Damon stood naked before Samuelson and the guard at the north gate. "I'm here about a lost pig."

The guard looked to Samuelson for help. "Is this man with you?"

Samuelson looked Damon in the eye and shook his head. "With me? Not exactly, this is my commanding officer." Samuelson stood up straight and saluted.

Damon gave a smart salute right back, unable to take his eyes of the three crates with larval snipes staring at him, with their yellow eyes, sizing him up as a potential meal. "I guess we are going to give up the pretense of being pig farmers."

"I don't think there was ever any real belief that we were pig farmers."

Damon studied the three runny nosed street urchins that Samuelson had brought to haul his pet creepers. He weighed his response carefully. He needed to reprimand the bastard for bringing out contraband, but he was naked and surly, all his rice seed benevolence had turned sour. He'd just assume break Samuelson's left orbital socket and let him reason out what he'd done wrong.

He looked at the guard and sized him up. The poor bastard was a foot too short and about a hundred pounds underweight. "Give me your cloak son."

"What's that, sir?"

"Give me that cloak. Then bring out the rest of our gear. We've got a lot to do today, and I haven't had breakfast yet."

The guard looked into the jungle and Damon could see him struggling to picture them out there preparing eggs.The guard slunk over to a door in the side of the gatehouse and disappeared inside. Damon could hear him drag a wooden crate across the stone floor.

Damon looked Samuelson over. He had his hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon making a half assed ponytail. The man looked like he'd had muscles at one time, but they'd all turned to bags of fat. Eating Quid gave a soldier power, but some men would always be weak no matter how big they got. Samuelson's skin was sallow, and Damon could smell the bastard from three paces. He smelled of creeper shit and stale tobacco.

Damon struggled to find some common ground. He was going to have to put his life in this man's hands. He didn't have to like him, but he had to be professional, every new crew went through this shit, the testing. Where the men pretended to mutiny, hoping their new captain would stop them, and be the father they never had.

Maybe, there was some word, some phrase he could use to win this scumbags loyalty. Damon couldn't think of anything, so he decided to improvise. "These creepers aren't coming with us. Kill them right now or I'll rip your throat out." Damon had meant to ask where the man was from but sometimes words betrayed him.

Samuelson eyed him coldly. "I don't think that's possible, sir. I need them to bind me to the angel wings."

The guard drug the long packing crate between them leaving it at Damon's feet. Damon undid the steel clasp and swung the lid back. He reached in and picked up an imperial saber pike. The imperial saber pike was a multipurpose weapon made of light steel. One end had an axe head with a set of long spikes jutting from the end of the handle. The other end was a long sword with a barbed guard. Retracted it was the size of a tall spear, but it could be extended by depressing a lever in the center making it into a short pike strong enough to impale most charging creepers. Damon turned it around so the side with the sharp battle ax was facing outward. He turned in a semi circle and brought the weapon down on the nearest cage, severing the wood and biting deep into the meat of the shrieking helpless creeper inside. He lifted the ax and swung four more times splitting the other two cages apart and dispatching their occupants. He took a deep breath and turned back around "Any more objections, lieutenant?"

"This will seriously delay the mission, sir."

Damon pointed at the three street urchins. "Give them each a silver piece and send them away. They didn't sign up for this. You can find some more snipes in the jungle they are all over. Any questions?'

"Not really."

"Not really, sir."

"Not really, sir."

"Good." Damon strung the guards coat around his waist then cinched his tactical belt over it. He slung his rucksack over his shoulder and watched Samuelson do the same.

Damon stepped out onto the bridge and waited to feel the imperial pike run him through. When he heard Samuelson getting his gear and following, he was almost disappointed. The mission was off to a shaky start, but he'd saved three kids from dying slowly in the jungle. He hoped they'd return the favor and keep their mouths shut. He didn't need the whole city to know what they were up to. This was supposed to be a trap, it wouldn't do to alert their prey.

They crossed the Elba, and Damon stood at the locked gate waiting for Samuelson to catch up. "How are your forms?"

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

"I can hold my own."

"Let's hope so, you're going to take point."

Samuelson shook his head. "You don't think I'm competent?"

"We'll see."

Samuelson took the key, unlocked the gate and rushed forward five paces extending the imperial pike and stomping the spikes into the ground with his right boot.

Damon shut the gates and put his hands on his pike handle clicking open the latch and sliding the extension. The sound of brush being trampled came from at least a dozen different places all across their front. To the creepers, the sound of the gate opening was like a dinner bell. Samuelson stood his ground.

"Deploy Pike, forward." Samuelsson yelled.

A large beaker broke out of the brush and scurried toward them its six legs sending great divots up out of the stripped field. Its long sharp horn could pierce deep into its prey then split apart tearing open the wound, allowing two sharp claw like teeth to tear into the soft meat. This one was small it probably only weighed about five hundred pounds. Its two dominant eyes were black they didn't have lids and reflected the morning sun, the four other eyes were smaller and golden they looked like jewels in a demented crown.

Damon stared into those eyes as the dumb beast greedy for flesh ran itself onto his pike. The shock jarred his bones, but he held firm as the pike sunk deeper into the beast and deeper into the ground. The animal's horn parted revealing the mandibles and spilling out green goo, purple blood.

Samuelson stepped forward and stabbed his saber end deep into the impaled beakers head just to be safe. The thing was good and dead so, they pulled their weapons from the carcass.

Samuelson marched forward. "Deploy pike right shoulder."

