod in the back with one sharp talon. “I ought ter wake yer up every once in a while, Shortie.”
“I can’t help bein’ a heavy sleeper,” he replied, defensively.
She just laughed.
They didn’t know they were the only sligs in that part of the forest at the moment. In fact, there was quite a sizeable pack abroad at the moment, all split into pairs and roaming pretty aimlessly, not one of them having been told what they were out there for… You’ll know when you find it, they’d been told.
One of the pairs had strayed close to where Pru and Jas were. They were grousing about it – it was cold, and damp, and they were bored – and probably wouldn’t have found what they found had the smaller of the two not stopped to drink.
The taller of the two wandered away, impatiently, kicking at fallen leaves and sending a variety of insects skittering away. Then… he lifted his nose, sniffed thoughtfully – there was the familiar scent of slig hanging on the air, and he didn’t remember anyone else being assigned here… Putting his snout closer to the ground, he cast about until he found the footprints. "Hey, Rakk!" he said, sharply.
"What?" The smaller slig scrambled to his feet, nervily; he was jumpier than most of his pack-mates, and was worried something was threatening them…
His colleague rolled his eyes. "Aw, don’ be so skittish. Come lookit this…!"
Rakk trotted noisily over to him. "Come look at what?"
The taller slig showed him the footprints. They were clearly printed in the soft, slightly damp soil; two sets of prints; one vaguely mudokon, the imprint of large claws at the tip of each toe partially obscured by leaf-litter, and the other very obviously the imprint of the “feet” of slig pants.
"Footprints?" Rakk suggested.
"Really? D'yer think so?" his colleague jeered, sarcastically, and cuffed him on the arm. "'Course they're footprints, yer dumbass. C'mon. Might as well see where they go," he set off, weapon at the ready.
"Yeah, but… wait up, Balk!" Rakk hurried after him. "It might be dangerous!"
"Aw, c'mon, gimme a break! A li’l slig wi’ no gun an’ a scrawny mud," Balk replied, scornfully. "How dangerous can it be? We ain't got nothin' to worry about."
"We don’ know they ain’t got guns…" Rakk muttered.
"Ah, fer frack's sake knock it off, Rakk. If it's one o' them egg-stealers, jus' think o' the rewards! Mebbe that’s what we’re out here for," Balk strode on, bravely, though he wasn't feeling quite so sure of himself inside. "'Sides," he laughed. "Ole Lady Skillya wants to, uh… have a friendly li'l chat wi' the freak."
The two sligs both honked with laughter at that, and trotted off along the well-marked footprints. They weren’t hard to follow, and the added bonus of the clear scent, sticking to the damp landscape, meant they could move at a fair clip along the trail.
The trail led to a small clearing; they approached warily, moving as quietly as they could manage – a new lubricant for the joints of their pants meant they didn’t clatter so much when moving, although they still made some noise – and peered out through the screen of foliage…
There, in the clearing, was Jas, picking at an old bee's nest with a stick and seeing if there was any honey to salvage. Pru had gone off wherever it was that she went on her own – likely to go swimming – but he felt safe, so his senses weren’t on the alert for danger…
The two sligs watching nodded to each other – there was no mistaking this slig for anyone else. The long spear, mudokon design, slung loosely over his bony shoulders, and the couple of tribal tattoos he'd earned, stark and black on his arms. More notably, the elegant, stylised mask, a gift from Bea some few months ago, that he wore with an intense pride, beautifully carved from a piece of exotic wood, and embellished with brilliant feathers.
“Yer go round the clearing,” Balk hissed. “I’ll distract his attention, an’ yer sneak up on ‘im…”
Rakk nodded, and slunk off; a minute or so later he waved from the other side of the clearing. Balk nodded to him, then leapt from his hiding place. "Freeze!" he barked, cocking his gun.
Jas was going to do anything but that – he'd spun on one foot and whisked the gun out of the other's hands and into the bushes with an expert swipe of his spear in the time it took Balk to blink. "What if I don' want ter freeze?" he asked, pleasantly, pressing the speartip to the other slig's throat.
Balk raised his hands in mock-defeat. "Aw, frack," he muttered, annoyed, hoping Jas wouldn't hear Rakk sneaking up tortuously slowly behind him, trying desperately not to make any noise…
Then, clumsy as ever, Rakk trod firmly on a stick. "Oops," he said, guiltily.
"What the frack's going on here?" Jas barked, spinning round.
But he never got to find out, as Balk suddenly saw how to turn the situation to his advantage. He snatched up a nearby branch, and cracked Jas a smart blow to the back of the head with it. With a grunt, Jas went down as though poleaxed, and lay sprawled and unmoving in the leaf-litter.
"There," Balk said, satisfied, brushing his hands together and gazing down on Jas' prone body, not realising that if he'd been a second or two slower he'd more likely be the one face down in the mulch of dead leaves. "Easy peasy."
"Easy peasy," Rakk agreed, and they both honked with savage laughter.
Pru was making her way back from the lake. She’d enjoyed her swim, it had got all the dust and grime of the past day or two off her skin… she padded back along the scent trail to the clearing where she’d left Jas, to pick up his scent and go find him… She sniffed at the air; he'd been here, all right, she could smell his scent on the breeze. So… where was he now?
Then she caught another scent. Another two scents, in fact. Slig scents. She frowned; maybe Jas knew them? But… that was unlikely, as he’d told her he was likely a wanted criminal… by… now… it sank in, then. She put back her head and howled at the sky, partly frustrated and partly furious that they’d manage to pick one of the few times he was alone to abduct him…
Then put she her nose down, and loped away along the scent trail…
Jas scowled as Balk prodded him in the back with his spear. He'd woken up a short time ago, only to find his wrists firmly tied behind him, and an uncomfortable muzzle jammed into his mouth to prevent him yelling.
