SNAFU: Future Warfare

Acting Private Tantas Jackson Deborah Walker

Him should never have come to this planet. That fact tasty as gravy. Acting Private Tantas Jackson leant against the trench wall and scanned the plain. To the north, the empty glass-rock houses of Capital gleamed in the light of Osiris. To the south, stood Lyceum's landing bay. That was what them needed to protect.

Tantas' thoughts ran in a loop through his grey mind. How him going to survive? His mouth was dry with it. His blood was pounding with it. How him going to get out of this alive? And the others, too, Map and the three women, Joy and Barns and Trigger. You formed bonds. Him liked the rest of his quint well enough. Him wanted them to survive the battle, too.

But most of all it all about him.

Him crouched down in the trench when the makeshift door swung open. Private Joy stood, grinning in the doorway. Black and hard and lean. Her no amateur solider.

“You the one scared man,” said Joy. Her squatted down besides Tantas. “Ain't no need for it.”

Tantas laughed, harsh maybe 'shamed. “It shows so badly, Joy?”

“The fear is leaking out of you.” Joy reached into the overlapping metal scales of her body suit for a flask of 'shine. Her took a swallow and then passed it over.

Tantas took the drink, felt that liquid doing him good all the way down. “Do you know the Greek myth, Joy? About Deimus and Phobus? I've been thinking about them.”

“I knows them, Wordsworth. Deimus and Phobus ride across the battle field. Deimus, the god of dread and terror. Phobus, the god of panic and fear. I always did like the classics. Though I never understood them gods. Why do you need gods of fear and panic? Nobody's going to pray to them, excepting someone really screwed up. You that screwed up, Wordsworth?”

“Yes. Maybe I am, Joy. Can't seem to stop thinking about them.”

Joy nodded. “That'll be the poet in you. Well, ain't nothing in those old stories that's new to me.” Joy let out a long sigh, before saying. “You know who I see?”

“Who?”

“I see the Moirae, dressed in their white robes.”

“You believe in the fates, Joy?”

“Yes. Them Moirae. Them apportioners, Clotho, Lachesis and mainly Atropos. Her busy sharpening her shears. Ready to snip the threads.”

“You believed it's all ordained?” Yes. That could be comforting, Tantas supposed.

“I believe in lots of things, Wordsworth. Might be a lot of other gods stalking the battle field, yeah? Maybe them hivers, them believing in gods all their own.” Joy stepped to the trench wall and stared over it. “Might not even be room for us, with all them gods.”

“I see them,” said Tantas. “Not literally, but I can sense them.”

“You be a poet. That's your job, to see them others things. Then you write them down in pretty, pretty language, and make lots of money.” Joy winked. “Now, don't be forgetting to give my cut, when you're rich. Me being your muse and all.”

Fearing Joy might be making a mock of him, Tantas said, “Why did you come out talk to me, Joy?”

“When does a woman need an excuse to talk to a man? Beside, you're making me laugh, pretty boy. All on your lonesome and shaking with fear. Come inside and get some food with us.”

“No. I want to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Please yourself, Wordsworth. You'd be better inside, but sure I can't be telling you anything.”

“Thanks, Joy.”

“Any time, white boy.” Her smiled. “I just hope we see the Queen.” Her obsessed with the Queen. Although nobody knew where she was holed up — excepting the hivers.

“I don't know, Joy. Wouldn't make sense for her to come to the battlefield. She'll just send her soldiers.”

“Maybe. But a woman can hope.”

Joy went inside. Tantas' thoughts crowded back into his head. Him should have gone inside with Joy, but him had too much thinking to do. After today, him might be dead. Any thinking that needed doing, needed doing quick.

Could him shoot a hiver? Kill someone? Him the ultimate rubbish solider. You should have men and women for this, trained and polished, minds worn smooth with courage. Or maybe soldiers with better hearts than Tantas. How could you be a poet one day and a solider the next? Just couldn't be done. It nonsense. Help me, him prayed. Who him praying to? Maybe he was praying to Deimus and Phobus. Not a heap of sense in that.

Him thought about Joy and the rest of his quint. Camaraderie was just smoke, to fool the mind in these dog-dry days with Osiris riding high, bleeding heat. This was the last stand to prevent the hivers accessing the landing bay. If the hivers got through, the war was just about over. Because any reinforcements would be slaughtered as them landed.

Reinforcements were coming. Them had to be. Reinforcements were coming from the military base at Primateur, four months away. Them got the message. It couldn't be like this everywhere.

