"Jas"

[Teal]

I'm going to be very busy, methinks... *scratches ears* Reposting my fics, as requested...
Aanyway... Here's "Jas," and no, it didn't ever get a better title... *mutters*


One

Deep in the hatchery corridors, two sligs were playing cards. It was a dingy corridor, and pretty hard for them to see by the dim lighting, so both were cheating as much as they could get away with without the other seeing.
One studied his cards with a scowl, scratched his face round the edges of the ill-fitting mask. "Raise yer ten."
"Y'ain't got ten to raise," the other scoffed. "C'mon, Narik, give up. Much more an' you'll gamble that promotion away, too."
Narik gave him a black look. "Don't see why I oughtta pay yer, I saw yer cheatin'," he said, sulkily.
"Ho yeah? Prove it, then. 'Sides, I saw you cheatin', too," the other slig snorted.
"Don't have ta prove nuthin'. Ev'ryone knows yer cheat, Jark, yer the biggest liar in the whole hatchery," Narik replied, with a pout, scratching the back of his head again.
"Oh yeah?" Jark jeered, scrambling noisily to his feet.
"Yeah," Narik was up on his feet, by now, and the two sligs were almost touching snouts. "Wanna make somethin' of it?"
Both were tensed ready to fight, and probably would have, had a loud voice not interrupted. "JARK!" it boomed; "I WANTED YER TEN MINUTES AGO!! WHERE THE FRACK ARE YER?!"
"Aw, great," Jark muttered. "Comin', boss!" he yelled back, over his shoulder, and gave Narik a scowl. "Yer lucky. Now c'mon, cough up," he demanded, holding out one hand and tapping one metal leg on the ground, impatiently. "Yer still owe me for them Scrab fights, too, remember?"
"'Kay, 'kay, keep yer pants on," the other slig grumbled, sorting his colleague's winnings.
"ONE MORE MINUTE, JARK, AND MANAGEMENT'LL BE WANTIN' TER KNOW WHY THESE EGGS DIDN'T HATCH!! AN' YOU'LL BE THE ONE TER TELL 'EM!"
Jark gave Narik a scowl and ran off in the direction of the voice. "I'll be comin' back this way, sunshine, so yer'd better 'ave it ready by then," he howled back over his shoulder.
Sure enough, Narik was waiting where he'd left him, scowling but holding quite a handful of cash.
Jark smirked and snatched his payment off him in passing. "'Bout friggin' time, an’ all," he muttered.
"Yeah, and thank you, too!" Narik yelled after him, sarcastically.
Jark honked a laugh over his shoulder, and broke into a gallop as fast as his pants would let him run. The trolley of mudokon eggs bounced crazily, but he was used to running this route, knew where all the bumps were, and the large eggs had pretty sturdy shells, as it was. He was taking them to Mudokon Hatchery Nine; more and more slaves seemed to be escaping these days, so the sooner these hatched the better.
If he hadn't been so concerned with collecting his owings from Narik maybe he'd not have been running so fast, to regain lost time. And if he hadn't been running so fast, maybe he wouldn't have collided with the slig marching along in the opposite direction with a cart loaded with Skillya's eggs, heading for the slig hatchery
Eggs spilled to the floor and rolled in all directions.
"That was yer fault!" both Sligs barked as one. Then snapped; "No it weren't!"
Jark gave the other slig a shove. "C'mon, if the old lady finds out she'll skin us…" Checking no-one had seen, between them they hurriedly gathered up the spilled cargo, shovelling up the eggs and getting most in the right trolleys.
"And watch where yer goin', next time, Jerk!" The other slig yelled as a parting shot. Jark honked rudely at the departing footsteps, then turned and went on his way.

Jark had delivered his eggs and vanished off to catch the end of the Scrab fights when there was a sudden commotion in Hatchery Nine; a brilliant flare of white light pierced the gloom of the dimly-lit room, startling the mudokon hatchery attendant. He shielded his eyes and watched as a portal opened up, through which half a dozen native mudokons fell. "What's going on?" he asked.
As if in reply, the first Mudokon scooped up as many eggs as he could carry – he managed three – and leaped back through the still-open portal.
"Rescuing eggs," one supplied, scooped up two and shot back through the portal.
The hatchery slave caught the next one's arm. "Where you rescuing them to?"
The mudokon picked up an egg. "Our village, a long way from here. You going to lend a paw?"
The slave gazed at the long rows of eggs remaining. "Better not. Who'd look after these?"
"Another slave? "
"I-" the slave shrugged, and shook his head. "What if one hatches before they find out I'm gone? Nah, I'll be fine. You'd best go – guards'll be back soon."
The mudokon nodded, scooped up another two eggs and bounded out of the portal.
It was only when the fuss had died down that the hatchery slave noticed that, of the pile he'd carefully sorted out of the newest eggs and put ready to be moved to a different hatchery, three were gone. Two he discovered had fallen off the back of the trolley, but that left one egg still missing.
And he knew only too well where it was.

The mudokon rescue team stood back and surveyed their catch, smiling and congratulating themselves on their success.
In all, they'd managed to retrieve seventeen eggs, of which sixteen were all the reassuring greenish-grey of healthy mudokon eggs. One egg was a shade different, though – a little rounder, more greyish-olive in colour, and noticeably smaller… It caused a little consternation, at first, making some worry that it would turn out to be in some way damaged and they would only find out upon its hatching. But, since it was warm and they could sense slight tremors in it every now and then, they left it with the others, a little reassured, and waited to see what would happen.
Carefully, they arranged the seventeen eggs in a nest lined with soft grasses, posted a watch, and waited patiently for them to hatch…

They waited for a long time. It was two months before the first two eggs split open, and another six weeks and four days before the next four hatched.
The remaining eleven, ten of which had all been laid at a similar time, took another seven weeks and two days to hatch. The nest attracted quite a crowd when the attendant yelled that he could see cracks on three eggs. The rest of the eggs all hatched that day, spread out over five hours or so.
So by now the remaining hatchlings had all been adopted, and most of the proud guardians had drifted off with their diminutive charges held gently and protectively in their arms; a few had remained, those without infants to look after, talking excitedly among themselves. After all, all the eggs had hatched, and all the young were healthy, and-
"Hey!" a voice called. The younger Mudokon who was clearing away the mess of broken eggshells, sweeping them into a rough cloth sack to be disposed of later, had noticed that… there was one egg left – the odd-shaped, odd-coloured one. It sat in the otherwise-empty nest, half obscured by bits of shell.
"There's one left, here…!" He yelled
One of the attendants sprinted back. "Another egg?"
"Yeah – the weird one."
The attendant crouched next to it, gently pressed a hand to its shell. "It's still warm, so it's not dead… wonder why it hasn't hatched…?" He frowned. "Get this mess cleared up, then we'll have to just wait and see what it does."
For an hour and a half, nothing. Then…
The eggshell cracked across, smartly. The attendant crouched nearby, ready to aid the hatchling if he needed to. With a sharp series of little cracking sounds, the occupant of the egg managed to break it up enough to push the bits apart. It lay in the mess of broken shell, breathing hard from its exertions.
As one, the cluster of mudokons all took a pace or two backwards. The pale yellow-green hatchling wailed noisily and waved its stubby arms, then the mouth below the fringe of prehensile tentacles found its hand, and it quietened down, blinking huge reddish eyes at the circle of mudokons.
A murmur of disgust spread round the group. A baby slig! No wonder the egg had looked so different…! Why in the name of Odd hadn't they suspected…?
"Let me through, please," a calm, authoritative voice said from the back of the crowd. The crowd automatically parted for the speaker, an old, worn female, her topknot gone thin and her skin grey and wrinkled with age. Bea was a truly ancient mudokon; no one was really sure how old she was, just that she was very old – some said she would have been a queen, but something went wrong while she was still in the egg, and she didn't develop properly afterwards. As a consequence, although she was female – whereas most "males" were actually asexual – she looked like any other mudokon, and her reproductive organs were withered and useless, so she was sterile. She crouched next to the slig hatchling, and frowned, thoughtfully; the little creature stretched out its arms for her, bawling noisily again, looking like it wanted to be held.
"What should we do with it, Bea?" one asked, leaning over her shoulder and rubbing the back of his head – the old lady was universally respected, and her opinion frequently asked for. "Give it to the fleeches?"
"Absolutely not," she told him, sternly. "I'll take it," and reached out for the mewling infant, which went quiet as soon as she'd picked it up.
"But… it's a slig!" Another mudokon said, as though he couldn't believe his ears.
"I know," she replied, calmly, cradling it gently in her arms, and scrutinised the squashed-up little face with a faint smile.
"Bea – I think you're getting' a few bricks short of the load, here…" The first said, hands on hips. "You know what they're like! Vicious little buggers! In fact, I'll bet when it's big enough, it'll-"
"Oh shush," the old mudokon cut in, gently. "I remember a time, before Queen Skillya, when sligs were a highly sensitive race; that was when parents took care of their offspring, and took notice of the need for parental love and attention." The infant slig in her arms found one of her paws and sucked noisily on her thumb. "They're not instinctively callous, you know."
"Sligs? Highly sensitive?" The second dissenter snorted. "All that's highly-sensitive about a slig is the trigger finger, I'd say."
A ripple of laughter ran through the group.
She gave them all a stern look. "A few kind words can often work wonders, and you would do well to remember that. Now, unless you have something constructive to add, I should like to be excused," she said, dryly, and stood up. "I have work to do."

It was quiet and private in her little sanctuary, a wicker and fabric hut nestling close to the trunk in the branches of one of the vast trees overlooking the village. She sat back against the wall, and looked at the little slig nestled in the crook of her arm. In all, it wasn’t so ugly as glukkon propaganda suggested; most of its face was taken up by those enormous amber eyes – funny that slig eyesight should be so poor, given their size. Its tentacles were shorter than those of an adult, only barely long enough to hide the mouth they formed a fringe above, and certainly not the useful ‘third-hand’ they’d turn into.
"What am I going to do with you, hey?" she asked it, quietly, wondering what she'd let herself in for, as it sucked at her finger, gazing back with those earnest scarlet eyes. "I suppose first of all I'd better find you a place to sleep…"
It whimpered, faintly, the short, vestigial tail wrapped firmly about her arm, and suckled on her finger. Bea frowned, faintly; it was almost as though the little mite was trying to tell her someth-
Of course; it hadn't eaten yet, she realised. Most, if not all, of the other hatchlings had all been fed, but then all the others were little mudokons, and everyone knew what to give them as a replacement for what the Queen would naturally provide.
So what did you feed a baby slig? Presumably Skillya's brood got fed on some kind of royal jelly as well, until their teeth had grown and they could take solids. But until then… Maybe it would take the replacement they were giving the mudokon hatchlings – if it did, so much the better; if it didn't, well… she'd just have to think of something.
She settled the infant into the nest of reeds that served as her bed, and waited for its eyes to close. It didn't take long to doze off, those big lantern eyes drifting shut; satisfied it was safe for the baby up here, she started down the short, rough ladder to the ground. She'd only got a few steps down it, though, when a sharp, strident cry from above startled her.
Scrambling back up and expecting to see some avian predator had somehow got in, she was a little surprised to find the hut empty, save for her little responsibility in the reed nest. With a frown, Bea padded over to it.
The baby slig waved its arms at her and tried to catch her paw, mewling. She frowned, and scooped it up, and the second it was in her arms it quietened down again, nestling itself into the crook of her elbow. "I see; you don't like being left alone, is that it?" she murmured, as one tiny hand went to the little mouth under its fringe of tentacles. "All right; you can come with me, then."
It was a little awkward, climbing backward down the ladder with only one hand free and trying not to crush the delicate infant in her arms, but the ladder was short and she managed it without too much bother.
The rumour merchants had already been busy, so when she padded across the main square nearly every face was turned her way, some looking merely curious, and others vaguely disgusted.
Needless to say, it took a bit of bargaining to persuade her fellow mudokons to give her something she could feed the infant with. They didn't like the idea of the infant slig in their midst, let alone having to provide it with food as well, food that could very well feed their own species' hatchlings…
She settled with her back to a tree-trunk, and offered the hatchling some of the food; it took it readily, so no problems with the feeding regime, then.
Which meant that there was only one real thing left to do, now. Wait for it to grow up, and see whether her bold assertion would be the downfall of them all.