"Yer were getting' quite notorious, Spidey," Balk told him, marching him along. "Yer picture were up in all the mess halls, an' the ole' lady is fumin' in 'er lair…”
Jas just grumbled unintelligibly, chewing frustratedly at the muzzle, almost as though trying to gnaw his way through it. He only hoped his captors hadn’t noticed that he’d worked the knots at his wrists loose…
The patrol tank – or “Prowler,” as most called them – sat at the bottom of a wide, shallow, rocky gully, its engine idling. They half-walked half-fell down the slightly slippery rock side, trying not to fall in the little rill of water running along the bottom.
The Prowler’s rear doors stood open. “Go on,” Balk jabbed at Jas’ spine with the spear’s savage tip, indicating he wanted him to go inside. “In. we ain’t waitin’ all day fer yer ter decide when yer want ter leave.”
Jas shook the bonds away from his wrists, twisted round like lightning and snatched the spear out of his captor’s startled hands, then dealt him a swift crack on the snout with it. Balk gave a yelp and fell in the rill, one arm up to shield his eyes, then scrambled away up the gully, pushing himself along partly on his hands. With a honk of fury, Jas was after him, using the blunt end of the spear shaft, and would probably have done quite a decent amount of damage had one of the sligs in the tank not shot him in the back of the neck with a trank dart.
With a stilted whine, Jas snatched the dark out of his skin, then collapsed in an insensate heap in the water.
Pru sighed, softly. The trail had come to an abrupt end by a gully – to be replaced by a harsher, mechanical scent and oily patches on the rocks. She loped along it for a while, until she came to where the rocks ended – there were the tank’s tracks, long, narrow grooves etched onto the landscape. So they’d taken some form of vehicle. That’d make it harder – although the scent was stronger, and the trail would last longer, the tank could probably move faster than she could, and wouldn’t need to sleep…
After a minute’s internal debate, she knew what she was going to do. Go back to tell Bea what’d happened and ask her to look after her brood for a while longer, and then follow the tracks to wherever they’d taken her mate…
Three
Jas groaned, faintly, and sat up, head ringing. “What happened…?” he garbled. “Who hit me…?”
There was a laugh. “Good of yer to wake up this year,” a dry, nasal voice said.
“Aw, frack…” he groaned, remembering his predicament, and flopped back into his supine position onto the ground.
The voice laughed again, and a hand caught his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, Sunbeam, yer don’ want ter keep the Big Guy waitin’,” his guard said; Jas looked at him, but didn’t recognise him.
“The Big Guy…?” Wasn’t that one of Hak’s old nicknames…? Nah, couldn’t be him, he was at the Hatcheries – the name was just a coincidence. Next second a gun prodded him sharply in the spine, making him wince, and scowl bleakly at his guard.
“Yep,” The slig nodded, gave him a push. “At the moment he ain’t too pissed off at yer, but if yer don’ get a shift on, that’ll change pretty sharpish. An’ I’d keep my head down, if I were yer…”
The guard had been pacing impatiently outside the cell block for a good few minutes when there came the heavy tread of Big Brother footsteps from down the corridor. The guard looked up from his pacing; he grinned, nervously. “Oops, I was wrong. It ain’t the Big Guy at all… See yer, squirt…!” And was gone.
Jas watched him nip round the corner. “Wha-?”
Next second, a massive fist closed on his shoulder, and turned him round. Half an instant later the other fist connected with his snout with sufficient force to knock him off his feet and into the wall behind… The next few minutes blurred in Jas’ stunned mind – he knew it was Lenk beating hell out of him, and he knew it hurt, but that was about it…
Finally Lenk got bored. "That," the huge creature rumbled, nastily, and slung the dazed slig into the nearest cell. "Were fer getting' me kicked out o' a cushy job."
The slam of the door echoed in Jas’ hurting skull, and the clunk of the key felt more like the gunshot signing his death sentence. He groaned, and tottered to his feet; roughly, he tugged his mask off and dropped it onto the bunk – it was thankfully more or less undamaged, although one or two of the feathers had got smooshed. He was lucky none of the sharper edges had dug into his face. Even so…
He winced when he saw his reflection in the rough mirror behind the sink. His face was peppered with an ugly assortment of weeping cuts and rising bruises, and one particularly nasty bruise was swelling his left eye closed. He twiddled the taps, and was pleased to discover they did work…
The shaft of light through the grill high in the door was suddenly blocked. "Hey kid," a voice rumbled.
Jas didn't look up from the rough mirror, busy cleaning up his wounds. "Hak?" So he had been right, earlier; the “Big Guy” was here, after all.
"The very same."
"S'pose yer come to give me an earful too?" Jas sighed, dabbing gingerly at the bruise under his right eye, neatly bisected by a rough split.
"Aw, c'mon, kid – yer know me better'n that. I came down ter see how bad yer got cut up – see if yer needed a medic."
Jas managed a smile, and winced. "Naw, I'll be okay. I ain't that badly mauled." He looked over his shoulder. “Well… thanks fer comin’ ter say hi, any way.”
Hak smiled and shrugged; his nickname fitted perfectly – he was quite possibly the most massive slig on the whole of Oddworld – he had to duck down to look through the window. “Sure yer don’ need a medic? Some o’ them cuts look like they need stitches. That one on yer shoulder, fer instance.”
Jas twisted to look – it was an ugly gash, quite deep, from where he’d first been rammed into the wall and collided with a hinge on a door. He wrinkled up his snout. “Hm. Well… mebbe I better…”
“I’ll go get Foggy,” Hak said, mildly.
“Foggy?” Jas echoed.
Hak laughed, a deep, rumbling hur-hur-hur – he still had that infectious chuckle, as Jas couldn’t help but laugh along. “Short fer Foghorn. Jus’ his nickname. Called Xar, actually, but Odd, does he have a voice on ‘im. We call ‘im Foghorn cause we reckon he was one in a past life…”
Jas laughed and nodded, and then managed a lopsided grin. “I’m goin’ ter have ter stop laughin’…” he managed, weakly, trying to stop laughing but only succeeding in making Hak laugh at him, and then laughing at Hak’s chuckle. “Shut up, fer frack’s sake…! It’s jarrin’ my ribs somethin’ dreadful…”
Hak grinned. “I’ll go get Xar. Don’ yer go away, now.”