Him peered over the trench wall. Maybe him the first to see them, flagged as red dots on his helmet's internal screen. “They're coming, Sergeant,” his voice whispered electronically along the trenches.

“Acknowledged.”

A battalion-wide alert flashed orange in front of Tantas' eyes. The trenches came alive. Joy roiling out of the room, breathing heavy, head nodding. The rest of the quint emerging, struggling into suits, lining into position.

Tantas took deep breaths, trying to calm, trying to push down that tumbling fear that would be the death of him. Him so focused that him gasped when Sergeant Connell laid a hand on his shoulder.

The sergeant's visor was flipped up. What could Tantas read on his face? Resignation? Relish for the approaching fight? Certainly not fear. Sergeant's right eye quivered, the liquid metal changing as it gathered data, scrying the battle to come. “This is it then, Private.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Tantas murmured. Him must find his own emotions. Sergeant had taught him a lot, but he couldn't teach this.

“Looks like there's a couple of hundred,” said Sergeant. “We number a thousand. This going to be smooth and easy.” Sergeant had a reassuring manner. You trusted him.

Tantas dared a scan of the enemy. Them a little closer now, five minutes closer. You could see the shimmering metal of their hive interface helmets.

“You ready for this?” asked Sergeant

“No, Sergeant!” Tantas snapped out the response, hoping to make the sergeant grin.

The sergeant's good eye rolled towards Osiris. “Do your best, Private. I got a feeling that you going to get through this.”

It was a feeling Tantas didn't share.

Sergeant strode off, shouting encouragement to the five quints him directing. Five times five, in a makeshift battalion of a thousand men and women. Tantas wondered how many were proper soldiers, and how many were like him: amateurs fighting for their life.

Him didn't want to let the sergeant down. It made him 'shamed to recall how him had chaffed against military discipline in them first few days of training.

“But I'm not a soldier,” Tantas had complained. “I don't see why I should have to…” Like a child, ridiculous, whining at unfairness.

“All you need to do is to be able to point and shoot, and follow orders, can you do that?”

“Yes, I suppose, but I'm not quite sure…”

“Yes, what?”

“Look, I'm obviously off-world, Sergeant,” him explained.

“So,” said Sergeant. “You think this no your fight?”

“I'm a poet,” explained Tantas. Well, him waited tables. Not much money in poetry. That's why him moved to Lyceum, the last stop on the galaxy's underground. Cheap to live out here, on the fringes of the conglomeration. Plus him thought that it would be romantic, on the frontier. Them lots of artists types living in Capital, or at least there had been.

The sergeant had sighed. “Just fight, when time comes, Private Jackson.” Him looked so weary, that it made Tantas 'shamed. Think on, Tantas. Who the sergeant lost? Capital's military base had been assimilated in the first wave.

If it wasn't for Sergeant, Tantas no be here. Dress it up anyway you wanted, but that was the truth. The hivers swept through Capital like locusts, consuming everything in their path, everything.

Only because of Sergeant trundling through Capital streets, gathering up survivors into that armoured bus of his had Tantas survived.

Map took his place alongside Tantas. Map was Acting Private Clayton Shalm, a middle-aged food corp executive. Him showed an aptitude for parsing the spatial topography of the military helmets and it was him who'd take direction from Sergeant during battle.

“This will give you something to write about, Wordsworth,” said Map.

Once the quint had found out that Tantas was a poet, the nickname was inevitable. Give someone a tag and you built up a connection, a shared knowledge that kept you separate from the rest of the world.

“Do you think that friendship is a necessity of war, Map?” asked Tantas.

“You do talk rubbish, mate,” said Map.

Tantas smiled. Him said it to wind Map up. Him too straight for Tantas' liking, what with Tantas being a poet and a bohemian, and all.

Him said it, also, to remind himself that he was himself. Tantas didn't think like most of the soldiers, amateur or regular. Except maybe Joy. Maybe there was only two people on Lyceum who could name Phobus and Deimus. Maybe there were a few more who could sense them, maybe.

“I'm glad not to being going back in there,” said Tantas pointing to the trench room which they shared with three other quints.

“Yeh,” agreed Map. “Too many women in too small a space.”

“No such thing as too many women, my friend,” said Tantas. A lie. It had been difficult for Tantas, to be holed up in the trench room. It wasn't just the display of flesh. It was the intimacy, the smells, the sound, the sighs of sleep. It had been curiously un-sexual for Tantas.