[Teal]

(Awk! I've lost half the italicising...)

Two

Jas, as Bea had named the young slig, was maturing quickly. His skin darkened off to a green and yellowish-olive, his eyes reddened, and his tentacles had turned into the equivalent of a third hand; he used them to examine things, as they were highly tactile. His long snout offered an acute sense of smell, his hearing wasn't too bad, and he could see well enough in daylight with those huge lantern eyes, but his eyesight was dreadful when it got dark. He spent a considerable portion of his time sleeping – either that or sunbathing, on the bare branches above Bea's hut.
The mudokons were slowly coming round to the idea of having an adolescent slig in their village; after all, when he bothered getting up he'd proved himself to be useful. Those long nimble hands were good at making short work of what would otherwise be long, fiddly tasks taking a mudokon hours, even with the right tools.
One problem was that he wasn't incredibly mobile; he could climb trees with remarkable ease, but that didn't help him move about at ground level, which in turn led to his getting frustrated very easily.
Bea shook her head, and watched as he hauled his way up to his favourite perch in her tree for sulking. He caught her gaze and scowled back, darkly; she gave him a wan smile, and went on to where she was headed, advising on the tutelage of the youngest members of the tribe.
Tam – one of the very youngest generation of mudokons, hatched just before Jas did – was busily trying to learn the mechanics of opening bird-portals when she arrived. She watched as the youngster managed to coax the portal open with a bit of help from one of the elders, an idea swiftly beginning to coalesce in her fertile old mind…

Jas slithered to the ground with a whump at hearing his name called. "What?" he asked, swinging his head from side to side, looking for the speaker.
It was Tam, marching unsteadily over with something big, heavy and made of dull metal in his arms. He jerked his head in a come-here motion.
The little slig crawled over. "Wha's matter?"
The young mudokon put the dark-metal thing down on the grass, and stretched his back. "One of the elders was teaching me to help the tribe open portals, and we managed to snag this."
"Yeah…? What is it?" Jas asked, crawling round the metal object and examining it with his tentacles.
"Legs," Tam said, watching the slig.
"Legs? Whose legs?" Jas asked, worriedly.
"Yours, if you want 'em."
He looked at the mudokon, perplexed.
The youngster sighed, picked him up and settled him into the harness. "This is what most of the other sligs back in the factories wear. So you don't need to crawl; starting to get the idea?"
"Oh," Jas managed one noisy, tottering step, and fell over. "How you meant to use 'em?"
"I don't know; I didn't wait for their owner to wake up to ask him. I just nicked 'em for you," Tam helped him back upright. "Maybe if you practise you'll get better…"
"Hm," Jas managed two steps this time before falling flat on his face.
Tam laughed, peeled him up off the floor and hauled him back to his feet. "Not the easiest things to balance in, huh?"
Jas grumbled something unintelligible, rubbed his snout and concentrated on trying to keep his balance…

After a good two week's worth of practising, Jas, although exhausted by the unaccustomed work, was able to charge about just as fast as the mudokons did, and was revelling in his new-found mobility.
One thorn in his side was Gar. For weeks now, he and his small gang of mudokons had been making the young slig's life difficult; it used to just be spiteful comments, but lately they'd been picking fights with him. Not fast enough to outrun them, he was getting better at holding his own, in spite of their usual jibe that he was helpless without a weapon, but they had strength of numbers and he always lost, in the end…
There was a babble of noise coming from behind a screen of trees; Jas sighed – it was them. He kept his head down and tried to pretend he hadn't seen them, wishing he didn't have to make such a noise when he walked – it invariably got their attention – when he put his foot down a concealed hole and fell flat on his face.
There were laughs, and jeers. "Hey, Spider, why don't you watch where you're goin'!" Gar sniggered.
Jas's face bunched up, crossly, as he picked himself up – that was a new one, 'Spider'. "Don't call me that," he grumbled.
"I can call you Spider if I want," the big mudokon said, ominously, swaggering over. "'Cause you look like one. All spindly legs. And ugly."
"I am not!" Jas folded his arms and scowled, and tried to walk off again.
"Hey, don't you get sassy with me, slug-boy," Gar pushed him over. "You're only here because senile old Bea's got a soft spot for you. If it was up to us, you'd have been fed to the fleeches long ago."
Jas hunched his shoulders, tried to look small, and didn't answer; maybe Gar would leave him alone, if he acted compliant…
Gar exchanged a look with the others, then looked back at Jas. "I'm beginning to think," he said to his peers, in a voice that would have etched steel, staring at the uncomfortable little creature that cowered in front. "That our little friend, here, is getting just a bit too disrespectful of us, don't you agree?"
There was a chorus of agreement. Jas swallowed hard over a sudden lump in his throat.
"What should we do about it, Gar?" One asked, snidely.
Gar just smiled. "I think he needs to be taught a lesson. Up on your feet, short-ass," he snapped.
Jas lurched upright, trying to keep himself from shaking…

With one last heave, two of Gar's friends deposited Jas roughly into the lake. The slig surfaced, coughing and spluttering up the water he'd swallowed, and swam awkwardly to the edge, where Gar stood, arms folded, laughing. Unashamedly, Jas flopped onto the rough sandy shore and just lay, groaning, the slightly brackish water getting into all his cuts and making them sting incessantly.
Gar smirked. "I'll look after these for you," he said, indicating Jas' metal limbs, which they'd taken before throwing him into the water.
"No…!" Jas groaned. "No, please…"
Gar smiled, smugly. "I'll leave them with Bea. After all, we don't know if they mix well with water, and you don't want to be getting electrocuted, do you?"
"Gar… it'll take me ages to crawl back to the village…" Jas whined, miserably.
"I know," Gar shrugged, watching as one of his friends picked up the mechanical legs and started back with them. "Think of it as a bit of exercise."
"Please, Gar…" Jas whimpered, his face crumpled.
"Don't look at me like that, Ugly," Gar said, coldly. "We ought to make you wear a mask, like all the rest of you sligs do. Then we wouldn't have to look at your ugly mug."
"Come on, Gar…!" a voice yelled.
He glanced back over his shoulder, briefly. "Yeah, yeah, coming!" he called back, then turned back to Jas for the last time. He grinned, nastily, and gave him a derisive pat on the head. "Be seeing you, short-ass," he said, idly, and galloped off after his peers.
Jas sighed, and decided he'd better set off if he wanted to get back before dusk fell…

"Bea," a plaintive voice said.
The elderly mudokon looked up from her weaving. "Yes, Jas; what is it?"
The young slig was just inside the doorway, arms dangling outside, flat on his chin on the floor, looking up at her with big, exhausted eyes. "Am I ugly?" he asked, mournfully, his face scrunched up as it always did when he was upset about something.
She gave him a look, noting the faint cuts on his snout. "What makes you say that, Jas?"
He hauled his way inside the hut and crawled over to her, then flopped bonelessly down by her side. "They all say I'm ugly. They want me to wear a mask, because I'm ugly."
She patted his head, and smiled, gently. "Oh, don't take any notice of them. They're just a bit wary of you, that's all."
"Huh. They don't sound wary. They sound nasty," he said, sulkily, and added, in a sniff; "And they chucked me in the lake again. They know I don't like getting wet…"
"They?" Bea echoed. "Let me guess – Gar and his friends?"
"Who else would it have been?" Jas moaned.
"I'll have a word with him, Jas."
"You could have had a word with him weeks ago," he said, in a hostile tone.
"I know," she sighed. "I didn't want him to get worse."
"How can you get worse than beating someone senseless?"
She stopped her weaving, abruptly. "I beg your pardon?"
He looked up at her, mournfully. "They're getting pretty good at catching me when there's no-one else around..."
"I'll have a word," she promised. "Today. Just as soon as I've finished this."
"Thanks," he sniffed, and added; "Am I ugly?"
"Well," she smiled, kindly. "I wouldn't say you were the prettiest little thing in the forest, but then I wouldn't say you were ugly, either."
He sat up, stared at her. "You think I'm ugly, too?" he asked, faintly.
"Oh Jas, don't be silly. I never said that," she told him, sternly. "I think you may be over reacting a little, that's all."
Jas hunched his bony shoulders, and sighed. "And here was me hoping for a bit of sympathy…" He slithered out of the door.
Bea sighed – why did he have to be so sensitive? "Jas…" she called after him, tiredly, but he didn't answer, and next second there was the sharp mechanical sound of his legs as he mooched away in the gathering dusk. She put down her weaving and went to the door…
She caught him just vanishing off into the stand of trees nearby – ah well; he'd calm down and be back, soon. Unless he was really annoyed, he never spent too long sulking. But… hm. There was Gar and co., looking suspect… And seemed to be following Jas. She frowned, watched them head into the stand of trees as well…

Jas sat down hard on an old fallen branch at the base of a tree, and sighed. No-one understood him. He thought Bea did, but ultimately she was just a mudokon as well… how could he expect her to think differently? They all thought he was some kind of… some kind of hideous monster, just waiting for the time when he could slaughter them all in their beds… He sniffed, and angrily swiped away a tear.
"Oh, there you are," a voice said, soft with implied menace.
Jas's heart sank – Gar. He looked up as the small group of mudokons approached, warily. "What?" he managed, but his throat was tight.
Gar smiled a dangerous smile, and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree. "Oh, nothing," he said, and spread his hands, idly. "Just, ahem… got a present for you."
Jas swallowed over a dry throat. "I don't like the sound of that," he whispered.
Suddenly a pair of strong hands seized him from behind. He gave a yelp and kicked futilely as one of them picked him up and, laughing, pinned his arms behind him. Another grabbed his head, held it still.
Gar smirked, and sauntered over to where the helpless slig squirmed and pleaded with them to let him go. "Something wrong, Spider?" he asked, feigning concern, and flicked something dark and leathery idly about in one hand.
"No no no…!" Jas whimpered, trying to turn his face away, but the mudokon holding him still dug his nails into his jaw, making him whine but stop squirming. "Let me go, please, let me go…!"
Gar just smiled, nastily, and pulled the whatever-it-was-that-he-held-in-his-hand firmly over the captive slig's lean snout and tentacles. It was rough, and scratchy, and hurt the sensitive skin of Jas' face, made him whimper; sensing a victory, Gar yanked it savagely tight, making the youngster squeal in pain.
The mudokons holding Jas captive abruptly dropped him; he landed in a tangle of legs and arms at their feet, whimpering. He blinked through the holes in the mask and tried to pull it free, but it was painfully tight, and pulling at it made it chafe his skin at the edges, and he couldn't find the catch holding it in place to release it. "Owowow… please – take it off me, it hurts…" he wept, tugging at it. "Please, I promise I'll not annoy you any more, just take it off…!"
"Ah ah," Gar said, unkindly, shaking his head and wagging a finger. "Now you're a proper slig. So you can go back home."
"But here is home…!"
"Not any more; you belong with your own kind, not scrounging off our generosity. So go on, beat it!"
"But I…"
"Go on, scat! Or else you're fleech food!"
He gave them a pleading look. "But I don't… I can't… I mean, I… I don't know where to go, or…!"
"I'll give you until a count of ten. If you're not gone by then, well… let's just say you won't enjoy it much," Gar snapped. "One… two… three… four…"
On the "five", Jas decided it wasn't worth it. His narrow shoulders hunched, he turned away, and set off, not knowing where he was going.
The laughter that chased him out of the glade was almost as painful as the ill-fitting mask that pinched his face and rubbed at his skin…