He missed the dry comment of “I’m hardly likely to” that followed him down the corridor.
Hak was lounging against the wall just inside the door, arms folded, pretending to be on guard duty while the door stood open, but really only using it as an excuse to chat.
"I thought yer'd still be at the hatcheries," Jas commented, then winced and muttered a curse as Xar’s needle bit into his shoulder before the painkiller had had time to work. “Watch it! I ain’t a pincushion…”
"Naw,” Hak shook his head. “After we let yer and them Muds escape, we all got sent 'ere as punishment. Not ser easy ter catch forty winks on duty, 'ere."
"All of yer? Yer mean, the entire hatchery staff? Even the rest o' the Four?"
"Yep. Yer may even see some o' yer old pals about, if yer keep yer eyes open, tho' they don' go about as the Three no more. Not all posted in the same area. Drek's still hereabouts, somewhere, an' Skan's getting back in higher security."
"An’ Jark?"
"Had an, uh…" Hak shrugged. "Sharp introduction ter the bis'ness end of a scrab, who weren't ser much wild as positively livid."
"Ouch."
"Tha's pretty much what he said, too – 'cept he said it just a liiiiitle bit louder," the huge slig held up his thumb and forefinger by way of illustration. "'An a tad more colourful, too. He did get away from it, but he's only got one arm now." He held up a packet of cigarettes. "Want a smoke, kid?"
"Naw; thanks anyway," Jas winced as Xar cleaned up the rest of the wounds he couldn’t reach, and the antiseptic made them sting.
"Yer used ter smoke like a chimney, Jask; wha's changed yer mind?"
"I had ter run away from Lenk, an' me lungs nearly gave out on me…"
Hak chuckled round a cigarette. “Mebbe I ought ter pack it in, an all…”
“What brought that on?” Xar put in, idly. “Worryin’ ‘bout yer health fer once…?”
Hak rumbled a laugh, and set the other two off again. “Worryin’ about my wallet’s health, more like…” he replied, dryly.
Rakk and Balk had been back in barracks for four days; they'd both been promoted right up to the top level of security for capturing Jas, and, though Rakk had retained his jumpy disposition, Balk was the picture of calm authority, loving his new post. All they had to do was mooch around, look threatening, and beat the occasional Mud into working that little bit harder. Spacious quarters, decent food and plenty of leisure time were the rest of the perks that came with the job, though they hadn't needed much excuse to doze off before their elevation to their current status….
At first Rakk had thought the corridors were as empty as usual. But his mind was playing tricks – or so he thought – and he’d been hearing things all day; footsteps that followed them, stopping when they did, shadows that moved, vague impressions of eyes that watched, watched from everywhere he looked…
The low hiss from behind was like the icing on the cake; Rakk spun round, trembling. "Aie! Wassat?!" he yelped, walking backward into Balk.
"Aw, don' be so skittish," Balk told him, calmly. “Yer been hearin’ things all day – it’s yer imagination.”
“Yeah, but what if it ain’t…?!” Rakk gibbered, as the hiss lanced his nerves again, low and threatening, from somewhere behind and above. "There it was again…" he whimpered. "C'mon, Balk, let's jus' go back ter the mess hall, it's only two floors down, then we can catch the end o’ the sport…"
"Rakk, willya quit jumpin' about! There ain't nothin' behind us, see?" Balk gestured annoyedly down the empty corridor with his gun. "'Sides, if there were some sneaky Mud follerin' us it wouldn't get far when we go out on ter the catwalk ahead. So quit whinin'!" He marched off down the corridor, noisily.
Rakk looked nervously back into the shadows again, then chased after his colleague. "Wait up, Balk…!"
The two sligs had just passed a doorway and clattered a few steps down the catwalk when there was a low, ominous thud from behind.
" Now do yer believe me?" Rakk managed to whimper, round a tight throat.
"Yup. And I don' think I wanna turn round, neither," Balk whimpered.
But turn round they did. And wished they'd just settled on running.
Standing behind them, all seven, majestic feet of her, was Pru, armed to the teeth, claws unsheathed – and smiling.
"Eep," Balk managed to squeak.
"Eep!" Rakk agreed.
"Hello, boys," Pru purred, softly, tapping each two-inch-long claw on the catwalk in turn.
The two sligs looked down at those claws, noticed the shape of the foot – same as that of a mudokon – and realised that here was their "scrawny li'l Mud" from the forest. Which was, in reality, a seven-foot-tower of angry genetically modified queen slig.
Balk looked at Rakk. "Frack," he said, matter-of-factly.
"Run?" Rakk asked.
"Run," Balk agreed.
Almost as one, the two sligs gave a howl of terror and fled.
With the lazy ease and deadly grace of a cat, Pru smirked and pounced for the fleeing figures. Rakk got a smart kick in the back, booting all the air from his body, and sending his gun skittering from his hands and clattering off the catwalk. While he lay and moaned, Pru sized up the other slig, who was trying to aim his weapon at her with hands that shook convulsively.
"What's up, Sunbeam?" Pru asked, softly. "Afraid? Of little me…?"
"You-you-you take one more step…!" He managed, in a high-pitched stammer.
"And what?" She stalked closer, predatorily.
"An-an-an I'll shoot yer…!" Balk squeaked.
"Oh, I don't think you'll be doing that…" With one smooth motion, she spun round and whacked the gun out of his hands with her tail. Then followed the movement through and booted him in the side of the face, scoring a cut across his cheek and bowling him backward into the wall.