“We sitting ducks,” said Map. “Them could just lob a bomb in.”

“They don't do that,” said Tantas. “Everyone is valuable to them. They don't want to kill us. They want to assimilate us.”

Map was sweating. “You reckon it's true that them harder to kill than us?”

Tantas shook his head. “It's just propaganda. If we believe that they're indestructible, it does half the job for them.”

“I just hope that I no see anyone I know,” said Map.

Just imagine that. Someone you knew, bound into the terrible concordance of hiver thought. Someone you knew, who you had to kill. Tantas leant to one side, heaving up thin bile.

“Better out than in,” said Map, slapping him on the back.

Joy, Trigger and Barns joined them. Tantas had never took a liking to Trigger and Barns. Didn't matter no more because the signal on the internal screens flashed for the push.

“This is it,” said Barns, squeezing Trigger's hand.

“Go. Go. Go,” shouted Map.

Scaling the trench. Running towards the enemy. Tantas firing his laser-gun, thrumming.

“Keep to the quint,” Sergeant had told them. “That way you be over-lapping circles of power. Keep to that and don't think about what you have to do.”

Tantas watched his laser firing, slicing into the body of a hiver. The hiver's arm sliding off, obscene. No sound. Them died. Them were flesh. Once them human, but now them silence.

Casually almost, a hiver stepped in front of Tantas. A woman. Him fired his gun, looking into the woman's eyes. Eyes crazed with fractured lines and a smile on her face. The hiver breathed, releasing the viral particles, all the weapon them had. Tantas cut the woman down, praying that his helmet mask was functioning, filtering out the assimilating breath.

Them moved ahead as a quint, protecting each other, moving into the centre of the melee. By chance avoiding assimilation. That was all it was, just chance. A certain proportion of them were marked for Atropos' shears. It didn't matter.

“Keep going to the right. To the right,” shouted Map. Him getting on Tantas' nerves. Even though him knew that Sergeant was directing their progress, and Map was a relay. Sergeant had a little baby computer in his head, able to process all the data. Him sending them into the optimum place for attack.

Tantas cut down another hiver. Them sickened him. Them, the silent enemy within the battle field, dying quietly, utterly inhuman. Them hive insects, linked by metal cankers. Them unfeeling. Only the swarm mattered.

The quint advanced, to the right, always to the right. Tantas saw the other members of the battalion freezing like statues. He shouted wildly, “What's happening, Map?”

Map put a hand to his helmet. “Them sent a freeze virus into the armour,” he said. “Get it off. Get out of your armour or it'll be in your coffin.”

Quickly Tanta stripped off. Him stood in his vests and shorts, almost naked, cold, on the field. The rest of is quint did likewise. “What do we do now?” Him clutched the gun to chest. The hivers had lost cohesion. Them were moving erratically.

“One of the sergeants manufactured a confusion counterattack. It'll hold them for a few minutes,” said Map.

“But what do we do?”

“We get the hell out of here,” said Map. “We bloody run for our lives.”

“What?”

“Sergeant says we can't fight without armour. And almost all the battalion is immobilised. We got to retreat.”

“No,” said Tantas.

“I shoot you myself, if you don't move your arse,” shouted Joy. Her took off at a sprint.

Tantas ran, feeling like a coward. Barns and Trigger at his side.

But one of the hivers, unaffected by the confusion loomed in their path. The hiver stumbled towards Trigger, crushing her into an embrace. The hiver drew back his fist and smashed Trigger's face plate. His face drawing close to Trigger's.

“No,” shouted Barns. Her gun shot a line of light, burning into the hivers' back. The hiver fell. So did Trigger. Trigger began to convulse.

“She's infected,” said Tantas. Joy and Map were far ahead.

“I can see that,” said Barns. Her eyes were dead as she held her lover.

“Do you want me to…?” asked Tantas.

“No.” Barns lifted her gun, shot a beam into Trigger's chest. An obscene flower of burnt flesh bloomed. Tears flowing, Barns turned from the dead body of her love. Silently, her ran towards Joy and Map. Leaving all behind.

Tantas followed. Gasping, him ran. It was hard to leave. His heart bursting. One step over the other, creating momentum. It was all right, him following orders. Him reached the crest of the hill joining the rest of the remains of the quint. Them had made it. All except Trigger. Another figure followed behind them, Sergeant Connell.

Tantas watched the hivers harvesting the rest of the battalion.