It was getting dark steadily. Bea sat in the doorway to her hut, worrying; no sign of Jas coming back yet. He was usually back before now, even if he'd been in the foulest of moods when setting out – his eyesight was dreadful in the dark, and he hated not being able to see. Perhaps she ought to go look for him… No, wait – there was Gar, again – looking excessively pleased with himself, and bragging about something to his friends, no doubt. She narrowed her eyes, suspiciously; watched as he went into one of the low buildings, then slid to the floor, and followed…
He didn't answer when she called his name, so she cleared her throat, delicately, and barked; "Gar…!"
Gar looked up, a little startled. "Yeah? Wha's matter, Bea?"
"Would you happen to know where Jas is?" she stood in the doorway with her arms folded, staring at him with her most discomforting gaze.
"Er…" Gar frowned exaggeratedly. "Nope. Haven't seen him."
"You're sure?" she raised an eyebrow.
"I think I'd be sure about a thing like that, Bea."
"So, if you didn't see him, why did I see you following him a short while ago?"
"Er. Um," he scratched his head, looking away. "Well, you see… that'd be because… uhm… don't know. I didn't see 'im, though. Must have been a coincidence," he asserted, boldly.
Bea gave him a hard-as-nails defy-me-if-you-dare look. "I would advise," she said, softly. "That you don't stretch my patience any further, Gar…"
"Bea," he complained. "Look, okay, so I saw him, but he was goin' into the woods, and I was goin' to the lake, and-"
"Funny. The lake is in the opposite direction."
"So I got lost!"
"You've lived here for years. How could you get lost?"
"I…" he shrugged, sensing he was about to lose the argument quite badly. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, Gar, it matters. I want to know what you did to him, and where he is now."
"I didn't do anything to him!!"
Bea sighed, and turned away. "Fine. If that's the way you want to play… you're on the cleaning detail for the next five weeks. Or until you decide to tell me what happened, when I may rethink your punishment."
"Aw, come on, Bea…" he whined – the cleaners had a universally unliked job. It was dirty and smelly and occasionally dangerous, clearing up old glukkon rubbish tips and preparing the land to be regrown, and usually mudokons took turns at it, never having to do more than a few days at a time. "You know me well enough by now, don't you…? I wouldn't hurt the little shrimp…"
She smiled in a dangerously reassuring way. "Yes, Gar; at least part of that's true."
He relaxed with a sigh of relief.
"I know you only too well," she went on. "You must think I'm blind, or deaf, or both. I've seen you tormenting him these past few weeks. I hesitated to step in, knowing that mentioning it to you would only make you worse. Now I see perhaps I should have, after he tells me what else you've been doing. I'm ashamed of you, Gar – I thought you were old enough to know better."
"All right, all right…" Gar groaned, trying anything to get her to shut up and stop humiliating him in front of his peers. "So… I told him that I didn't want him here any more, and sent him packing. He'll have gone to the factories," he scowled, and added, in a quiet, belligerent voice that he hoped Bea wouldn't hear, "Where he belongs."
She smiled at him, satisfied. "Thank you, Gar. That wasn't so painful, was it?"
He scowled at her patronising tone, but wisely kept his mouth shut, staring at the tabletop.
"And, as you've told me what happened, at last, I've decided to rethink your punishment."
He looked up, hopefully.
She smiled back. "You're getting ten weeks instead. Enjoy it."

[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.

[Teal]

Four


Drek wandered lazily a short way down the corridor, a curious Jas in tow, and stopped by an open door; "Lounge" was printed in large, bold green letters above it.
"Wouldn't come in 'ere unless one o' us is with yer," Drek said, softly, as Jas stared about himself, wide-eyed. "Yer smaller'n most sligs in barracks 'ere, an' if any o' these lads is a bit pissed, well… I don' think yer need me ter tell yer what'd happen if yer put someone's snout out o' joint."
The room was hazy with smoke, but quieter than the mess hall – much quieter – and smaller; dotted around the room were low tables and chairs, with deep cushions and subdued lighting. Three of the tables were occupied; a cluster of sligs were playing cards in a remarkably civilised way at one, and another three sligs were talking animatedly about something in hushed voices at another. At the last a pair of senior sligs were discussing something that probably used to have been of great importance, but judging by the number of empty brew bottles littered about it had faded into insignificance compared with whatever they were talking about now. A couple of scrawny little slogs were rooting about under tables, apparently looking for scraps.
Drek found a table in the corner. "Get yerself sat down, I'll go get us some drinks," he told him, loping over to the bar.
Jas sank into one of the deep chairs, and watched as Drek picked up an ashtray and banged it impatiently on the surface. "Hey, yer lazy sod…! Yer got customers waitin', out here!" The older slig barked.
A distinctly bony slig trotted out of the door behind the bar, a dirty old towel slung over one shoulder. "Oh, it's only yer," he said. "Ought ter 'ave known. What can I get yer?"
Jas missed the next bit – the older slig leaned closer and muttered something to the bartender, who honked a faint laugh, and both glanced back at him, then there was a bit more hushed conversation, cash exchanged hands and then Drek was back.
“Here y’are, kid,” Drek said, plonking himself down in a chair and bouncing a can at the young slig sitting next to him, by now a bundle of nerves, and laughed. "I must be goin' soft in my old age, helpin’ a kid like yer out…”
“I’m not complainin’,” Jas put in, “Though I was a bit confused on the ‘why’…”
“I don' want a smart kid like yer ter go an' get his 'ead mashed in by bein' stupid," Drek chuckled. " 'Cause sligs should stick together, right? Even if they are rippin' lumps outter each other."
Jas nodded, silently; the older slig was thoughtful and perceptive, in spite of his battle-scarred appearance, and Jas suspected he'd make a pretty good teacher. Maybe he did ought to stick around with Drek and co. for a while – at least, until they got fed up of him. Then it'd be time to do a swift disappearing act.
Drek smiled, wryly. "Wha’s this, smile sweetly an' think ter yerself I hope he shuts up before I get earache?"
"Oh, no – no!" Jas shook himself fully awake again. "No, I was… jus' thinkin'."
"Dangerous pastime, that, kid, an' I ain't jokin', neither. Management don' like their sligs ter think too much. We start getting'… awkward ideas… Then they has ter come down 'ere an' get a few o' us shot, jus' ter keep the others in line."
"Tha's not very fair."
"Who said anythin' about fair? Law of the wild, kid – kill or be killed. Simple as that."
There was a clatter of mechanical footsteps and Skan collapsed heavily into a low-slung chair, breathing hard. His face was torn to ribbons and bleeding sluggishly, but he was grinning. "Thought I'd find yer 'ere," he said, and added, triumphantly; "Beat 'im again."
"No yer didn't," Jark argued, settling in the couch opposite and flopping down on his chin on the low drinks table in front. Of the two, he did look worse off, no matter what he said; amongst the innumerable scratches and ugly welts, one eye was bleeding badly, and at least one finger looked dislocated. "Get us a drink, Drek… don' think I could move another muscle fer the rest o' today."
“Lazy bugger,” Drek scowled. “I ain’t waitin’ on yer hand an’ foot fer the rest o’ the day jus’ cause yer an’ Skan had another bust-up. But I note you two made up yer differences quick today."
Skan laughed. “That could be ‘cause I brained ‘im with a chair. Didn’ want ter fight no more after that.”
Jark just snorted, unable to think of a suitably scathing remark to respond with.
"Yer got a place ter sleep, kid?" Drek asked, deciding to change the subject – the other two would argue all afternoon, given half the chance. "'Cause if yer ain't, I got a spare bunk," and gave the others a look. "I kicked Skan out fer yellin' in his sleep."
“I do not!” Skan pouted.
“Bloody do,” Jark retorted.
Skan gave him an ugly look. “If I felt motivated enough ter get up, I’d be kickin’ yer clean through ter next week ‘bout now.”
Drek shook his head, realising he’d started them off again. “Ain’t you got ter go see the Big Feller this afternoon?” he asked, ignoring the other two, who were by now having an enthusiastic slanging match.
“Who?” Jas blinked.
Drek smiled, wryly. “Give yer one guess…”
Something in Jas’ brain made a sudden connection. “Aw, frack… I’m late…” he groaned, vaulting to his feet and off.
“Catch yer later, kid!” Drek called after him.
Jas just honked in reply, and vanished round the corner.

"Yer ain't so bad a fighter, short stuff," Hak rumbled, approvingly, as Jas sprinted in, panting apologies. "I saw yer thrashin' Frelik in the mess hall; not many've taken 'im on an' won. Where'd yer learn ter fight like that?"
"Uhm…" Jas leaned against the wall, panting, and racked his tired brain for a suitable explanation. "When I were little… bein' small, I got picked on a lot… had ter learn ter fight so they wouldn't do too much damage…"
Hak nodded his huge head, ponderously. "Where was yer brung up, Spider? I'd been meanin' ter ask. Yer not like most o' the others I've had the dubious pleasure o' teachin'."
"Uh… well… that is ter say… ack…" Jas swallowed; crunch time... "Promise not ter tell…?"
Hak nodded again.
"Uh… don' suppose yer remember them egg-raids a while back?"
"Ev'ryone knows about them, Shortie; s'why security were tightened."
"Yeah, well, uh… my egg was one o' the ones what got stolen. I've lived wi' muds fer most o' my life."
Hak cocked his head, stood and digested what the little slig had told him. "Wondered why yer had such an aversion ter smackin' the li'l buggers," He rumbled, apparently stuck for anything else to say, and tactfully changed the subject. "C'mon kid, tha's quite enough chitchat, we've got work ter be getting' on wi'," he deposited a larger weapon than before into the smaller slig's hands.
Jas gave an "oof" of effort, but soon regained his balance. "Heavy," he commented, wobbling.
“Yer’ll get used ter it,” Hak laughed. "An’… well, here's a piece o' advice," He watched as the youngster sprayed bullets round the target and missed it in most cases. "Don' tell old Drek where yer was dragged up. Hm, well, mebbe Drek ain't so bad, but certainly not Skan or Jerk. They ain't go no lost love fer muds, and the last 'mudlover' they caught got beat half ter death before they sent 'im packin' ter Skillya."
"Well, uh… what if they ask?" Jas wobbled, and tried to aim a bit better; this time he actually hit the target more than once.
"Cook up some story yer think sounds like it ought ter fit. But, fer Odd's sake, don', whatever yer do, say nothin'. If there's a sure way ter get yer ribs broke, getting' cheeky wi' 'em is one of 'em."
Jas grinned. "I've been told that before," he said, lowering the weapon.
"Well, now yer getting' told it again," Hak shoved him, good-humouredly, and then lit up a cigarette. "Want a smoke?" he asked, offering the packet.
Jas gave it a suspect look. "Uhm… No, thanks," he replied, with a mild sense of trepidation.
Hak chuckled and put the packet away. "Yer’ll get used ter bein' offered 'em. 'Specially if yer stick wi' Drek an' co – least, 'til yer start buyin' yer own. Smoke enough fer eight, the Three do."
Jas blinked, startled. "Tha's the Three?"
Hak grinned. "Yer didn't know? Thought yer were a bit of a brave one fer yer size," he looked again at the smaller slig, and added; "Or lack of it."
Jas pouted. "Wish people’d stop commentin’ on my size," he managed, faintly. “I can’t help bein’ small.”
Hak rumbled that infectiously dirty laugh; a deep, booming hur-hur-hur. Jas found himself grinning, as well.
“So, uh…” Jas shifted the weapon in his grip, resting the muzzle on the ground. "There an easy way to get on, here?"
Hak rumbled that deep, heavy laugh of his. "Smart kid, ain't yer? Well, I'll give yer the potted version o' what I tell all rest o' the new ‘uns what come 'ere fer basic trainin'; none ever listen, but what the hey. Keep yer 'ead when everyone else is flappin' round in a panic, an yer'll go far. Don' cheek yer elders, which is a sure way ter get yer 'ead mashed, an' keep on yer toes around upper management; they'll call yer up fer near on anythin', an' a bit o' bootlickin' never goes amiss. One golden rule – don' get 'em annoyed. They're temp'ramental sods, an' if they think yer takin' the piss by salutin' an' doin’ too much o' the old 'yes-sir' routine, they'll send yer down fer a kickin'. Likewise fer us seniors; I'm pretty easy goin', but Lenk – he's one o' the other two Big Bros employed 'ere – yer gotta watch out fer. Salute 'im ter say yer've understood 'is orders, but don', whatever yer do, argue about 'em wi' 'im.”
Jas nodded. "I'll remember 'is name," he said, solemnly.
Hak smiled, grimly. "Remember it an' fear it, kid."
"Oh. He's like that, is he…?" Jas swallowed, thickly.
Hak chuckled. "Yup. Compared wi' Lenk, I'm cuddly an' harmless."
Jas just stared at Hak's forbidding bulk, and swallowed, thickly.
“An' that,” Hak puffed a cloud. “Is about all there is ter know."
"Don't sound too hard."
"Don' yer believe it," Hak said, dryly, flicking his spent cigarette away and stomping it with one heavy foot. "It's law o' the jungle, here; ev'ry slig fer 'imself. Yer may think yer the next child prodigy, but if yer piss someone off in management, yer won't live too long ter regret it. We still ain't got the bloodstains out o' the carpet from the las' time some dumb idiot insulted one o' th'offices. Well, mebbe tha's an exaggeration, but still, there weren't much of 'im left by the time they'd finished wi' 'im."
"Naw…" Jas laughed, nervously. "Yer havin' me on…"
Hak just fixed him with an icy stare. "Listen, kid – I can show yer what a cracked rib or two feels like, as yer seem ter want someone to pretty badly. Cause I may be big an' stupid, but I ain't a liar."
Jas shrank down. "Um…"
Hak rolled his eyes. "Jus' remember what I told yer," he said, closing a massive hand round the weapon and lifting it effortlessly out of the younger slig’s hands. “Go on, kid, clear off. Yer goin’ ter fit in okay, I think. Go find out who yer superior is first thing tomorrow mornin’, an’ he’ll give yer instructions from now on…”