Lazily, she picked up a still-groaning Rakk by the throat and carried him over to where Balk was whimpering by the wall. She shook her head – something told her this was too easy – rammed the slig in her hands firmly up against the wall and planted a foot on the other's chest, holding him down.
"What… what the frack… are you...?" Balk squeaked, getting his voice back.
"Vykker's experiment, gone hor-ribly wrong," Pru replied, in a singsong voice, and smiled, lazily, one clawed foot on Balk's chest and her lean fingers round Rakk's throat. "Now, boys… I'm sure you get the idea," she flexed her claws. "One wrong move, from either of you, and I gut you both. So let's talk business, shall we?"
Four
Prudence was a little more than annoyed. She’d tried to keep her patience, but had got nowhere in the last ten minutes… "What I want ter know," she snarled, losing her temper. "Is where my mate is."
"Yer… mate?" Rakk asked, eyes widening. "Yer mean… yer fertile…?!"
"Tha's right," Pru snapped. "Now, where is he?"
"I don' know who yer mean," Balk asserted, boldly.
"Come off it," Pru barked, tightening her claws in his belly. "You captured 'im. Where is he?"
"What… the freak? The mudlover?" Rakk gulped, trying to ignore his colleague's whimpers. "He's, uh… that is ter say… uh…" He gave a whine and choked out; "Skillya wants ter see 'im…!"
“Oh, she does, does she…?” Pru lowered her face so they were almost touching snouts. “So where. Is. He?” she hissed, softly.
Rakk whimpered incoherently, turning away, eyes shut. “I don’ know, I don’ know…!” he gabbled, shaking his head. “Really, please miss, don’ hurt me, I don’ know…!”
Pru turned her attention to Balk. “Mebbe yer know, then.”
“Mebbe I do,” he replied, scrunching his face up, belligerently. Now the shock had worn off, he didn’t see why he should let this… this… freak… push him around, making unfair demands of him. “But mebbe I don’ want ter tell yer.”
“I think yer oughtter,” Pru hissed, softly, tightening her claws. “’Cause yer don’ want ter get me angry, do yer…?”
He winced slightly, tried to push her foot off his chest. “I don’ care if yer get angry or not,” he snapped. “Cause I ain’t tellin’ yer nothin’.” She tightened her claws again; losing his temper, he yelled at her; “Gerroff me, yer stupid freak…!”
Pru’s eyes narrowed. “What did yer just call me…?” she hissed.
“A stupid freak! Cause that’s what yer are! Now get yer stupid bloody foot off of me!”
Pru scowled, and dropped Rakk, who scrabbled away as fast as he could and hid behind the column supporting the upper catwalk. “You just pissed me off fer the last time, sunbeam…” she snarled…
Rakk hid his head under his arms and tired not to listen as his colleague’s belligerence suddenly turned into a whimper, as he realised the dire straits he was in… Then the whimper turned into a choked gasp, and then into a horrible scream… Then it turned into a wet gurgle, then stopped altogether… There was a scuffling sound, as of something being shoved along the catwalk, a muted thump down below, and then excited slog yelps and the sound of flesh tearing.
Pru put her head round the column. Upon seeing her, Rakk gave a sobbing whine and curled into a ball. “Don’ hurt me. Don’ hurt me….!” he pleaded, “I’m tellin’ yer I don’ know where he is, I don’ know…”
Pru gazed down at the shivering bundle at her feet, and sighed. “All right, Sunshine. I get the idea,” she growled, softly.
He looked up, hopefully. “Yer won’ hurt me…?”
She shook her head. “No. So long as yer don’ piss me off like yer pal did.”
Rakk winced. “Uh…”
“Any idea who’d know where Jask is?”
Rakk glanced down at those claws tapping on the catwalk, and swallowed, thickly. “Mebbe if yer looked fer one o’ the Alphas… they’d know…” he managed, in a little voice.
“Alphas?” Pru echoed.
He nodded. “Pack leaders.”
Pru sighed and shook her head. “This could be fun…” she muttered, slinking into the shadows and vanishing from sight.
Rakk tottered unsteadily to his feet, and staggered away to the mess hall; they’d never believe him, he mused. Not in a million years…
Pru padded through the shadows, swift and silent, wondering how she was ever going to find an Alpha. After all, she’d only found out what one was a few minutes ago… perhaps it’d be quicker just going by scent. If she crisscrossed about enough she’d find Jas’ scent eventually…
She was just making a sprint across a catwalk, hoping no-one would spot her, when the door she was aiming for was suddenly blocked. Damn. There was no time to hide, as the big brother had already seen her. So instead she padded forward, with a predator’s gait, sizing up the massive brute in front of her. He stared back, head on one side, looking a few bricks short of a load.
After some minutes trading stares, he finally spoke; “What the frack are you?”
“Pissed off, tha’s what,” Pru replied, sharply. “Now get yer fat arse out o’ the way.”
“Yer a female…?!”
“Naw, it’s just the way I’m standin’. Now get the frack outta my way!!”
“Yer mean… yer not really a lass, then…?” The slig scratched the back of his head, confusedly.
Pru just honked, annoyedly, and in one fluid move turned and swatted him smartly with her tail, stunning him. “I’ll borrow this, ta very much,” she said, taking the gun from his startled hand. By the time he had collected up his scattered wits enough to want to try and stop her, she’d vanished.
Jas was busy. Not content to just sit and wait for a rescue that may never come, he'd ripped a hole in his wall and was busily trying to hotwire the electronic lock on his door.
"Heya, Shrimp," a familiar voice said.
He jerked his head up. "Pru!"
She smiled smugly through the bars on the door. "Who else? Ready ter go?"
"Can't get the freakin' door open," he replied, frustratedly.
She chuckled, enigmatically. "Oh, no probs there. Shift yerself."
Next second and a shower of flying shrapnel had him diving for cover behind the bunk. "Where d'yer get that?" he asked, looking up over the bed and seeing Pru silhouetted in the doorway, the heavy, smoking machine gun in her powerful grip.