“Don't look. Don't look back,” ordered Sergeant, running past.

Tantas ran. Him ran. Him ran.

Eventually the running stopped. Sergeant told them to take a rest in the shade of three bast-wood trees. The foliage giving them good cover.

“What happened, Sergeant?” asked Tantas.

Sergeant pushed his helmet up. “We lost. Them infiltrated the armour ware.”

“How we escape?” asked Map.

“No attack is perfect,” said Sergeant. “We was lucky.”

Joy said, “I saw others running. We no the only ones.”

Tantas said, “The other sergeants did the same as you. They'll be others who escaped.”

“That's right,” said Sergeant. “Then we head for the rendezvous, meet up, reform. We still got the helmets. Comms will come back online.” Him tapped the belt slung over his chest. “And I've still got some volatile ware, if we encounter any hivers. We be all right.”

“We're outmatched. Them outclass us at every step,” said Map.

“Maybe we need to step a little faster then,” said Joy.

“What you mean?” asked Map.

“We take the fight to them,” said Joy. “We infiltrate them. Do what them no expecting.”

Tantas felt drunk listening to Joy talk. Her magnificent. Fearless. And him felt good, too. Him no given way to his fears. Him done it. Him wanted to do it again. Make some payback for the others. “We should do it, Sergeant.”

“We should regroup,” said Sergeant.

“No,” said Tantas. “We should get into the hiver nest and destroy it.”

Barns said, “We should destroy the Queen and every filthy hiver.”

“How we going to that?” asked Sergeant. “You know where the Queen is? Any of you?”

“We should try,” said Joy.

“Well, this no democracy,” said Sergeant. “We follow orders. We go to the rendezvous.” Him stand. Him start running. Him angry.

They run for hours until Sergeant calls the stop. Them camped in a cave with a narrow mouth, giving plenty of view of the landscape. Plenty of time to see that nobody creep up on them. Also a trickle of water, coming through the stone, which Sergeant declared clean enough to drink.

Tantas was eating his rations when Joy came and sat beside him. “You've come a long way haven't you? You full of fire now.”

Tantas nodded. “Is it like this for everyone?”

“It's different for everyone, but yeah, I've seen it before with novices.”

“I wasn't scared, Joy.” Seemed curious to him. “There was no Phobus or Deimus for me.”

Barns glared at them.

“Got a problem, Barns?” asked Joy.

“You could say that,” her said. “Talk, talk, talk that all you ever do, Wordsworth. You a man who loves to talk. That's 'bout all you good for.”

“We sorry for your loss,” said Joy. Her bit off a mouthful of dry nutra and chewed it slowly.

Tantas nodded, but said nothing, words were inadequate in the face of Trigger's death. But his silence seemed to provoke Barns. “Best no be solider, if all you want to do is talk,” her said.

“Leave him be,” said Sergeant.

“Well,” said Barns. “I no like him yammering all the time. Deimus this and Phobus that, dressing it all in language, and not seeing the real thing.”

Joy must have told her about Deimus and Phobus. Them been discussing him, maybe laughing at him. “They're the real things, Barns,” Tantas said. “You know, timeless things.”

“Timeless? Ha. Well, let me tell you something, boy…”

“Him no boy,” said Sergeant, “by any reckoning of the word. Leave it.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” said Barns. Her walked to the mouth of the cave. Her stepped outside, angry, malicious, wounded.

“Should I talk to her?” asked Tantas.

Sergeant shook his head. “You don't want to go there, trust me.”

“I don't think she likes me.”

Sergeant frowned. “Well, what you expect? Her just killed Trigger. Her like you well enough. Her just no want to know you. Her thinks you going to end up dead.” Sergeant took a swallow of his water. “You just have to prove her wrong, eh?”

They tired, half naked, open to the harsh heat of the sun. They running in the direction of Alice Town garrison. That was the rendezvous.

“We head there 'til we hear different,” said Sergeant.

“We going out die out here, aren't we?” asked Map, joking maybe. Tantas wondered if him could hear fear underneath.

“We not dead, yet,” said Sergeant. “Look ahead, atop that hill.”

“Looks like one of the old building,” said Joy, “from the first-wave colony.”

“We make our way towards it,” said Sergeant. Him tapped his helmet. “Comm's still not working. That building is good shelter. Might be some food in there and water close by. People don't build where there's no water.”

At the edge of the hill, behind some scrub, them lie down flat to reconnoitre the building.