Drek honked a greeting as Jas clattered in; the younger slig waved back, idly, and sat down hard just inside the door.
“Busy day?” he asked, with a grin.
Jas just nodded, and keeled over.
Drek laughed, and leaned his chair back against the wall. "I'll let yer 'ave the lower bunk tonight, then. But," he raised a finger. "Fer the rest o' yer time in here, yer get the top one."
Jas nodded from his recumbent position on the floor. "Whatever."
"Want a smoke, kid?"
"No; but ta, anyways."
"Sure? Yer goin' ter get awful bored of me offering."
The younger slig propped himself up on his elbow. "Yer bein' very free wi' yer cigarettes… thought Jerk said yer didn't give 'em away like that?"
Drek snorted, and flicked his lighter. "Oh, don' yer worry 'bout that," he said, round the cigarette, lighting it. "Soon as yer start buyin' yer own, I'll be collectin' the debt off of yer."
Jas nodded, yawned, and collapsed on his bunk, and was snoring in seconds.

[Teal]

Five


It was getting on for eight months since Jas had been booted out by Gar; by now, he'd been forgotten by most, and had even faded to the back of Bea's mind. Every now and then, though… she'd wonder. Wonder how her young charge was getting on; wonder if he was even still alive after all this time… Eight months is a long time to be on your own for. On your own, and confused, not knowing how to behave to fit in…
There was a sudden commotion, out on the main square; Bea went to her doorway, curious, then scrambled down the ladder and to the overexcited gaggle by the well.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
One turned to face her, eagerly. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked.
“Well, obviously not, or I wouldn’t have to ask,” she replied, dryly.
“Uhm… yeah,” He scratched his head and thought for a second. “Well, anyway… they’re saying that the queen’s laid The Egg!”
Bea frowned. “I don’t-”
A second mudokon butted in. “What Lan’s trying to say is that we’ve been hearing rumours of a queen egg.”
“A queen egg?” Bea echoed, worriedly.
The circle had shifted to include her; several nodded.
“Yeah,” one said. “Which means that if the queen’s saved, while they’ve got the egg, saving her will mean nothing…!”
“So what do we do?” another asked, fretting. “Maybe we ought to pretend we don’t know… then we don’t have to do anything…”
Bea silenced him with a glare. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “We sneak in and find out if they’re right; if they are, we steal it.”
A deafening silence met her words.
“Steal The Egg?” one managed, getting his voice back. “But… how we going to do that? It’ll be as good as suicide…! Think of how many guards there’ll be…!”
Bea shook her head. “I know. But we’ve got to try… if anyone feels up to volunteering for this ‘suicide mission’, meet me by the outskirts at dusk, and we’ll try to figure out what we’re going to do…”

Dusk had come and gone, and Bea had managed to “recruit” only eight to help. So she wasn’t feeling hopeful of having much success, at the moment, as they padded along in absolute silence…
"Uh, Bea?" A voice asked, by her elbow.
Bea looked sideways, to find Tam beside her. “I thought we told you that you were too young to be coming along?”
“I’m not going with you. I just wanted to talk with you before you left. May be the last chance I get.”
She nodded, silently.
"You're going to try and find him, aren't you?" he said, softly. “You know he’s probably dead, by now.”
Bea gave him a look, and frowned. "Who?"
"Jas. Everyone’s saying that’s why you suggested going. 'Specially after you gave Gar's lot that verbal beating when you found out what they'd done."
"That was nearly a year ago, now, Tam," she said, with a smile.
“Which means he’s probably dead,” the younger mudokon muttered.
“You’re being very persistent today, Tam.”
“Well… look, Bea… I’m sorry, but, well… you’re not exactly young and sprightly, any more…”
“And you’re worried I’ll get hurt.”
“Well,” he shrugged, and added, defensively; “I’m allowed to get worried.”
Bea smiled. “There’s life in the old bird yet,” she laughed. “Now you best be getting back. You don’t want to be out here alone for much longer…”

Jas lounged against the railing in front of him, and softly exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, watching as the workers below scurried about their business with an almost manic speed. With a sigh he stubbed out the spent cigarette and flicked it off the balcony, and mooched lazily off on patrol, just so he could con his conscience into believing that he was working. To start with he’d worked quite hard – until he’d realised it usually didn’t mean any more got done, and it was just as effective and a whole lot easier to sleep, most of the time. Having said that, he didn't mind being on patrol; not overmuch, any way. You could either crash out on the floor and sleep, or prat about all you liked, if you felt that way inclined; management would give you what was known in the business as the "look of death," but then go off and pretty much let you carry on. After all, some sligs had unsettlingly destructive tendencies when bored out of their minds, and took them out on the facilities – which got tediously expensive and took nearly-heartbreakingly-large chunks out of everyone’s wage-packets after a few of the more pricey machines went beyond repair…
The "egg trolleys" had a particular interest for the bored – if you got a bit of speed up with them, you could hook your feet up on the wheel mounts and "ski" down corridors, slyly hoping that someone would be stupid enough to get in the way. Find a couple of empty ones, a long corridor and some friends, and you were all set up for a bit of racing – and betting. Just had to make sure management didn't catch you; not because they were concerned about your safety, but because they didn't want the expense of buying new trolleys – which would again come out of your wage packet, in any case. If management didn't know, you could feign innocence and blame some other poor sod if anything got broken…
In his eight months here, Jas had got himself quite a reputation, and had clawed and fought and kicked and just-generally-scrambled his way rapidly up the ladder of the security hierarchy. After beating Frelik that time in the officer's mess and having Drek take him under his metaphorical wing, he'd settled in remarkably quickly – trouble was, "sweet and innocent" could never be used to describe the young slig any more. Psycho-lout from hell would probably be more apt.
Jas never really did grow to full size – he kind of stopped three quarters of the way there. What he lacked in size, however, he more than made up in speed and ferocity. Lower-ranking sligs made sure he was well out of earshot before they called him "Short-Ass"; retribution would otherwise be swift, and painful. If a fit of pique Jas had even gone for Hak's throat, once; the huge creature had just laughed ponderously, stopping him with one vast hand, and told him to stop being Oddworld's biggest prat. Jas had made some ugly noises at this and sulked in earnest for the rest of the day.
And he'd earned quite a few scars of his own, the most prominent being the one that ran in a shocking line from the middle of his snout and over his right eye, from when he'd once got himself bottled by Jark. Mind you, he had whacked the other slig about the head with a chair, first. The amount he smoked would make a chimney proud.
He still had something of a soft spot for the mudokons, though, and still couldn't bring himself to beat them for slacking. Although his “colleagues” would beat hell out of them for nothing more than looking at them the wrong way, he’d only clonked one about the head once, and then only because it had royally pissed him off when he’d had the mother of all hangovers.
Most knew of his unconventional upbringing by now, but hardly any dared challenge him about it; Jark had, of course, but Jas had put him swiftly in his place. That was the comment that had lead to the fight which gave him the scar above his eye. The one exception would be with Gar. Let him stray anywhere near and Jas would probably beat him half to death…
The Four – as "the Three" didn't apply any more – were a high security team, just below the Big Bros. Although granted they were more likely at any given time to be found flaked out in a corridor snoring off the previous night's boozing, given the proper incentive and provided you agreed not to breathe down their necks while they were working, they could be just as swift, silent and ruthlessly deadly as any scrab. They were easily the equal of the much-valued Big Brother Sligs, and management liked them because they were cheaper. They didn't require the often-expensive pharmaceutics needed to maintain the vast size and impressive musculature of the Big Bros, who could be a lot lazier than their smaller cousins and didn't like to exercise.
But management also didn't like the Four, because they were openly wilful, even to the point of being insubordinate – all four pulled faces behind management backs and flagrantly disobeyed orders, at times replying to questions with witticisms and commenting on things with dryly cynical barbs. Some said they took their lives into their own hands, but they knew management would find it hard without them, as they kept the lower ranks in line with their presence alone.
Jas had grown even more daring than the others – although he daren't insult Lenk, he'd started to call Hak by a variety of stupid names, "Tank" being the usual one. The huge slig didn't seem to mind, though – as he'd said, he was a lazy, easygoing creature that took a lot to get riled – and the nickname fitted him perfectly. He was, quite literally, built like a tank, and when fully armoured it was only all the more apparent. Although most reckoned – foolishly – that he was a few bricks short of a load, Tank was surprisingly thoughtful for a slig of his upbringing, and actually pretty smart, though he hid it well. And he had the most infectious of dirty laughs, a deep rumbling hur-hur-hur, which never failed to set all the others off even if they hadn't found what he was laughing at funny.
Lenk was the one exception to the general rule; the Four obeyed him absolutely, no questions asked. As Four, they could probably best him in a fight; but he was vengeful, and they knew he'd get his own back… If he caught any of them alone, they couldn't possibly match his size and strength, and he'd likely as not kill them. So they kept well out of his way as much as possible, and tried their best not to anger him. Even so, to say they hated him didn't do justice to the strength of their feelings. One of these days, they'd get up the courage to pack together and kill him, knowing it'd probably mean management would be ever-so-slightly-more-than-pissed-off at them. Even Hak didn't like him, and that was saying something – the huge soldier either liked or was indifferent to most others.
Feelings were running especially high after the ugly brute had sent Telk, a friend of the Four, off to his death. There had been reports in of a feral scrab running in the grounds, and they'd needed someone to go out and dispatch it. Telk had been the nearest one available, but he'd only just got over running a very high fever… He'd asked that please could someone else go? Lenk had decided the smaller worker slig had been taking the rise, beat him half to death, then sent him out… He'd managed to fatally wound the scrab, but it had cut him up pretty badly; in hideous agony, he’d refused to let anyone near him, at first, so they'd shot him from a distance with the strongest sedative they had, and got him to a medic… He'd been recovering well; at least, until the bacterial infection had set in, and in his weakened state even the Vykker's best antibiotics hadn't saved him…
Jas sighed, boredly, and paused at an intersection of the two corridors. Skan’s patrol route crossed his just here – with any luck, if he hung around for a bit his colleague would be here, shortly, then they could go snatch a bit to eat and go find Hak, he was usually good for a laugh…

"We'll meet back here in two night's time," Bea said, softly, hiding behind the stack of barrels in the yard. They'd managed to sneak thus far undetected. "With any luck we'll have had some success. If you can't find what we came looking for, just grab as many eggs as you can and run for it – go back to the portal, if you can. If not, hide until the coast's clear… if you can get some of the locals to go with you, so much the better. I don't have to impress on you how dangerous this is going to be. Everyone understand? Good. Let's move out…"