"Extended loan from a big brother," she replied, with a grin. "Now c'mon, short stuff, they won't be sleeping after that racket…"
Jas needed no second bidding; he was after her like a shot. They didn’t get far before being spotted, though – the guard at the end of the corridor noted the fleeing figures and slammed his palm onto a klaxon.
Pru covered her ears at the wail. “So we’ve been spotted, then…” she yelled, over the tumult.
“Looks that way,” Jas replied, wincing at the racket in his ears. “Don’ think we’ll get much further, Pru…”
“Yer think so?” she replied, dryly. “Whatever gave yer that idea…?”
“Them behind us,” Jas jerked a thumb in the direction they’d just run from.
Pru glanced back. “Oh. Oh damn,” she commented. “Hadn’t seen them. Reckon we stand much of a chance in a scrap…?”
Jas shook his head, “They ain’t cute li’l toy guns they’ve got, Pru…”
Pru gave him a look, and decided not to comment. “Mebbe we could hide…?”
“You, Pru? Hide? Here?”
“Point taken…”
By now they’d left the pack some distance behind, but knew that they hadn’t shaken them off, in spite of the silence. In fact, the silence was the worrying part of it; sligs had two hunting styles – noisy if they wanted to rattle you around a bit, freak you out, but as quiet as death if they were hunting you for real… And they had the advantage of knowing where they were running, as well as the strong fear-scent to follow.
Abruptly Pru seized Jas sharply round the middle. “Awk! What are yer…?!” He yelped, kicking briefly.
“Shuddup, stupid,” she snapped, perching him on a ledge.
“What th’frack are yer doin’, Pru?!” he demanded.
“Makin’ a distraction.”
“Yer goin’ ter get caught, yer stupid creature!”
“Yeah, well… yer just goin’ ter have ter rescue me, ain’t yer? Then we’ll be square. ‘Sides, if I don’ get yer out o’ the way, we’ll both get caught, then what’ll happen?” She glanced back down the corridor. “See yer round, big guy…” she said, with a cheeky salute, and fled.
From his hiding place, Jas could only watch in mute alarm as one of the lead sligs scored a lucky shot on the back of Pru's neck. She gave a yell and snatched the dart out of her skin, lashing out for him with the claws on her toes, but her balance was off because of the drug and she missed. Her momentum carried her round in a circle and tripped her over her own feet. With a heavy thud, she landed hard on her side and yowled in frustration, but her voice was already fading, so when the big bro slig caught a hand under her arm and hauled her upright, she didn't even react.
With a heavy heart, Jas sat and watched as they dragged her away, hearing the words “lab” and “experiment” shuttle between the nearest pair of sligs, and then hoots of laughter.
Jas gazed at his hands, knowing he had to do something, but… what could he do? One scrawny little young slig, unarmed and harmless… That’d work, wouldn’t it, just march up to the lab doors and demand they give him his mate back… at least it’d see how good the guard’s reflexes were…
He sighed, faintly. If only he had the old pack to back… him… up…
Jas checked the corridor was clear and vaulted lightly off the shelf, then loped away to find his old colleagues…
It didn’t take him long to find one of them, at least; Hak, having a sly cigarette on duty by the boilers.
"Hak!" Jas hissed, from the shadows.
The huge slig turned, with a frown. "Whosat callin'?" he asked, quietly.
"Over by the door!"
The massive creature clumped over, peered into the shadows. "That you, Spider?"
"Don' speak ser loudly!! But yeah, it is."
"Thought yer'd escaped?"
"I ain't goin' without my mate, Hak…"
“She’d be the lady that got taken to labs earlier, yeah?”
“Yeah. Listen… reckon yer could convince the Three to meet me? I want ter get her out o’ there, but… what can I do alone…?”
Hak gave him a speculative look. “I ain’t makin’ no promises,” he rumbled. “But I’ll see what I can do. Yer got somewhere yer can hide ‘til I got yer a yay or a nay?”
Jas shook his head, mutely.
“Hm,” Hak stomped his cigarette out under one heavy foot. “Well… there’s an old corridor system near here. Mebbe that’ll do. Foller me.”
Jas got his answer later that night. Good to his word, Hak had rounded up the Three, and all five sat around a flickering fire in the old corridors, silent, waiting for someone else to break the silence.
“Listen… I… wanted ter ask a favour,” Jas asked, finally.
Drek gave him a speculative look. “A favour?” he asked, flicking ash from his cigarette; Jas noted that the older slig’s few months in the factories seemed to have aged him by years.
Jas nodded. “Yeah,” his throat was dry. Would they all just turn their backs on him? He wouldn’t be surprised if they did; after all, it was his fault they’d all lost their original jobs…
“Well… what kinda favour?” Skan asked, flicking his lighter, idly, watching the flame jump to inches tall; he already had a cigarette lit.
“I… my mate’s been caught. By the labs.”
“Yer mate, yer say…?” Drek echoed.
Jas nodded. “Yeah. An’ I wondered if yer’d maybe, uh… consider givin’ me a hand getting’ her out.”
The other four exchanged looks.
“Well, I hope yer not expectin’ amazin’ acrobatics,” Jark commented, dryly. “Cause I ain’t in no fit state to charge about shootin’ anythin’ what gets in me way.”
Jas silently contemplated his old pack-mate’s appearance; he still had his right arm, and those long, dextrous tentacles, but his left arm was a stump – the lower part having been cleaved away just above the elbow. Somehow, the disability had mellowed him; he wasn’t living up to his old nickname “Jerk” quite as much. Old Jark would’ve put both feet squarely in his mouth by now, and likely be brawling with Skan.
Which was another point – Skan seemed a lot more mature now, as well, content to discuss with his voice rather than his fists.