Damon set his pike and another beaker impaled itself trying to get to Samuelson.

"Deploy pike left shoulder." Samuelson stood his ground while the horehound came crashing through the brush right at him. Damon pulled his pike free and spun around setting the pike and feeling the spikes slide and then grab deep. The other end was stuck in the horehound's underbelly. It struggled and tore, still alive. Samuelson tried to bring his saber down between its antennae, but it shot out its net and he stumbled backwards and fell onto his ass.

Damon pulled his hand ax free and drove it deep into the horehound's skull. "Deploy pike, behind." Damon jumped aside as a wagon sized beaker rammed the dead horehound. It ignored Damon and drove itself deep into the body and started feeding. Damon cut Samuelson free of the net. Samuelson looked around; the jungle was creeping forward to scavenge the dead.

"Fast march, all out."

They gathered their gear and ran full out, trying to get out of the convergent zone. Soon there would be a feeding frenzy and Damon didn't want to be part of it. They ran for a few hundred paces crashing through the jungle sounds of violence all around. Then it went silent. Samuelson stopped and pointed. In a small clearing a minkspider was sloughing off about a thousand of its tiny clones. The little bugs had eight legs and more hair than he did.

"Solvent."

Damon opened Samuelson's rucksack and pulled open a goat skin bottle. He poured the black liquid over his head, over his arms and legs. Samuelson did the same. The little minks could swarm and take a grown man down to a skeleton before the victim finished screaming. Fortunately, they didn't care for solvents and would usually avoid them. If they didn't, you could always light yourself on fire.

Damon and Samuelson picked up their gear and made straight for the big mink. The little minks scurried past their oiled feet and scoured the brush for victims. Damon approached the host, its legs were reticulated underneath its abdomen, he had to wonder at how vulnerable it was. He almost felt bad for it; it was one of the only creepers that survived eating only leaves and roots. It would be harmless except it transported the little carnivorous clones and they weren't something you wanted hanging about near where you slept.

Samuelson stood on one side of the mink's head and Damon stood on the other. Silently Samuelson hefted his imperial pike with the ax end up and Damon did the same. Samuelson counted down from three with his fingers. As they swung, the enormous spider opened its eyes. Damon thought he read terror in all eight of them, but it was a fleeting reflection. The ax ends crushed through the thin layer of carapace that protected the brain and the massive being shivered reflexively. The swarm sensed the fresh kill and returned to their host, their razor sharp teeth clacked as they set upon her.

Damon and Samuelson set a quick pace out of the kill zone. They crossed a slow-moving stream and could be relatively certain that the little clones hadn't made it this far. Damon took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.

He almost bumped into the frozen Samuelson. He stepped back and instinctively prepared to set his pike. Samuelson just pointed at the jungle canopy.

A masher rose over them three stories high, its hundreds of tiny legs clawing at the air. Half of its underbelly was above them dozens of gaping mouths with chomping beaks set to come crashing down.

Samuelson stuttered unable to give the command to march at full stop. Damon ran past him. "Run, you bastard."

The Masher fell and Damon was flung forward by an explosion of wind and jungle debris. He crashed into a tree and rolled onto his back, his hand ax at the ready. "Status?"

"I'm uninjured."

Damon got to his feet and found his saber pike, Samuelson stood beside him. The masher pounded forward shaking the ground well behind them. The Masher's were brutal, but stupid, relying on power and chance to find food. It was blindly moving on, but Samuelson was still frozen. He pointed two fingers at four small man sized minglers. They had six legs, using four to walk and two to clasp and cut, their eight eyes saw just as well in the light as the dark. They hunted in large packs directed by a tactical leader with diabolic intelligence.

There were four of them showing themselves which meant there were probably a dozen surrounding them ready to concentrate wherever their prey tried to flee. Samuelson pointed at the four herders and Damon nodded. Damon gave the command and they charged, their pike sabers spinning. Samuelson sliced into the leader and Damon crushed the skull of the one beside it. The other two dodged and chirped sending out the call. Damon tried to strike one of them down but had to dodge aside to avoid its partner's razor-sharp tail.

Samuelson gave the command for an all-out sprint, and Damon was right behind him. He couldn't see the minglers, but he could hear them chirping, He could see the brush being trampled. He couldn't help but wonder if this was part of their trap.

They broke into a clearing and could see the tall strung up wire, the enormous mesh net draped over the tall center mast; they were almost home. Damon picked up speed and whistled four sharp notes for alarm and men at the gates. He heard three sharp notes in return. Out of the side of his eye he saw a line of minglers flanking them from both sides in a pincer movement. Samuelson pointed for the opened gate. Damon could see it was going to be close. Two minglers were closing the gap and fast. A flurry of flying wood struck the two and they collapsed and spun. Damon and Samuelson leapt over the carcasses and ducked under the iron header of the open gate. Six men deployed their pikes at the entrance and another swung the iron shut. The man jumped back and gave the command. "Deploy scions fire."

There was a sizzle and a heinous shrieking on the net above them as the scions fire ran through the wires and struck down all the minglers that were crawling over it.

Damon got to his feet. He drew himself up. "Commanding officer Thomas Damon and second lieutenant Wetherby Samuelson are present for duty."

The men at the gate all stood at attention. Damon saluted. "Very well, that was fine work. Have the scions order make an inspection of all the wires, we don't want any gaps those minglers may have fried some of the contacts. Meet me here in one hour for a mission statement, now direct me to the first lieutenant, find me a set of clothes and something to eat. I have a hankering for eggs."