Jas sniffed the air, thoughtfully, as he clumped into his room back in barracks. "Wha's the funny smell, Drek?"
Drek smiled, lazily, from his recumbent position on his bunk. "I can't smell no funny smell," he replied, dreamily, tracing a wiggly pattern of smoke with the hand-rolled cigarette in his hand.
Jas sniffed again. "Tha's 'cause it's you. What yer smokin'?"
"Oh, jus' some o' the nice stuff. I've only been buggin' Skan fer it fer, le's see… eight months, now… He's finally got off his lazy arse an' got some," he grinned, and held out the glowing cigarette. "Here y'are, kiddo. Have some."
"What is it?" Jas asked, lifting it to his mouth.
"Does it matter? I ain’t dead yet, am I?"
"Guess not," Jas took a pull from it. "Hm," he commented, looking at it. "That ain't too bad."
"Ain't too bad?" Drek echoed, with a chuckle. "Tha stuff's the best. Cost yer three day's pay fer jus’ ten o’ them."
"Whoo," Jas whistled, scratching the back of his head, then added; "Yer sure this is legal?"
Drek laughed, lazily, and flipped a hand. "Who gives a frack about legal? An’ who's goin' ter find out, anyways? But yeah, this stuff is. S'only the really hard stuff that management don't like us usin', an' then only 'cause we don' work so good after. "
"Point taken," Jas replied, with a shrug…
He was feeling comfortably mellow, by the time Skan finally arrived with his arms full of bottles, stretched lazily out on his bunk. Drek had fiddled around with the computer and coaxed some music out of it – though it still had the hypnotic melodies and haunting synthesised vocals of usual slig music, there were none of the pounding beats that usually characterised their style – and Jas lay crooning absently along with it.
“No Jark?” Drek asked, idly.
“Naw,” Skan bounced a bottle at him – he caught it deftly. “Said he’d come down if he got time…”

Bea sat under a ledge, just out of sight for a slig with its poor eyesight, and sighed. Jon had been caught, today – she'd caught a glimpse of two lean, muscular guard sligs hauling him past where she’d been hiding. He'd given her a haunted look as he'd passed, but there had been nothing she could have done. She'd sneaked after them, just in case, flitting from shadow to shadow, to one of the managerial offices, where she'd been just in time to hear a glukkon's harsh voice tell the sligs to "kill the slimy mud," and the sharp retort of a single gunshot…

Skan was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, a bottle of brew beside him and a cigarette in his hand. "Did I tell yer me’n’Jerk found some sneaky mud tryin' ter get inter the new hatchery today?" he asked, in a not-quite-there tone of voice.
"Oh yeah?" Jas leaned out of his bunk, one arm dangling bonelessly over the side. "Wha'd yer do?"
"Dragged it off ter management," Skan puffed a smoke-ring. "And they tol' us ter shoot it. So we did," he mimed firing a gun. "Pow. One ex-mud." Then he grinned, wryly. "Oh, sorry. I was fergettin' that we has a mudlover on top bunk, there."
Jas just smiled, absently. "So where's Jerk, anyhoo?"
"Poor bastard's got late shift again," Drek sniggered, and looked pointedly at Skan. "An' I wonder who volunteered 'im fer it?"
"Hey, don' look at me," Skan protested, then laughed. "The Boss said 'e needed someone fer a 'really important job', and the stupid prick went an' volunteered. He didn' understand why I was laughin' at 'im – 'cause I knew what he were volunteerin' fer – an' were feelin' really shafted when 'e found out it were ter guard the hatchery, in case any more snoopy muds come along."
The other two gave hoots of dirty laughter.
"I would'n laugh too much," Skan said, raising a cautionary finger. "'Cause we has all got guard duty there fer the next few weeks, until the damn things hatch. Which means no more days off."
Jas snivelled. “I was meant ter have a day off tomorrow,” he whined. “I was lookin’ forward ter stayin’ in bed all day.”
Skan sniggered. “Try tellin’ that ter Management…”
The next few hours fled past as a smoke-hazed blur; morning reared its ugly head only too quickly. Dimly, Jas became aware of the rumbling sound in his ears – he thought it was probably music, but his brain hadn’t got round to deciphering that bit, yet – barely seconds before the headache attacked like a rabid cobra, sinking its teeth into his skull. He groaned and rolled to face the wall.
"Oh, yer awake, are yer?" A voice said, then yelled in his ear; “Come in, Shortie, time to get up now!
"Go 'way," he mumbled, burrowing under the bedding.
"Drank too much again, hey Jaskie?" The voice laughed, and added, in a loud, patronising tone right next to his ear; "Come on, sleepyhead, time ter wakey wakey, rise an’ shine!"
Jas pushed the owner of the voice smartly off the edge of the bunk; there was a resoundingly-satisfying clatter, and a soft curse; "Jask, if you ain't up in ten seconds, I'm pullin' yer onto the floor."
"Aww, c'mon Drek, jus' ten more minutes…?" Jas whined, trying to burrow further into the cocooning warmth.
"No, get up! Now!"
"Aw, go on, please…? Ten minutes ain't goin' ter hurt, is it?"
"Yer half-an-hour late already, an' Skan ain't jus' fumin', he's after yer blood," Drek retorted, gripping the covers firmly in both hands and hauling everything off the top bunk. "I've made enough excuses fer yer, now GET a MOVE ON!"
"B-leugh," Jas said, disgustedly, and tottered unsteadily to his feet, untangling his blanket from round himself. “Slave driver.”
“I know, terrible ain’t it? Drink this,” Drek thrust a cup full of a vile-smelling dark-green liquid into Jas’ hands. “Painkiller,” he supplied, at the confused look he got in reply.
Jas sniffed it and wrinkled his face up, then upended the cup and swallowed it before he could change him mind. And almost choked to death on its acrid bitterness.
Drek hooted with laughter. “Yer obviously never had that one before. No-one, an’ I mean no-one, drinks the lot in one go like that…”
Jas gave him a glower. “Could’ve told me sooner…”

Bea hunkered down in her hiding place, and looked toward the door that had cost at least two of their number their lives – Ren had got himself caught yesterday. It wasn’t a big door, certainly, and there was only one small slig – admittedly a very menacing-looking one – posted by it.
At least, he'd probably look menacing if he was awake. He was crashed out on his back in front of the doors, snoring. Frowning, she wondered briefly if she could sneak over and get his gun before he woke up-
There was the clatter of two sets of approaching footsteps – she whisked back into her hiding place and watched…

"Thought yer said he was pissed off?" Jas asked, pausing and peeking round the corner.
"Well, he was when I las' spoke to 'im, the lazy bugger," Drek replied.
Jas smirked. "I c'n think o' a way ter wake 'im up…" he said, and whispered something. Drek grinned and laughed.

Bea listened as the footsteps paused, and there was a murmur of hushed voices and a faint laugh. Next second and the two sligs rounded the corner, moving more cautiously, now, their metal pants making far less noise. They exchanged looks, and sneaked up to their colleague.
One grinned, and drew himself to his full height. In a passable impression of a glukkon, he barked; "Hey! What do yer think yer doin', yer lazy bastard! Up on yer feet, I don’ pay yer ter loaf!"
The sleeper leapt to his feet and stood bolt upright, and was halfway through his gabbled reply when he realised he’d been tricked. With a snarl, he leapt for the throat of the nearest, and the two went rolling off down the corridor.
The one remaining honked a noisy laugh after them, and yelled; "See yer later, lads!"
Bea’s eyes widened. "Jas?" she whispered, faintly, barely recognising the young slig; he could hardly have changed more from how she remembered, no longer the frightened, scrawny little creature she'd known but lean, scarred and dangerous-looking.
For a while, she watched as he mooched boredly about in front of the door, then slumped back against the wall and slithered to a seated position. He sighed, and closed his eyes, with the yawned comment; “Nap time…”
No, she couldn’t let him go to sleep. She picked up a stone and flicked it smartly across the small gap separating the two of them. It scored a tidy hit between his eyes.
He was immediately up on his feet on the snarling offensive, gun cocked. "Whoever’s chuckin rocks at me better have a good reason ter be!" he barked.
"Jas!" she whispered, urgently, not daring say it any louder.
He straightened up, looking startled, the steel-etching expression falling rapidly off his face; everyone here either used the slig equivalent of his name, Jask, or else called him just plain Spider… "Who's tha'?" he asked, looking the wrong way.
“Behind you! In the shadows!”
He turned, looked in the right direction. "Can't see yer…" he said, wandering over.
One of the shadows moved, slightly.
"Bea?"

[Teal]

Six

Jas blinked and stared into the shadows; he’d thought his foster mother would have forgotten him, by now, so… “What’re yer doing here, Bea…?! Yer trying ter get yerself killed…?” he asked, his face creasing in worry.
"I’m actually trying not to get caught, so stop speaking so loudly!" she hunkered down under her ledge. "I'm here to get you out – if you want to come with me. If you don't, well, that's fine with me, I'll just help the others."
"Others? An’ help 'em do what?"
"We've heard rumours that the old queen's on her way out – so we're snooping. Seeing if we can find out if there actually is the queen egg she's supposed to have laid… if we can't find out, we're just going to rescue some eggs, and make a run for it."
"Yer know I'm goin ter be meant ter stop yer, don't yer?" he asked, dismally.
She nodded, sadly. "I know."
"An' if I don't I'm in serious doo-doo with management."
“I’m sorry, Jas.”
He sighed, and mooched back to his post. “Yer could pretend ter be a cleaner,” he suggested, tiredly. “I’ll get yer a bucket, if yer want.”
She just laughed and watched him sprint off down the corridor, glancing about to make sure no-one saw him abandoning his post. In all, she mused, he hadn’t really changed that much…

He returned a little awkwardly, trying not to slosh the water out of the bucket and end up slipping over on the soap, and struggling to keep his gun trapped under his arm at the same time. He dumped it down on the floor with a soft “oof” of effort, and stretched his back.
A few minutes later he was still rambling on about nonsense, not paying the slightest bit of attention to her, so Bea smartly kicked one leg out from under him, knocking him over. "Jas, will you shut up for a minute? Now listen carefully to me," she whispered, resuming 'cleaning' the floor.
He scrambled back to his feet, honked, noisily, and swished the gun about, as though about to beat her with it. Playing her part well, she cowered and put her arms over her head. He leaned closer, trying to look threatening. "What?" he hissed, and honked again for good measure.
"What’s behind that door over there?" She asked, uncovering her head and nodding at the locked door over the other side of the wide courtyard.
"So those muds Skan an’ the others found was with yer, huh?”
She nodded, sadly.
Jas sighed. “Shoulda known,” he said, softly. “Tha’s the new hatchery,” Then he added, proudly; “I’m guardin’ it. What yer want ter know 'bout it?"
“How many eggs are there inside?”
“I sneaked a look through the window in the door, but, uh…” His tentacles drooped. "It was dark, and wi' no lights on I don' see very well. I only saw one. A big one, too."
"That's what I thought," Bea nodded. "The rumour merchants were right – the old queen must have produced the egg. Poor old girl must be on her way out."
Jas sighed, and leaned against the wall. "Well… They said production were down," he agreed, quietly, looking for a cigarette.
Bea nodded, rubbing thoughtfully.
"So… what happens now?"
"I have to get it," she sighed, softly.
"How we going ter do that?" he asked, with a frown.
"I don't know yet, Jas." She replied, a little reassured to hear him saying “we” rather than “you”. At a soft snik-snik-snik-snik from behind she looked up.
Jas met her reproachful gaze, finally getting his lighter to work. "What?" he asked round the cigarette in his mouth.
"Smoking, Jas?"
"Uh-uh," he replied. "This is a figment."
"A figment?"
"Of yer imagination."
Bea just gave him a sad look, and shook her head.
For a good half an hour they were silent; Jas paced, shoulders slumped, tussling with his conflicting feelings, and Bea just sat and worried about how and whether she’d succeed in her task.
Soon the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. Bea hastily got back to scrubbing the floor; Jas looked down the passageway and watched Narik lope over.
“Problem, Nar?” he asked, idly.
Narik shook his head. “Naw. Just on patrol.”
“Good,” Jas straightened up and stretched his back, shoulders clicking. “I needed a break. Yer can take over from me fer a while.”
Narik cocked his head. “Yeah, but… ain’t this your post, boss…?”
Jas shrugged. “Yep. But I’ve been here all day – think I deserve a couple o’ minutes off-duty. I’m goin’ fer a coffee. Yer can watch the door while I’m gone,” he said, and trotted off.
Bea gave the other slig a look of extreme trepidation; he may not be as sturdy-looking as Jas, but he was a lot bigger, and there was a coldness in his scarlet gaze.
Narik looked back at her, boldly. “There a problem?”
“Uh…” she quickly looked away, and got back to her cleaning. “N-no, no problem…”

Jas heard the noise long before he even reached his post. He sighed, tiredly, and broke into a sprint…
Narik was honking with fury and beating hell out of the bony creature that cowered helplessly on the floor in front of him. "I'll teach yer to get sassy wi' me, yer skinny li'l punk…!" he ranted, furiously, raining blows down with his gun.
Jas seized the weapon with both hands and cracked the other slig a vicious blow around the head with it. "Cut it out, f**kwit!" he howled. "Can't yer see it's old? Yer'll kill it, then I'll end up havin' ter report it!"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, Spidey, yer don' hafta hit so damn hard, yer know!" Narik put his arms up to fend off the blows.
Jas snorted with disgust and honked, throwing the weapon away from him and sending it skittering down the corridor. "Go find yer own patrol. I don' want yer killin' any Muds on my watch. Now piss off!"
Narik stormed away; "Mudlover," he grumbled.
"I heard that," Jas snapped. "Want ter make something out of it?"
The other just honked, and nipped smartly round the corner. The second he was out of earshot, Jas bent down next to Bea and caught her arms, gently. "Yer 'kay, Bea?"
She managed a convulsive nod. "Let me get my breath back…" she panted.
"How badly are yer hurt?" He gave her a cursory visual exam.
"Just… just a little bruised," she wheezed, painfully. "I'll be sore for a few days, but nothing serious."
He nodded, but carefully kept hold of her arms anyway, to support her, until she’d finished wheezing. She found it reassuring to note that although he'd been forced to grow up almost ludicrously quickly, and had taken on typical slig mannerisms just as fast, under all that emotional armour his heart was still in the right place.