“I… haven’t thought o’ how I was goin’ ter get her out, yet…” Jas admitted. “But… well… Can yer help me?” he asked, faintly. “I mean… I know yer probably hate me, an’ all, but…” He gave his old friends a sad look. “Please?”
Drek and Skan exchanged looks. “Well…” the older of the two said.
“Aw, ter hell wi’ this. Yeah, I’ll help yer, kid. I’m goin’ ter go ter seed, ‘ere,” Hak said, startling them. “Dunno what I’ll be able ter do, but…” he shrugged. “Lend yer some moral support, if nothin’ else.”
“’Sides,” Skan added, with a faint smile, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette, thoughtfully. “Might be fun. An’ we can see if the Four are still the formidable fightin’ force they was all them months ago.”
“But first,” Drek said, calmly. “We better get some shut-eye. Don’ want ter be fallin’ asleep in the labs, now…”
Jas watched his old pack depart, with derisive hoots of “See yer in the mornin’, Short-Arse!”, then smiled, faintly, curled up in front of the fire in the blankets Hak had scrounged for him, and dozed off, fretting about what would happen tomorrow…
Five
Next morning dawned far too early for Jas’ liking. The others came and found him; Skan prodded him with a stick to wake him up, which he grumbled about, but they’d thoughtfully remembered breakfast and a cup of coffee, so he couldn’t grizzle for long.
“We was thinkin’, last night…” Drek said, sitting and watching as Skan re-lit the fire. “An’ we realised we ain’t got the faintest idea where yer lady friend is. Jus’ that she’s in the lab complex stuck on the west side o’ barracks.”
“How’d yer find that out?” Jas asked, round a mouthful of toast.
Drek grinned. “Our Jark’s discovered a talent he never knew he had. Since he lost the arm, management realised he ain’t no good out in the field, so gave ‘im a post in comms. Getting’ pretty good at it, an’ all.”
“Come again?” Jas asked, with a frown.
“Computers,” Drek replied. “He hacked into security mainframe and did some snoopin’ fer yer last night.”
“Yeah, well… how we goin’ ter find out where she is?”
Drek wagged a finger. “Ah-ah; gimme a minute, an’ I’ll explain,” he said, twisting round and picking up a roll of paper, which he spread out on the corridor’s dirty floor. “Lab map. Don’ ask where Hak found it, cause he ain’t sayin’. I think he’s got contacts he’s bein’ very close about…” Drek looked up at Hak, pointedly.
The huge slig just smiled and spread his hands. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin.”
They turned their attention back to the map. “What we was thinkin’…” Drek said, pointing at the fine tracery of green lines crisscrossing the map. “Was… well, here’s the air ducts. An’ we’re small enough ter get into ‘em – we’ve already checked. We thought you an’ one of us could go snoop about in there.”
Jas nodded. “So who’s comin’ wi’ me?”
“He is,” the others all simultaneously pointed at Skan.
“Hey, that ain’t fair,” Skan said, hotly. “Why do I have ter go sneakin’ about in horrible li’l air ducts?”
Drek laughed. “I’m too old, Jark ain’t got enough arms to move about, an’ are yer really expectin’ Hak to volunteer? He may be able ter get his hand in the ducting, an’ that’s about it.”
“Still ain’t fair,” Skan groused, arms folded.
Twenty minutes late found three of them trying to sneak round to what Drek had decided on as the most suitable vent as furtively as they could, although Hak’s sheer size was making sneaking a little tricky…
Skan and Jas left their pants in conveniently nearby lockers, while Hak tugged the cover off the vent. After he’d checked the corridor was clear, the huge slig gave them a boost into the space once covered by the grille, then, after checking everything was okay, put the grille back in place.
“Give us an hour,” Jas hissed through the flaps of the vent. “If we ain’t here, can yer try an’ come back every half-hour ‘til we are?”
“Yep,” Hak rumbled. “Jus’… try not ter fall out o’ any vents. ‘Cause we ain’t chargin’ in there ter get yer out.”
Jas laughed, softly. “Got it, Tank. Now yer better scat an’ all, just in case someone thinks yer gone screwy talkin’ ter an air vent.”
Hak chuckled. “Gotcha, Shortie. Now go find yer missus.”
Jas just laughed, and listened to Hak’s departing footsteps. Then turned to Skan. “Well, let’s get a shift on…”
“Yeah,” Skan agreed, bad-temperedly. “Sooner we find yer lady friend, sooner we can get out o’ these horrible li’l tunnels…”
Jas noted his old pack-mate shivered slightly. “Not claustrophobic, Skan…?”
“No,” Skan replied, far too quickly, then realised what a giveaway it was, and clarified; “Well, maybe a tad.”
Jas grinned. “Now I see what yer didn’ want ter help.”
“Aw, shut yer trap,” Skan groused.
Jas just grinned, silently, and followed his colleague.
The pair made their careful way around to where they could hear Vykker voices, the only sound they made from now on being the soft slap on long hands on polished steel. The Vykkers were talking loudly enough that it didn’t take long to find her.
Pru was sedated so heavily she was nearly asleep, and certainly only barely aware of her surroundings. Her mask was gone – it lay discarded on one of the worktops, a tag with a squiggle of writing on it affixed to it by a length of fine white cord. Numerous drips and chemical feeds were hooked up around where she sat, immobile, on a slightly inclined “dentist’s chair”, making her look a little like a living pincushion, and a savage muzzle jammed into her mouth stopped her biting – which couldn’t have been doing wonders for her self-esteem…
Skan and Jas watched in mute horror from their air-vent as the vykkers bustled around, busily, incising samples of skin or muscle for biopsies, measuring, checking, recording…
Skan gave Jas a look. “We got ter get her out,” he whispered, faintly, as the science team finally left, turning the lights out.