“Wordsworth and Barns, you go and check it out,” said Sergeant. “Watch your backs.”

Them run to the ruin, half-crouched to present a small target. Barns pushed open the door, Tantas first to go inside. The smell of decay smother him like a heavy blanket. Dirt on the windows, heaped on the surfaces. All dark and quiet. Barns joined him. When them took a few steps, a shadow moved.

“Show yourself,” said Barns. Her voice all nerve-strung. “Could be a hiver,” she whispered, shining the helmet light, this way, that, her finger trembling on the trigger of her gun. “Show yourself.”

Tantas stared at the darkness, willing it to resolve. His hand also on the trigger of his gun.

Again, the shadow moved. This time toppling over a big shelf of pans, glass goods smashing, jam like blood onto the floor, gherkins like tiny-babies released from the amniotic vinegar, acid and jam.

“What the hell?” said Tantas. Him nearest, closing the distance toward the movement, hand still on the gun, stepping on broken glass, helmet lights ripping into the darkness. “It's a boy, Barns.”

“Hiver?”

“No. Listen. He's crying.”

Them both heard him crying, great rasping sobs. Not a hiver. Them no make a noise, even when you slice them up, their pain diffused through their mind join. So shadow-boy ain't no hiver.

“Keep your gun on him.” Barns kicked through doors, checking, establishing safety. “Clean,” her said. “I'll tell Sergeant.” Her left Tantas with the crying boy.

Him look a bit closer. Shadow-boy is a kid 'bout sixteen. “We're army,” Tantas said. It felt good to be saying that. It felt strange to be saying that.

The boy murmured, half sounds, like an animal. Tantas knelt beside him. When him lifted the boy's face, him see the crazed eye and the glint of canker metal matted in the boy's head. “Jeez.”

“What is it?” asked Barns, walking back into the room.

“There's metal in his head.”

“Him hiver?”

Map and Joy entered with a lot of noise and questions. Them loomed over the boy. Him began to moan. Him looked pitiful weak, looking half-starved, his face grey with exhaustion.

“Who him?” asked Map.

“I don't know, hiver maybe. But a strange one,” said Tantas. “Back off. You're scaring him.”

“I'll take care of him,” said Barns, lifting her rifle. “Just one less for us to worry about.” Her sighted the boy, placing the death's eye smack in the middle of his chest. The boy seemed unaware what was going to happen. “Bye, bye,” said Barns.

“Are you crazy?” Tantas stepped between the gun's sight and the boy. “Wait.”

“Get out of the way, Wordsworth.”

The trigger point had transferred to Tantas' chest, maybe accidentally. Barns didn't lower it. Joy and Map, them just standing there. Letting it happen.

The sergeant entered the room, taking everything in a heartbeat. In a couple of steps him reached Barns. Him slammed his flat hand upwards, into Barn's rifle arm sending a shot high and into the roof, causing birds to go screeching, pinioning into the sky.

Tantas filled with anger. “You would've shot me, Barns?”

“I wouldn't have shot you.”

“Didn't look like it.”

“Barns always speak true,” said Joy. “You were safe enough.”

“And him?” asked Tantas, pointing to the boy.

“Him, not so much,” admitted Joy.

“Hush,” said Sergeant. “Let me think. What's him doing alone? Them never alone.”

“Can't you hear him crying?” said Tantas. “He's not a hiver.”

“Him look like one,” said Barns. “Maybe it's a trap.”

Sergeant said, “Keep me covered, Wordsworth.” Him smiled at the boy. “Look. I'm not going to harm you.” Him crouched alongside the boy. (But leaving a clear shot for Tantas.)

The boy stayed still as salt. Sergeant turned the boy's head. “Look. The hiver interface has been ripped away.” Wires protruded. “What happened to you?”

“Him probably brain dead,” said Map

“But how him get the helmet off?” asked Sergeant looking at the boy in wonder.

“I did it,” whispered the boy. “I ripped them out of my head.”

That surprised them. Them all started talking at once, until Sergeant held up his hand for quiet. “What's your name, son?”

“Alistair Rein.”

“Well, Alistair Rein, I want to talk to you, serious. But it can wait awhile. Why don't you go with Joy? Her medic. Her sort you out.” Sergeant beckoned to Joy. Her took the boy to the bathroom.

“I didn't know it was possible,” said Sergeant shaking his head. “Let's sit down and eat. Time enough to find out more, when Joy's finished.”