Bea met up with the remainder of her group as arranged, out behind the barrels in the yard. She did a quick head count – the remaining six from her original team had swelled to a far-more-healthy nineteen; the new additions were mostly young – one looked barely out of infancy – but, although excited at the prospect of escape, they also looked remarkably calm. And she was also pleased to note that nearly everyone had two eggs – healthy, round slightly-glossy eggs – it was only the youngest one that didn’t have one at all.
She nodded, satisfied, then informed them of her news. "We've found The Egg," she said, quietly.
There were murmurs of excitement from the others.
"But-" she held up a paw for silence. "We have yet to get it out. It's highly guarded; although I’ve had some ideas, it may be possible to even get to it. So we'll get these to safety first,” she gestured at the precious cargo most of the team held, “as soon as it gets dark, then think what we're going to do…"
One raised a paw. “Uhm, Bea…?”
“Yes?”
“You said you’d had some ideas…?”
She smiled, wryly. “I was hoping no-one had picked up on that. Yes, I’ve had a few ideas. I was thinking of asking one of the guards to help us.”
There was a ripple of nervous laughter.
“You may laugh,” she said, calmly. “But I wasn’t joking. The guard is Jas.”
“He’s still alive…?!” one asked, startled.
Bea nodded. “He appears to be willing to help, as well. At least, he hasn’t said he won’t…”
“So… what are we going to do now, Bea…?” one of the younger ones asked.
She sighed, and rubbed her temples. “Get these safe. Then you lot can wait in the scrubland while I go back.”
“You-… you’re going alone…?”
“We’ve lost two of our number already,” Bea said, sternly. “If I go alone then there will only be me in danger.”
“But-”
“No buts. And it’s getting dark; let’s go.”

Drek greeted him with "Heard yer beat Narik senseless today, kid," as Jas mooched into the mess hall that evening.
Jas snorted. "He was bein' a f**kwit. Deserved it," he snapped, laying flat on his chin on the table.
"Jask, Narik’s always a f**kwit,” Drek said, dryly. “What did 'e do?" The older slig leaned back against the wall and braced himself with his feet on the table.
"Nearly beat some ancient mud ter death on my watch. I only asked ‘im ter watch the door fer me fer a coupla minutes.”
“Yer ought ter know Narik’s a few bricks short o’ the load by now, Jask.”
“Yeah, but I only went ter get a coffee…! I thought, what can happen in fifteen minutes…?!" Jas’ voice was heating with exasperation.
Drek sighed, lit up a cigarette. “Dunno why I bothered askin’. Should’ve known it’d be somethin’ like that…”
“And what’s that supposed to mean…?”
“Aw, come off it, Jask, ev’ryone knows yer got a soft spot fer muds.”
“And what if I have…?”
Drek sighed, tiredly. “Yer in a bloody awful mood today, Shortie…”
Jas scowled, blackly. "Yer call me anythin' resemblin' 'small' or 'short' or ter do wi' my lack o' size once more," he grated. "An' I'm goin' ter kick yer clean through ter the middle o' next frackin' week."
Drek held up his hands. "'Kay, 'kay, point taken," He said, tiredly, and puffed a cloud. "Yeesh, somethin's really chewin' yer today, ain't it?"
Jas just huffed inarticulately.
"Here," Drek bounced a cigarette off Jas' snout. “Now stop mopin’ and cheer up a bit, yer bein’ a right misery-guts.”
Jas studied the cigarette. “Sorry,” he said, and sighed. “I guess somethin’s preyin’ on my mind a little, at the moment,” he flicked the lighter.
Drek just shrugged. “Want to talk about it?” didn’t seem to be part of the slig vocabulary.
Jas rubbed his eyes, tiredly. “My brain hurts.”
“Too much caffeine?” Skan asked, settling opposite.
“Not enough caffeine…” Jas replied, closing his eyes.
For a while they just sat and chatted about nothing; Jas was trying valiantly to keep his chin up, but something akin to despair was settling on his heart – what in Odd’s name was he going to do…? Why the frack did Bea have to have come here…?
Soon enough Jark arrived, to tell Drek his shift was starting. He noted Jas’ despondent mood quite quickly; "Wha's up wi' Short-Ass today, then?" he asked.
There was none of the ritual banter, this time – no swapping of poisonous comments, egging each other on – Jas was out of that chair like a bolt of lightning and had his hands fastened round Jark's throat before the other slig had realised that he'd even moved.
“Awk! Gerroff, yer li’l psycho!” he managed, scrabbling at Jas’ lean hands, fastened like steel bands about his throat. Sharply he twisted, smartly dislodging Jas and sending the smaller slig tumbling into a table.
Jas snarled and was immediately back on the offensive, snatching up a knife and going for his eyes this time.
“Someone grab ‘im!” Jark howled, fending off the knife and getting a deep cut in his arm. “Fer frack’s sake, grab ‘im!! I want ter keep my eyes where they are!!”
Skan vaulted to his feet and pinned Jas’ arms behind him. “Frack, what’s up wi’ yer?” he exclaimed, struggling to keep his grip on the furious youngster.
Jas just howled inarticulately and fought to get his arms free.
Drek strode over, scowling, and dealt Jas a smart blow round the skull with a convenient plate. “Now who’s bein’ a f**kwit?” he snapped. “Cut it out, yer damned idiot!”
Jas blinked, slightly stunned, the fight gone out of his eyes, and relaxed against Skan’s grip, breathing hard.
Jark gave him a look of extreme trepidation. “Yer goin’ ter go fer my throat again if he lets go o’ yer…?” he asked, gripping the cut in his arm in a futile effort to stop it bleeding.
“No,” Jas sighed. “An’… sorry, I guess. Don’t know why I got so pissed off at yer, I just… overreactin’ to everythin’, at the moment…”
Drek nodded to Skan, who released Jas arms, silently. “Go get some sleep,” the older slig said, tiredly. “Mebbe yer’ll be in a better mood come mornin’.”
Jas nodded, and drifted away, tiredly.
Drek swapped a glance with Skan. “Wonder what’s up…?” the younger one said, frowning.
Drek shook his head. “Dunno. But I hope he snaps out o’ it soon.”

Jas sighed, faintly, and mooched into his room in barracks. He kicked off his pants and collapsed bonelessly onto his bunk. Why the frack did yer 'ave ter come lookin' fer me, Bea…?
He was still awake when Drek arrived a few hours later.
“Thought yer’d have been asleep ages ago,” Drek commented, settling down in the lower bunk and turning the light off.
“Nah,” Jas sighed, staring at the ceiling.
"You still worked up?" Drek asked.
Jas nodded, then realised his pack-mate couldn’t see that, so said, softly; “Yeah.”
"Wha's eatin' yer?"
“Don't know. Just…" he sighed again, tiredly. "Worryin'"
“’Bout?”
"Dunno. I'm just… gettin' the feelin' somethin's brewin'."
Drek laughed. "Aw, yer doomsayin' again, Jaskie. Mebbe yer et somethin' that didn't like yer."
Jas laughed, faintly. "Maybe," then sighed and turned to face the wall, hugging the bedclothes closer around his lean frame; it felt oddly cold, tonight, even though the environmental systems maintained a constant temperature throughout barracks.
"Yer sure yer all right?" Drek asked again from the lower bunk.
"Course I am. Stop askin'!"
"Well, yer don't sound all right, keepin' on sighin' like that."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, yer make sure yer are, 'cause if I find out yer getting' sick I'll kick yer down ter Med Centre so fast yer feet won' touch th' ground."
Jas chuckled. "If I didn' know better, I'd think yer was worried, Drek."
Drek made an idle noise. "Naw – well, kinda. I jus' know some o’ the medics down in the med. unit, an' can pull a few strings an' get yer a decent quack if yer ill."
Jas smiled, faintly. “Thanks, Drek.”
“Ah, don’ mention it. Anythin’ ter help a friend.”
Jas laughed. “’Night, then.”
“Yep. Try an be in a better mood by mornin’, though, yer hear?”
“I’ll try.”

[Teal]

Seven

Bea finally deemed it was safe for them to stop when they were a good twenty minute's hard run away from the building, just into the edge of the scrubland, by a bird portal. Moonlight fell from a cloudless sky and picked out the stark landscape - there wouldn’t be many places to hide if they ever needed to, and even less places to avoid the scalding midday sun come daytime. She’d just have to make sure they didn’t have to stay here any longer than necessary.
"You can wait for me here," she told them, calmly.
One of the original team beckoned to her, took her just off to one side. "What are you going to do, Bea?" he asked, worriedly. “You’ve got your up-to-something look on again…”
"I have to get that Egg," she replied, quietly. "I just… don't know how, yet. Wait here for as long as you can - if you see me heading back it'll probably be with a pack of guards at my tail, so get the portal open as quick as you can and we'll be able to get it to safety." She smiled, reassuringly. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Jen. Just keep an eye on the youngsters,” and with that, she was gone.
Jen watched her run back the way they’d just come, and shook his head, sadly. He suspected this would be the last time he saw her alive…

Bea found Jas on his usual patrol route early next morning.
He greeted her with; “I’ve been thinkin’, Bea… aw, c’mon, don’ pull faces, I’m serious…” he pouted, and sniffed.
She smiled. “Sorry Jas. Go on.”
He wrinkled his snout up, sniffily, but went on. “I was thinkin’… p’raps we ought ter try an’ nick me some company.”
“I-… what?”
Well, if I'm goin' ter help yer…” he sighed, and his lean shoulder slumped. “I'll want a bit o' company o' my own kind in my exile.”
She smiled, sadly. “I’m sorry, Jas.”
“Aw, don’ be. I offered. If I didn’ want ter help I’d’ve made excuses not ter,” he looked down the corridor. “ Xek’ll be along soon… you better pretend ter be cleanin’ again… don’ want yer getting hurt…”
So when the slig on transport duty mooched past, Jas was lounging against the rail of the balcony, smoking and watching the activity below, and Bea was busily scrubbing the floor, almost out of sight in the shadows.
“Hey!” Jas called, sharply, as Xek trotted past. “Wait a mo’!”
The slig paused, and looked at him. "Somethin' the matter, Boss?"
Jas gave the trolley a cursory look, stomping his cigarette out. "Naw. Vykkers' want an egg."
"That big 'un there came from Vykkers'," the other supplied, helpfully, pointing out the large, nearly spherical green-grey egg.
That was a stroke of luck, Jas mused. "Right. That'll be the one they're after, then," he turned to where Bea was lurking in the shadows, trying to look busy. "Hey, you!"
She looked up, as though startled, and gestured to herself, as if to say “who, me?”
"Yeah, you, the scrawny one scrubbin' the floor. C'mere," Jas beckoned.
She padded over, shoulders hunched, trying to look small.
Jas picked up the large egg and handed it to her. "Tha's goin' ter Vykkers. Take it up ter Management, they'll send it on. Don' drop it, or I'll drop yer. Out o' a window. Got that?"
She nodded, fervently.
"Good. Now skedaddle."
She ducked her head and fled.