“Yer tellin’ me…” Jas replied, equally quietly. “But before we can get her out, we got ter get in… C’mon, we nearly had an hour, mebbe Hak’s waitin’…”
Hak wasn’t there when they arrived, so they settled to wait…
“I’ve been thinkin’,” Skan said, leaning back against the grille. “An’ yer can stop pullin’ the stupid faces, I’m bein’ serious. ‘Bout getting’ in so yer can rescue yer lady friend…”
“Yeah, I was listenin’ really,” Jas laughed. “Odd, yer in a bad mood today, ain’t yer…?”
Skan pulled a face and muttered something unintelligible. “Yeah, well… I know it don’ happen all that frequent, but I was thinkin’. Mebbe we can get Jark ter fiddle the security cams, make it look like they was bust, or somethin’” he flipped a hand. “Invent some problem, anyway. Then he c’n make it look like the labs have called fer engineers, ter ‘fix’ whatever’s wrong.”
“An’ the engineers’ll be us, right?” Jas hazarded.
Skan nodded. “Got it in one, Shortie. I…” he shrugged. “Dunno how we’s goin’ ter get back out again, but we’ll think o’ somethin’, I’m sure…”
The grille suddenly vanished from behind him. Skan gave a strangled yelp, and fell the short distance to the floor; he found himself at Hak’s feet.
“Yer could warn me if yer goin’ ter do somethin’ like that!” he snapped, hotly, scrabbling upright and pattering away to find his pants.
Hak hur-hur-hur-ed mildly at the departing figure. “Wassup wi’ him?” he asked, lifting Jas down from his perch.
“Aw, he’s pissed of, that’s all,” Jas replied, following his pack mate to the lockers. “ ‘Cause we made ‘im help, an’ he’s scared o’ enclosed spaces.”
“That’s right, tell the world!” came a yell.
Jas gave a hoot. “Aw, come off it, ev’ryone knew…!”
Hak laughed. “Actually Shortie, I hadn’t a clue. But hey, who cares? I ain’t too partial ter li’l spaces meself…”
“Only cause yer too fat ter get inter ‘em!” came Skan’s scathing comment.
Hak just laughed. “Yer fergettin’ I’m a damn sight bigger’n yer, Skan. Don’ want me ter flatten yer, do yer now…?”
Jas smiled and lurched to his feet, hopped lightly from foot to foot for a second, getting used to the pants again. “Wonder what the other’s’ve been up ter…” he said, tactfully changing the subject.
Hak shrugged, as they set off down the corridor again, following Skan, who was sulking hard and had gone on ahead. “Dunno. I checked in an’ did an hour o’ patrol – thought I oughtter put an appearance in, or they’d start gettin’ suspicious o’ why they ain’t seen me fer a day or two. ‘Cause Security are suspicious buggers, the lot o’ ‘em…”
Jas gave a honk of laughter. “Well, they got good reason ter be suspicious, wi’ us lot sneakin’ about…”
Hak rumbled a laugh. “Well, yer got that right…”
Jark had discovered an old interface port with the security mainframe and had hooked his portable computer up to it when they got back. He was at that moment hacking his way through the password blocks on the sensitive areas. Skan sat next to the electric heater and glowered mutely over a cup of coffee as Jas and Hak clomped in.
“Hey lads…” Jas waved idly. “Skan tol’ yer his idea yet…?”
“Idea?” Drek cocked his head. “No he ain’t. What is it?”
Skan got to his feet with an exaggerated sigh in Jas’ direction, and went over to Jark. “Can yer make the computer look like labs need a coupla engineers fer summat?” he asked, leaning over Jark’s shoulder.
Jark nodded. “Yeah, easy peasy. I’ll fiddle their request logs.”
“And make it look like we’re the two that’ve been assigned…?” Skan indicated himself and Jas.
Jark gave him a look, a faint frown on his face. “Well… Mebbe I c’n make it look like yer needed, but yer goin’ ter need passes, else yer won’ get further’n the door,” he said, rattling away, and scowling at an error message.
“Drek can get us fake passes, can’t yer?” Skan hazarded.
Drek nodded. “I think so. Shouldn’ be too hard, any rate. Jus’ have ter make sure I pay the lads in Pass Control well enough fer ‘em ter keep quiet.”
“Yeah, but… what if someone asks somethin’ we can’t answer…?” Jas asked, scratching his head.
“Aw, yer can blag yer way in. I did a bit o’ nosin’ about – Xek’s on the door fer the next two weeks. He’ll be half asleep. Nothin’ ter worry about there,” Jark put in, clattering in commands and hacking his way into the security mainframe.
Drek nodded. “Right, well… yer two lads ought ter get a bit o’ shut-eye,” he said to Jas and Skan. “Yer got ter wait ‘til least tomorrow night before yer can do anythin’ as labs’ll be busy again in a few hours, an’ yer can’t do nothin’ ‘til I got them passes, any way, so…” he clicked his tongue. “Don’ want no clumsiness when yer in labs ‘cause yer tired… Jask, yer can use my bunk, if yer want, as I ain’t goin’ ter be wantin’ no sleep – ‘sides, I got ter get these passes done. Just… find some grease, or somethin’, an’ hide them tattoos, or yer not goin’ ter last more’n a few minutes.”
Jas nodded, staring thoughtfully at the stark black marks on his upper arm.
“Oh, an’ Jask…” Drek picked something up from by the heater. “Yer goin ter need this, an’ all.”
Jas looked down at the dark object in his colleague’s hand, and took it with something akin to trepidation, snout wrinkled in some distaste. “A mask…? Aw, yer know I hate these stupid things…”
“Yeah, well… yer goin’ ter stand out like a mud in a slog pack if yer don’ wear one at all, an’ yer sure as frack can’t wear yer other one.”
Jas nodded, sadly, sliding his mask off. “Yeah, I know,” he replied, tugging the new mask over his tentacles. “I can still moan about ‘em, cause they pinch my face…” He blinked and straightened it over his muzzle, so he could smell with at least some degree of accuracy, even if his other senses were hampered.