Them took their rations. Tantas was surprised to see his hand trembling. Him forced it to stop.

When Joy bought Alistair over, him had stopped crying.

“How long you been on your own?” asked Barns.

“Dunno. What day is it?”

“June three.”

“Then it's been three weeks. Them took us in the first wave at Troy.” Him sighed. “Who'd have thought the hivers would go rogue?”

Them shook their heads at that. Nobody could have thought it. Otherwise they'd have shut down the recreational hives, the educational hives, all them.

“I was with the Queen,” said Alistair.

“The Queen?” asked Joy, her eyes a-shining. “What her like?”

“Her direct everybody,” said Alistair. “And her sensed I was different. I had the smallest bit of free will left. Her didn't like that.”

“Is the Queen still at Troy?” asked Joy.

“I suppose so.”

“So what happened with you?” asked Sergeant. “How you manage to escape?”

“I had just the smallest bit of personality left, about nothing. But just enough to keep me trying every night. Eventually I gathered enough will to rip the helmet off my head.”

“What make you special?” asked Barns.

“I was always special,” said Alistair with a bitter laugh.

“How come?”

“I'm ADHD. I had meds for it, but I was always… special.”

“Different brain chemistry, must have kept them out,” said Sergeant.

Alistair nodded. “I'm resistant. Them captured me, and them couldn't understand why I didn't fully assimilate. Them took me to the Queen.” His voice grew quiet. “Her liked me. Her found me fascinating.”

“I don't understand why them didn't kill you,” said Barns. “That's what I'd have done.”

“Maybe them wanted to study me. Or maybe the Queen wanted me as a pet.”

“Makes sense in over a million people there'd be one or two who had some kind of natural immunity,” said Sergeant.

“Tell us about the Queen,” said Joy.

Alistair shuddered. “Her helmet is mutated more than most. Wires grown in and out of her face. Nothing human left inside.”

“Kill the Queen, cut off the head,” said Joy.

“Maybe,” said Alistair. “Though some of the generals, their heads nearly as bad.”

“What do you think, Sergeant?” asked Tantas. Alistair was in the back-room with Joy checking him over again.

“We need get Alistair off this world and to Primateur. Seems like him could be a weapon against the hivers.”

“There are flyers in Troy,” said Joy.

Map whistled. “You're right. There's a private flyer school. I've flown there. That could be a way off planet.”

“That's what I figured,” said Sergeant. “Most important thing is to get Alistair to Primateur.”

“I don't see why,” said Barns.

“That's because you don't think much,” said Joy. “Well don't you worry, we do the thinking for you.”

“Him a valuable resource,” said Sergeant.

“He's a kid,” said Tantas. “And a brave one.”

“Yeh, yeh. That too,” said Sergeant. “But the fact is that him ripped off the hiver helmet. You all know what that means, don't you?”

“No,” said Barns sullenly.

“It means hope,” said Sergeant. “It means there's a way for us to reach inside the men and women trapped in that hive concurrence.”

“So we go to Troy? To the Queen's nest? You must be crazy,” said Barns. “What about our orders to go to Alice Town?”

“That's the difference between hivers and us,” said Sergeant “We can make our own decisions. I reckon this could be a turning point, it really could. We need to get the boy to Primateur.”

“Agreed,” said Joy.

Map and Tantas nodded their heads.

“Barns?” asked Sergeant.

“This no democracy,” her said. “I do what I'm ordered.”

“Good enough,” said Sergeant. Him went to fetch Alistair, explaining what them had decided.

“So, what's the plan?” asked Barns. “We just walk in to the lions’ nest?”

“More like a wasps' nest,” said Alistair. “Something about me confuses their hive mind. Once we in, them might let us pass.”

Sergeant nodded. “We rest here. Five hours, we move on.”

Them all bedded down. But after an hour or so, Tantas heard Alistair tossing and turning. Him crept over, shook the boy awake. “Bad dreams?” him asked.

Alistair nodded.

“Take a sip of 'shine,” said Tantas passing over Joy's flask. Alistair gulped it down gratefully. “What was it like?” asked Tantas. “To be part of the hive mind?”

“Well, I wasn't fully integrated, but it was good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, it was very good. You ever linked?”

“Nah. I never fancied it. I never liked the idea of losing control.”

“It's good to lose yourself, you know?” said Alistair. “Complete unity, nothing to worry about, and the wave of pleasures — like the best sex ever.”

Tantas hid a smile. Alistair looked too young to know much about sex.