Jas caught up with her a few minutes later, once he’d sent the other slig back on his way.
"Why this one, Jas?" She asked, examining the egg that sat in her lap.
He shrugged. "Looks interestin'. Want to see what it hatches into.”
She nodded, cradling it in her arms to keep it warm. “So…” she looked up at him. “Have we made any progress…?”
He shrugged. "Not really. But… I was thinkin', while yer was gone," he said, softly. "I ain't too bad wi' 'lectronics - mebbe I can fiddle the lock, get it ter open the door fer me. 'Sides, I can do a pretty good impression o' a glukk…"
"Sounds very risky - what if you're caught?" she demurred.
"Yer got a better idea?"
"No," she admitted. "So… what's worrying you?"
Jas laughed, faintly. "Not much gets past yer, eh, Bea?" he replied, softly. "Naw, I… guess I'd… rather you'd never come here."
"Well…” she looked a little startled to hear that. “Why?"
"I… well, yer given me a dilemma. Do I help yer and betray all the lads here? Or do I stop yer?" he shrugged. "So what der I do?"
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jas. I… suppose I’m thinking of you more as one of us than what you really are, and that you’ll …”
“What’s that meant ter mean…?
She laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t an insult. Just that… well, if you were a mudokon you’d hardly be finding it easy to fit in, here. My poor old brain doesn’t want to think you’ve got friends here; that you’ll want to escape at all costs…” she smiled, wryly. “Sorry, Jas…”
He shrugged, managed a taut smile. “Well… mebbe yer better get some sleep. I ain’t on the door until this afternoon.”
“You-… you aren’t?” her shoulders drooped.
“Uh-uh. Why - you need this done soon…?”
“Yes. I left the rest of the team outside the complex - about twenty minutes away. And there’s not much shelter out there; some are quite young, I don’t want them getting sunburnt…”
Jas sighed exaggeratedly. “I’ll see what I can do…” He said, tiredly, gazing down the long corridor. Who was on the door, at the moment? Oh, yes - it was Drek - and Jark would be taking over in an hour, so he’d better make his mind up soon… He’d far rather ask his calmer pack-mate for help than the sometimes psychotic Jark…
“Be back soon,” he said, smartly, and was gone before Bea could ask what he meant.
She watched him trot off down the corridor, and wondered what he was planning…

"Uh… Drek…?"
The older slig looked up at Jas' approach. "Wassup, Shortie?"
"Uhm…" Jas looked tense; he kept glancing over his shoulder and he was rubbing at his hands. "I'm, uhm… trying ter figure out how ter tell yer this…"
Drek raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Aw, frack, I hate this… I should never have agreed ter do this…"
Jas was sweating, Drek noticed, and shivering slightly as well. "Here," he flicked him a cigarette. "Calm yer nerves a bit."
Jas nodded, accepting it gratefully. "Maybe," he agreed, leaning back against the wall and lighting the cigarette with a shaking hand.
After a minute or so he'd composed his thoughts. "Listen, Drek… I… maybe haven't been… entirely open wi' you guys…"
"Naw, really?" Drek asked, in a voice laden with sarcasm, and then added, with a grin; "What deep, dark secret have yer been hidin', then?"
Jas gazed at his feet. "Yer know Narik pissed me off by beatin' a mud half ter death yesterday?"
Drek nodded, silently.
"Yeah, well… that was, uhm… she was my foster mum," Jas looked up at his friend.
Drek just stood silent, at first, as though digesting what he'd been told. "No wonder yer were so mad," he said, at length.
Jas sniffed, and took another pull on his cigarette.
"So… why you so shaky at the mo'?"
Jas closed his eyes. "She’s goin' ter try ter nick the queen egg. There, I've said it. An' she's asked me ter help. And now I don' know what the frack I'm goin' ter do. Do I help 'er an' betray all you lot, or do I stop 'er an' have someone end up shootin' her…?"
Drek sighed. "Well, one thing's fer sure - yer shouldn't have tol' me. Yer knew about this last night, right? Which is why you were actin' like a slog were tryin' ter chew yer arm off?"
"Yeah," Jas laughed, faintly. "Mebbe I'm kinda hopin' yer goin' ter arrest me. That way it takes the decision outter my hands."
For a long, long moment the two sligs were silent.
Then:
"Mebbe, if yer quick, I won' see anythin'."
Jas jerked his head up. "What?"
"But I can only give yer a coupla minutes," Drek went on, staring at the far wall. Then turned, and gave him a wan grin. "Yer like ter make our lives difficult, don't yer, Spider?"
“Yer… yer mean you’ll…?
“Yeah, I mean I’ll,” he laughed. “I’ll go get a coffee,” he said, with a grin. “But remember - yer got five minutes, an’ that’s tops.”
Jas managed a faint smile. “Thanks. An’… tell the lads… I’m sorry…”
Drek gave a joking salute, then turned and trotted away.
Jas watched his pack-mate lope off down the corridor, then looked quickly up and down the passage and smartly yanked the cover off the VoiceLock…
After three minutes of fiddling with the circuitry inside, Jas straightened himself up, cleared his throat, and barked, in as good an impression of a glukkon as he could manage, "Hey!"
When the VoiceLock replied, "What?!" he nearly fell out of his pants. Before he could chicken out, he yelled back; "Do it!"
Shocked, he actually did fall over this time, when the door crashed open. Picking himself up, he saw Bea leaning out of her hiding place and giving him a thumbs-up. He gave her a grin in reply, and nipped inside with nervy, birdlike movements.
There, in the nest on the table surrounded with monitors, was the precious egg. He crept up to it, checking for heat sensors or security cameras… Looking over the lip of the table and into the nest, he spotted what he was hoping there wouldn't be - a pressure sensor, just under the egg.
Damn. That complicated things. Presumably if he were to simply pick up the egg the monitors would realise something was wrong as it wasn't there, and shut the door, sounding the alarm. Damn! How was he to get out and get the egg out at the same time…?
He looked at his gun, thoughtfully. It was heavy - heavier than the egg, but it would give the pressure sensor something to worry about…
Ah, to hell with it. It was now or never, and if he didn't do something soon someone would see him, anyway.
So he jammed his gun under the egg, snatched up the oversized globe and bounded out of the doorway just milliseconds before the sensors realised the weight was wrong and crashed the slamdoor closed, alarms sounding everywhere.
"Bea!" he howled, clutching it in his arms. "Dammit, where are yer!?!"
The ancient mudokon darted out of her hiding place and beckoned, urgently. "This way!" she hissed.
He sprinted over, and chased after her down the corridors…
The racket of klaxons had brought the guards running, though. Bea almost collided with one of them; her heart almost stopped in fear. He was literally a wall of muscle, quite easily the most massive guard she’d ever seen in her life…
“Come on, Bea…!” Jas honked, racing past.
“Yer ain’t meant ter ‘ave that, Jask…” the guard rumbled, turning his head, ponderously.
“I know!” Jas replied over his shoulder, sprinting on down the corridor. “Stall ‘em fer us, willyer, Hak?”
Hak shook his head, tiredly. “Yer wi’ him?” he asked Bea, jerking a thumb at the rapidly departing figure.
Bea gulped and nodded, hopefully.
“Well, get a move on, then,” the guard said, and grinned. “I can’t not-see-yer fer much longer…”
She managed a wan smile, and bolted.

The second they were out of the Hatcheries, Bea took the lead. The sun was climbing, and it was getting hotter - she only hoped they hadn’t given up, thinking she was dead, and gone already…
Jas was running behind Bea as fast as his legs would carry him, panting, clutching the egg firmly in his arms and holding it to his chest with his tentacles.
"How much further?" he wheezed, painfully. He was out of breath, and out of condition, and knew it, at that moment in time solemnly promising his lungs that he'd never touch a cigarette ever again as long as he lived…
"Not much," she replied, hearing his breath as an agonising rasp in his throat by now. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, expecting the worst, but was in some ways pleased to see a look somewhat akin to grim determination on his pinched face. Then she looked further back, over his shoulder. "But they're catching up, Jas…!" she panted, seeing the group in the distance growing marginally larger. "You have to keep going…"
By now they could both hear the head slig, yelling at his pack-mates. “’Cause orders were to catch ‘em alive, dumbass, that’s why yer can't shoot ‘em! ‘Sides, yer might damage the egg! Management wants the Mud, and Skillya’s got somethin’ special prepared fer the little slug…!"
Jas shut his eyes with a faint whine - so Lenk was after him… "How much further…?"
"Just a little further, Jas. You're doing well, just a little further," Bea replied, her own wiry old body tiring swiftly. But she could see the group of mudokons ahead of her, where she'd told them to stay, all chanting together and opening the portal to take them to safety… her heart leaped. They were going to do it…! They were going to do it!!
Jas didn’t even stop as he reached the little group; he gave a triumphant yell and leapt for his life, clutching the precious egg firmly, and vanished through the shining portal. The youngest mudokon followed, and then the next youngest vaulted through after him…
Bea insisted she go last, as she was oldest and felt she was on her way out, any way. She ensured all the younger mudokons had gone, each carrying their precious cargo, and all the eggs were safe, and was just preparing to jump when…
"Stop 'er!" Lenk bellowed, furiously, waving his gun.
She smiled and waved, brazenly, gathering herself to leap.
The Big Bro slig scowled and raised his weapon "Ah, screw the orders," he snapped and put half a dozen bullets in the ancient mudokon's back just as she jumped.
Bea choked in an agonised gasp and literally fell through the portal, tumbling bleeding down the shallow grassy slope and coming to rest on her side at the bottom, still and silent, barely breathing. The portal snapped shut behind her, just in time.
"Bea…?" Jas galloped over, breathlessly, collapsed beside her. "Bea?" he asked, gingerly touched her shoulder. Getting no response, he looked over his shoulder, and yelled for help.
Tam appeared at his elbow, crouched next to Bea's fallen body. "She's hurt…"
"I can see that!" Jas stamped his feet, frustratedly, and howled louder.
The four nearest sprinted over, with a bundle of fabric and two long poles. Jas watched as they turned the bundle into a neat stretcher, then carefully settled the old lady onto it, and ran to find a healer…
Jas went over to one of the others, his heart in his mouth. He tapped him on the arm, startling him.
"What is it, Jas?" The mudokon asked, realising who it was.
"She'll be all right, won' she?" the little slig asked, urgently, looking in the direction they'd carried Bea.
The mudokon nodded and smiled, but it looked strained.
Jas' shoulders drooped. "Liar," he said, faintly, then turned, and trudged despondently away.