“Right,” he sighed, and then clarified; “Right. Okay.” He frowned worriedly, wondering – not for the first time and certainly not for the last – whether this was such a good idea…
Drek chuckled. “Go on, kid. Go get some sleep, an’ try not ter worry. We got it under control. Least, as under control as it can be…”
Jas nodded, rubbed his temples. “Okay. Well… thanks, Drek…”
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Drek waved his hands in the air, and then gave him a push. “If yer don’ hurry up, I’ll have them passes before yer even got to barracks…”
Jas smiled, wanly, and followed Skan out.
Drek was waiting for them in the disused corridor system next evening; it was convenient and pretty private, as no-one ever went there any more, and so made a perfect base of operations. “Here y’are, lads,” he said, and handed over the passes.
Jas took his and subjected it to a few seconds of intense scrutiny. It was just a little larger and thicker than a credit card, dark blue, with gold writing stating ‘name’ and rank – the name on Jas’ card was obviously made up – and a small hologram, of the Engineering Division insignia on a wavy background.
Skan laughed. “Yer outdone yerself this time, Drek,” he said, with a grin, wiggling the card so the hologram danced. “How much did yer pay ‘em up in Pass-Control ter keep quiet…?”
“Never yer mind,” Drek said, wryly. “I jus’ hope it was enough. Now c’mon, the quicker yer get on the quicker I won’ have ter worry about the lads in Pass-Control blabbin’. Jask, c’mere.”
Jas went over, frowning. “What?”
Drek leaned forwards, and carefully fitted something to his mask. “There,” he said, straightening up, then touched a part of his own mask. “You hear this okay?” he asked, calmly.
Jas blinked. “How’d yer manage that?” he asked, hearing his pack-mate’s voice from two places at once; one voice from Drek himself and the other from right close to his ear.
“Good,” Drek nodded and touched the part of his mask again. “It’s l’il radio. That way yer can ask us stuff, an’ Jark can nose about in the computers fer yer – deactivate alarms and suchlike.”
“Oh. Well… how do I use it…?”
“The mic is on th’lower part o’ yer mask, so yer can speak normally, once yer opened the channel…” Drek pointed. “Switch ter open th’channel is there…”
Jas nodded. “Okay. Seems straightforward enough…”
“Yeah, well…” Drek spread his hands. “Try not ter use it too much. I don’ want no-one catchin’ the signal an’ homin’ in on us… Should be okay as no-one uses radio much at night so no-one should pick it up, but I don’ want ter take any more risks. We’re puttin’ all our necks on the line as it is.”
Jas nodded. “Okay. Skan, yer ready?”
Skan nodded. “Yep. An’ I nabbed a toolkit on the way here, just in case Xek decides ter hum and haw an’ not let us in – then we can brain ‘im wi’ a hammer…” He grinned, and rolled his eyes at Drek’s expression. “I was jokin’, okay…?” he spread his hands.
“Never can tell wi’ yer,” Drek groused. “Okay lads. Labs shut an hour ago, so yer should be in the clear. I’d give it five hours, an’ if yer can’t find her, well… sorry, Jask, but yer better get th’frack outter there.”
Jas nodded, glumly. “Yeah, I know…” he replied, tiredly. “Well… let’s get on…”
Ten minutes later found Skan and Jas in the shadows, trying to settle their nerves, and readying themselves to finally march up to the door and go in…
Skan glanced at his pack-mate. “Well. Here goes nothin’…” he whispered.
Jas nodded, worriedly, and scratched at where the grease disguising his tattoo was irritating his skin. “Yeah. Here goes nothin’…”
Skan squared his shoulders and marched boldly up to the Pass-Reader beside the guard post at the labs’ entrance.
“Hold up, lads,” a voice said, calmly. “Where you off to? Labs is a no-go place since they got Queenie back, remember…?”
Skan turned. “Oh, hey there, Xek,” he said, wandering lazily over. “Didn’ see yer there.”
Xek shrugged. “Story o’ my life, not bein’ seen…” he groused.
Skan hooted a laugh, and lounged against the tabletop crowded with security monitors. “Fun night?”
“Nah,” Xek shook his head, tiredly, and then leaned it against his hand. “Nothin’ ever happens here. Yer friend don’ say much, does he?”
Skan shook his head. “Naw. He’s got a habit o’ openin’ his mouth and gettin’ both feet jammed squarely in his gob, so he tries not ter speak too much…”
Jas scowled and folded his arms – the other two both laughed at that.
“So,” Xek swigged at his rapidly-cooling coffee. “What yer doin’, tryin’ ter get inter labs?”
Skan shrugged. “I’m an engineer now. Apparently labs is havin’ problems wi’ some o’ the equipment, so I’m goin’ ter fix it.”
Xek raised an eyebrow. “You? Engineer? Since when were yer smart enough ter be an engineer? Get a brain transplant?”
“Oh ha,” Skan muttered and gave him a shove. “I have proof right here in my hand,” and held the pass out.
Xek took it, and gave it a look, wiggled it about in the glow of the halogen lights above his head so the hologram danced. “Oh, all right, all right, I give in. How ‘bout you, Sunshine?”
“Same here,” Jas replied, glibly, and all but thrust his carefully counterfeited pass into Xek’s eye.
Xek gave him a suspicious look, but then noted the oily patches on his skin – which actually disguised his tattoo – and nodded, resignedly. “Oh, all right, then… these look okay. Have fun, lads.”
Skan laughed, watching the heavy doors slide open in front of him. “Yeah, right. Fun. Dunno the meanin’ o’ the word,” he said, with a grin, then turned to Jas. “C’mon, Short-Ass, sooner we get done here the sooner we can leave…”
Xek listened as the voices faded off inside the complex, checked the coast was clear, flopped down on his chin in front of his screens, and was asleep in seconds.
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Anyways. I'll edit this post and put the rest of the chapter in when it's done. I'm nearly there, so... bear with me... 