“I hate them,” said Alistair.

“Don't hate them. Pity them. They've got no free will, and it wasn't as if they were given a choice,” said Tantas. “What we got to do is cut them down. Don't let hate enter into it.”

It took them two days travel to reach Troy. Them travelled by night to avoid the heat, and for stealth. Troy town like many of the towns on Lyceum was a hill town. A town of colony-bubbles homes, toughened glass, perched unnaturally amongst the towering rock.

“Easy,” said Sergeant. “An army couldn't infiltrate, but a few could.”

Them all agreed.

Alistair told them that the Queen had her headquarters in the Flight School. “Her was an instructor,” him explained.

“How much of their old lives them remember?” wondered Map.

“Hard to say,” said Alistair. “I remembered more than most. But some of them remember, come and goes in waves. But them no able to do anything about it.”

“Bad business,” said Joy.

“For sure,” said Alistair.

Them creep into Troy though a passage winding through the rock.

“This is a mining tunnel I found as a kid,” said Alistair. “Used to spend a lot of time here.”

The Moirae smiled on them, 'cos them crept out of the tunnel into the night darkness of Troy without being observed. Sergeant sent them off to fetch hiver helmets and clothes. “We need to blend in,” him explained. “I'll stay here to guard Alistair.”

Joy and Tantas found a couple of hivers minding their own business. Joy slit their throats nice and quiet. “I don't want to touch them,” her said, her mouth curling in disgust. But her pried off the hivers' helmets. Half circles them were, like fancy bicycle hats interlaced with thin wet wires.

“I know what you mean,” said Tantas, stripping the bodies of their clothes.

Joy wiped off the blood and tissue as best her could and fitted the helmet over her cropped hair. “How do I look?”

To see Joy standing there, as if her assimilated dried the words in Tantas' throat.

When them got back, Barns and Map had acquired four more helmets and a pile of clothes that would just about do.

“Get these on,” said Sergeant.

Them had to keep their army masks to filter the hiver virus. “Do you think that will fool them?” asked Barns.

“Only one way to find out,” said Joy with a grin.

Only one guard stood outside the flight school.

“Them not expecting trouble,” whispered Map.

“No talking,” said Sergeant, sotto voice. “Hivers no talk.”

But when they approached the guard him held out his arm to them. Like him wanted to touch them. “You are not… You are not… “

Map stepped forwards and slit his throat. “Jeez, him talked,” said Map wiping his bayonet on his jacket.

Tantas stared at the body. “Maybe hiver control isn’t as complete as we thought.”

Alistair shook his head. “I'm like interference. I told you, my brain messes them up.”

“Where we find the Queen?” whispered Joy.

Sergeant sighed. “What's with you and Queen? We no want to meet her. We want to escape.”

“I think killing the Queen would stop this whole thing,” said Joy.

“Unlikely,” said Sergeant. “Cut off the head, and another grows.”

“Like a hydra?”

“Yes,” said Sergeant, “like a bloody hydra.”

Alistair led them confidently down the darkened corridors.

“Why there no lights?” whispered Barns.

“No talking,” said Sergeant.

Them ran down the stairs to the basement. Them needed to go underground to reach the field where Alistair had told them the flyers were.

But in the lower levels them luck ran out. Half a dozen hivers emerged from a door. One hiver's face was covered by his helmet.

“Him general,” said Alistair.

No more need for subterfuge. Sergeant barked out, “Joy and Tantas, take the boy. Get Alistair to the flyers. Me and Barns and Map, we hold them.”

“Leave you behind?” asked Tantas.

“You take him off planet, that's the important thing.”

Joy nodded “Use the stuff,” her whispered to Sergeant.

Them run, leaving the others to fight. Tactically it was good. Them was in the narrow corridor, so even though them was outnumbered, them could still fight one on one.

“What stuff?” asked Tantas, as they ran.

“Sergeant's still got some volatile ware, remember? Would give him an edge in a fight,” explained Joy.

Them ran along the basement corridor. Them see a couple of doors at the end.

“Which way?” asked Joy.

“The left leads to the airfield,” said Alistair.

Behind them they heard the noise of battle. It was hard to leave the others behind.

Joy grabbed the door handle, threw open the door, and them all ran through.

The Queen and a hundred soldiers were waiting for them. There was no mistaking the Queen. Her metallic helmet covered all her face. “Alistair.” The Queen's voice was the buzzing of a thousand minds. “Alistair. You've come back.”