[Teal]

Eight

Jas trudged along for a long while, feeling alone and unwanted. What would happen if Bea was gone? The only one in the whole tribe to accept him for who and not what he was, and she was dying. Even while he'd been young, and naïve - or 'sweet and innocent', as Jark had put it - they'd more or less only just tolerated him. Now, battle-scarred and dangerous, how long would it be before the others sent him packing back to the factories? And they would probably shoot him on sight, after what he did… annoyance to the mudokons and traitor to his own species, he had nowhere to fit, nowhere to belong…
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost walked straight into a lake, a crystal blue, and as calm as a mirror. He leaned over it, cocked his head, and scrutinised his reflection. Odd. He'd not thought to look at his reflection before now, and so had never seen himself without his mask. Frowning faintly, he wondered what he did look like, really. He reached up, fumbled with the catch on the mask, frustratedly - taking it off was still tricky and still hurt, even after all this time...
At long last he managed to tear it off his face, and hurled it as far out over the pool as he could, sending ripples chasing over the mirror surface. He looked back at his reflection in the pool, and sat there for a long time after that, just staring, his mournful countenance staring back. Those huge red eyes, glowing like lamps. The dull mottled yellow-olive-grey skin, painful red sores where the edges of the ill-fitting mask had rubbed at it. The long prehensile tentacles, hanging lifelessly in front of his face. The long, starkly-visible scars that covered his skin in a tracery of paler lines.
"They were right, after all…" he sighed, softly, shoulders drooping. "I am ugly, 'specially now..." He dropped a stone into the water, watched it shiver his reflection to pieces, then flopped backward onto the grass, and gazed up at the darkening sky.
Some time later there came the soft, lowing bellow of an elum. He didn't look up; it'd only be someone to tell him Bea was finally gone, and that he could go drown himself in the lake. The dark cobalt night sky was sprinkled with tiny pinpoint stars, by now, and had been for some time, and the moon with its mudokon pawprint hung low and fat just above the horizon.
"Hey, Jas," it was Tam. He sat down beside him, dangling his feet in the lake, then lay back into the thick lakeside sedges and watched the sky with the dour creature beside him. "You took your mask off."
Jas nodded. "I chucked it in the pond. Made my face hurt."
"Didn't much like it, anyway. Made you look daft, I suppose, having got used to you without it."
Jas frowned, and half sat up, propped up on one elbow. "Yer don' think I'm ugly?"
"Hey, look," the young mudokon looked up at him and laughed, both paws on his chest, and sploshed water with his feet. "Who are we to judge? We ain't exactly amazingly beautiful ourselves."
Jas managed to crack a smile, but it quickly faded.
"Worried 'bout Bea?" Tam asked, putting his paws behind his head, kicking at the water and shattering the moons' reflections into splinters of silver.
Jas nodded, solemnly. "Yeah," he said, softly.
"Aw, she'll be okay," Tam smiled, reassuringly. "I went and saw the healer before I came to find you, and he reckoned he'd seen mudokons pull through after worse…"
"But… she's so old…"
Tam laughed. "Don't let her hear you say that, sunshine," he said, gave the slig a push. "Ladies can be verrry touchy about their age, you know…”
Jas smiled, faintly, and leaned back into the reeds; watched a meteorite draw a brilliant blue-white streak across the sky. “So… why yer here…?”
“We were getting worried about you.”
“Hph,” Jas sniffed. “I find that hard to believe…”
“Why? C’mon, stop being such a misery-guts. We’d better get back - I don’t really want to meet up with a paramite, and I’m getting hungry. We’ll miss dinner if we don’t go soon…”

The village was bustling when they wandered back in; Tam leading the elum and chatting amiably with the young slig. Lamps lining the main thoroughfare were burning merrily. Jas managed a grin - the village had grown a little, and the main square had been planted up with a stand of small trees, benches by their trunks, and the well had a roof, now - but it hadn’t changed much otherwise… It was still a welcoming enough place to arrive at… Well, it would have been welcoming, if not for-
"Oh, lookie who it is…" a familiar voice drawled from somewhere behind, dangerous undercurrents in its poisonous tones.
Jas scowled and stood stock still, feeling the rage building inside him, blindingly hot… just a little closer, Gar, he thought, carefully nursing his unstable temper. JUST a little… He and Tam had reached the main square, so he’d have plenty of room…
Gar laughed, coldly; perhaps if he'd looked a little closer and seen just how battle-scarred his old victim was he'd have decided discretion was the better part of valour and let him be. But he had a bone to pick; an old, simmering resentment that wouldn't go away just like that. "Fleech got your tongue, Spider?" he jeered, waltzing nearer.
The second he sensed the mudokon was close enough, Jas exploded; a bundle of furious energy, he leaped straight up off the ground with a howl of "We'll see who's helpless without a weapon!" and span and floored the mudokon with a smart kick to the stomach.
Gar gave an "oof!" of surprise and doubled over. Jas honked, savagely, and scarcely gave him time to look up before he was on him, seemingly all fists and feet…
They raged about the main square for some time, until one of Gar's friends managed to get a knife to him - that led to a brief standoff. The two combatants circled, warily, each looking for an opportunity. Gar lunged - Jas vaulted out of the way not-quite-quick enough, the knife ripping a gash over his ribs, nearly going deep enough to reveal the bone. Jas gave a howl of fury and pain and redoubled his efforts, kicking out with both feet and sending the knife spinning away with such force it dug into a treetrunk and stuck there, quivering. It was a near-miracle that it hadn’t done the same to one of the onlookers, for Jas' honks of fury had brought quite a crowd of mudokons running. They gathered in a loose ring about the two combatants, not wanting to get too close just in case they got involved…
One had fetched a spear and was about to step in and break the two fighters apart with it when there was a gentle touch at his shoulder; turning, he found Bea standing there. She shook her head, mutely, a faint smile touching her ancient lips.
"But-" He protested briefly.
"Listen," the old lady said, calmly.
The mudokon frowned, but listened. “But I still don’t…” his words tailed off as understanding dawned.
Jas' howls had reached fever-pitch; all those months of 'training' meant he definitely had the upper hand against his former tormentor by now, and it was taking every ounce of the mudokon's superior agility to keep the infuriated slig away from his throat. "All those weeks… all these months…!" he honked, scarcely feeling the pain of the blood that flowed from all the little wounds on his lean frame. "Yer made me feel so small, tormented me with my own helplessness, and I was stupid enough to believe yer!"
Gar had his arms up in front of his face, wailing; "I'm sorry…!"
The battle was over the second the slig span and kicked, viciously. The solidly unyielding metal of his ‘foot’ caught the mudokon smartly at an odd angle on the arm; Gar gave a wail as there was the sharp, unmistakable snap! of bone breaking, then crumpled, whimpering fitfully.
Jas stood and panted, chest heaving, covered in bruises and slowly oozing cuts. “Now p’raps yer goin’ ter leave me in peace…?” he said, calmly; Gar just whimpered and cradled his broken arm to his chest.
Nerves still singing, the slig span round, startled, and almost lashed out when a hand dropped onto his shoulder, but caught himself just in time. "Bea?" he managed, in a squeak; his throat had suddenly constricted.
The old mudokon smiled, gently. Her shoulders were swathed in bandages and she was limping, a crutch under one arm, but she looked all right apart from that. "Let's go get you cleaned up," she said, mildly.
He nodded, faintly, and followed meekly, prompting surprised, approving noises from the assembled muds. One darted over to Gar, helped him to his feet and away, and the crowd drifted apart.
Bea sat down by a lamp at the edge of the square, and indicated that Jas should sit beside her. He sat patiently while she bandaged up his wounds, wincing as she applied a poultice of herbs to where the skin had been torn in his upper arm and wrapped cloth over it to keep it in place. He had to grit his teeth, grimly, the painkiller not working as well as he'd have liked, as she carefully stitched the savage gash in his chest, then applied the herbs to that, too.
"Now," she said, sternly, tying the final bandage off. "Before you get all antsy and decide I'm making fun of you…" She scrambled to her feet and hobbled over to where she’d left her satchel.
"Whatcha doin', Bea…?"
"Patience, Jas…" she fished something out, and held it out in her old hands.
"Wha's that?" he asked, cocking his head, taking the elegant carved wood and reed and feather object she'd held out.
She smiled, and took it back. "Sit still," she told him, and carefully placed it over his snout, lightly tying it off under his chin with two fine cords
He blinked at her, confusedly. "A mask…?"
"More for your benefit than ours," she replied, with a laugh. "Now no-one can complain that they don't like what you look like, can they?"
He nodded, and smiled. "S'pose so," he agreed, examining his reflection in the bowl of water that Bea had used to wash his cuts. The mask was well crafted - didn’t hamper either his hearing or his powerful sense of smell - and light - he felt he could easily forget it was there. “Thanks, Bea.”
She smiled, fondly. “Don’t mention it. Now, let’s go see about supper…”

It was early next morning. One of the rescued slaves from the hatchery had arranged the eggs carefully in a nest of reeds and soft grasses, and was sitting attending them. He looked up at the footsteps; Bea was walking over, Jas on one side, Tam on the other, and two guards behind.
"Hi," the attendant said, with a grin. "Can I help?"
Bea smiled back. "Just checking we got them all."
"Uh-huh," he nodded. “The shamans took the queen, as we’d thought they would, but we’ve got the rest. They all look good; healthy, warm…. They looked pleased we’d got the queen.”
Bea nodded, and smiled at her foster son. "I’m sure they did. Well done, Jas."
Jas blushed, self-consciously, but it didn't stop the rush of pride at the old mudokon's praise. “Aw, c’mon… all I did was nick the thing…”
Bea laughed, then crouched and looked at the odd-shaped slig’s egg that they'd snagged. “Is this one as healthy…?” She asked the attendant.
He shrugged, gently pressed both palms to the matt shell. “Well…” he said, thoughtfully.
“Hole in the ground,” Jas muttered.
Bea swatted his arm. “Oh shush, Jas.”
The attendant smiled. “It feels okay. There’s little tremors in it every now and then, so… yeah, I think it’s okay.”
Bea nodded. “I wonder what it’ll look like when it hatches…”
“Yer look like yer got ideas,” Jas pointed out.
She nodded and smiled, but wouldn’t say anything more.

Five weeks and six days later, the odd slig egg hatched. Jas cocked his head and looked at the squealing infant. "Bea…?" he asked, softly, as the old mudokon reached out for it.
"Yes Jas, what is it?" She asked, as the infant settled down in her arms and sucked at its hand.
"That looks… well, I mean, it… is it… female?"
Bea chuckled. “I think so. I’d suspected it from the start - the egg was a lot bigger than yours had been.”
“Why didn’ yer say?”
“I didn’t want anyone getting their hopes up,” she grinned at him.
He blushed. “Aw, Bea…” he whined.
Then both noticed. The infant queen… had legs. Proper bony little legs, vaguely mudokon in appearance, with tiny claws on the toes. They exchanged glances.
“This must have been what Vykkers did,” Bea said, standing and walking to the main square, Jas trotting alongside. “A little bit of genetic manipulation…”
"Yeah, but… why would they experiment on a queen egg?" he asked.
"Skillya doesn't want competition, Jas, that's why. The two queens would fight over whose offspring gets which job, and that would worry the glukkons. They’d stand a good chance of not having soldiers at all, if the queens ended up warring with each other. Vykkers’ Labs obviously thought it a shame, letting the egg go to waste by destroying it; they probably would later have sterilised or destroyed this youngster, had we not rescued her."
“Lucky fer her that we did, then.”
“Certainly is.”
"So… I guess it'd be, uh… prudent… not to advertise the fact we’ve got a fertile queen slig here, then…" He said, wryly.
Bea chuckled, and settled her tired old frame onto a bench. "It would certainly be that, Jas," she laughed, and the little female in her arms squealed in delight.
Hm, the old lady thought, once Jas had headed off out to help gather food and firewood. Prudent - discreet, or wise. Yes, that fitted. 'Prudence'.
And maybe, with a bit of luck, a little help from a certain wise old mudokon, and a lot of patience, the little queen would live up to her name.

~ Fin.

[Teal]

*sneezes* Well, there's the first... "Pru" is next in the series, but I've not completely finished that one, yet. A couple of chapters to go on hers... *yawns* Better get on... I won't put all my fics in the same post, or it'll be hellish. I'll repost Pru in her topic.

[mainard]

I figured, since this was the first of the three so far posted series, I should reply to this one. at first, I admit, mostly because of the simple name and unfamiliar author, I dismissed these. whoo boy was I wrong. Rettick has a badge of honor for his stories. so does Grid... congrats Teal. you just earned the third. Yeah!

pleasepleaseplease say you'll post the others... I'm still hungry.

[Danny]

i admit i haven't yet read this, but i've saved it on a word doc, and as soon as i've got through 'Only Hyoo-mun' [which i am determined to finally finish] i'll read all of yours.

at first, i was put off your stories when i heard about the sheer number of characters, but then i realised that i am guilty of the same thing, so i'm one to talk!

[Teal]

Hey, Ret.. you still there? If so, you got MSN...?

[Danny]

no, icq. you got icq? on oddchat?

[Teal]

*shakes head* nuh-uh. MSN is the only thing these cruddy Uni computers seem to be able to handle. I shouldn't complain, though, as I get free 24 hour net access...

[Danny]

why dontcha go on oddchat? i'll be on soon, so stay there and be patient!

[Teal]

*cries* I can't. Firewall, or something. I can't use any chat progs. Get a passport! I'm online in MSN all night...

(pr9as@bath.ac.uk is me. )

[ April 27, 2001: Message edited by: Teal ]

[Danny]

i'll go there now. don't disconnect or anything...