Joy let out a great scream. Her lunged toward the Queen firing wild. Smoothly, a dozen hivers stepped forward to protect the Queen. Tantas was only moments behind Joy, pulling Alistair behind, shielding him. Out of the corner of his eye, Tantas notice some of the hivers standing still as salt. Must be the effect of the boy, Tantas thought.

Them firing, cutting down the hivers. The Queen started laughing, the ringing of a thousand discordant bells. Tantas cut down the hivers like scything wheat, but him know that there too many of them. Sure, them falling, but sooner or later one of them smash his mask. Sooner or later Atropos would snip her shears.

Joy was swimming in a dead sea. Cutting them down. Screaming, magnificent, raging, while the Queen laughed. But soon her will fall. And then there'd be nothing. Snipping shears so close.

But… the door slammed open. Sergeant ran into the gym, holding his arm up high, then smashing the bottle of volatile ware onto the floor. The smell of almonds filled the air, the hivers fell.

“Where's the Queen?” yelled Sergeant.

“Joy was near her,” shouted Tantas, overstepping the waves of bodies. “Where's Barns and Map?”

“Them dead,” said Sergeant. His head whipped form side to side, surveying the room. “That the exit?” Him pointed to the far corner. Him grabbed Alistair. “Come on. The plan still good, we get Alistair to Primateur.”

“I'm not leaving Joy,” said Tantas.

“Go to her then,” said Sergeant.

Joy was crouched over the body of the dead Queen. Her bayonet still protruding from the Queen's chest. Tantas could see the Queen's eyes through the hole in her helmet, green multifaceted, unseeing, an alien and a dead thing.

“It's over,” said Joy.

“I don't know,” said Tantas. Him scanned the room. The hivers on the floor were stirring. Like Sergeant had said, maybe even now one of the general hivers was mutating into a Queen. “We're leaving, Joy. Getting Alistair off-world, remember?”

“I thought it would be the end of it, if her dead,” said Joy

“I know.” Tantas pulled her to her feet. “We're going now.” Him pulled Joy through the room of hivers, and out into the field.

But instead of the fleet of flyers them expected there was just the one, a small craft, a two solider flyer. Alistair was already in the flyer, Sergeant stood at the wings, waiting for them.

“Where all the others?” asked Joy, bewildered.

Sergeant shrugged. “Who knows. Wordsworth, you climb in and take Alistair to Primateur.”

“No.”

“That's an order, Acting Private.”

“Joy should go.”

“No,” said Joy “You go. You go. You the civilian. I knew what I was signing up for.”

Tantas shook his head. “I mean you should go, Joy, because I can't pilot a flyer.”

“You what?”

“I can't fly.”

“Everyone can.”

“Not me.”

“That's settled then,” said Sergeant, “Alistair no pilot either. Joy, you go with Alistair. And don't even be thinking of telling me to go.”

Joy saluted. Her climbed into the flyer. Her set the course, while Sergeant activated the roof port.

Joy reached out her hand to Tantas and said, “I'm sorry that you can't go. It would have been better if you could get to safety. I'm the solider.”

“Only someone who can fly, can go,” said Tantas. “Lachesis has seen to that.”

Joy smiled. “Yeh. Them Moirae. Can't argue with them.”

“Now go,” said Tantas. “Take care of yourself and Alistair.”

“I will,” said Joy. “And you and Sergeant, you better stay safe until I come back.”

The roof to the flyer slid shut. The burners pulsed out red-hot air. The flyer lifted into the sky. For a moment or two Sergeant and Tantas watched the flyer. Then Sergeant said, “Come on then, Wordsworth. Them hivers aren't going to be confused forever.” He set off at a trot.

Them made it thought the school safe enough, and ran through the town and to the old mining tunnel.

“Are we going to make it?” asked Tantas.

“You better hope you don't survive,” said Sergeant.

“Eh? Why's that?” asked Tantas.

“When Joy finds out that you can pilot a flyer, her going to rip your head off.”

“You knew?”

“Sure. I'm not stupid,” said Sergeant. “What was it between you and Joy?”

“Nothing,” said Tantas quickly “I just… you know.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sergeant. “I know that song.”

When them emerged from the tunnel, them both turned their faces to the sky. The flyer was a diminished speck of light against the stars.

Sergeant laughed “Wordsworth, if you get through this, you going to be in so much trouble.”

Tantas grinned. “I reckon so,” him said.