“LC Polansky stressed to me these are fragile,” warns me the corporal in charge of the latest supply-convoy reaching our base. The fourth in two days.
“I see, then please take those over there, follow the drone-”
“Barro!” A shout stops me for a second, but I gesture the dumpster-drone and the man ahead before turning. “The alien kids are lighting up the sensors again, godamnit!” Major Delavega curses freely at the third repeat case so far.
“Sorry, sir, I’ll get right on it!” I say, rushing to deal with this so I can return as fast as I can.
***
“Lieutenant, there are three amulets missing from the batch you sent us,” complains Aiowara, his Peccary punctuating the demand with a noxious fart. I’m forced to stop looking for further information on my new charges to stand up and open the tent for some very needed fresh air.
“Jesus Christ, I’ll look into it, just stop with the chemical attacks!”
Things have gone missing lately, but I’ve had scarce luck in figuring out why. I don’t believe it’s because of the Gnodarians, but it’s hard to convince some otherwise.
***
“Barro!” Maliskar barges into Supply III, startling me and Tom. “The females caught someone sneaking into the Warren! They’re not happy!”
“Oh, shit!” I reply eloquently, dropping the crate I’m holding. Turns out the Gnodarians are deadly serious about no trespassing.
“The sergeant and Xenia are trying to appease Yovka, but we need you!”
Oswaldo’s Peacekeeper stint sometimes comes in handy. Or not - we got Cainã out alive from his foolish snooping around.
***
“For Christ’s sake, Fiddler! There are children about!” I reprehend the flustered AI as I retrieve two slightly singed Gnodarians children from the entrance of her tent.
“But… But there’s a warning on the tent…” she whines back as by my side Clara starts scrubbing the moment from her footage.
“They can’t read yet!”
***
“I see you’re handling things very well,” comments Reader, visiting Pantera FOB on his off-time to take a look at our newest additions. Traffic has increased severely here these last few times - everyone has an excuse to come around.
“Don’t,” I answer it, heavy bags under my eyes and little energy to spare. It’s been two days and I’m already falling apart. “Why?”
Interpreting me takes it a second, but he gets it. “Fiddler asked me to help her with something, I know her from way back.”
I just shrug and turn away with no further words spoken. I trudge my way to speak with the Cook, to remind the bad-ass Chibamba about the feijoada we’re supposed to have tomorrow.
“Sergeant Kaio. I won’t beat around the bush—”
“Very funny,” he replies, deadpan, making me wince.
“Sorry, sergeant…”
***
I don’t know if I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: a quartermaster’s life isn’t easy.
Still, it has been pretty calm around the base (not for me though) since the tumultuous days of the Gnodarians’ arrival and the attack on Ambassador Aztuz’s convoy. Skirmishes are the worst it’s gotten to since then, some injuries but no permanent casualties — but there’s no doubt retribution is coming sooner or later from High Command. Even Captain Castanho has had to help out these last few days with the amount of supplies we’re receiving. Half our assault squads were moved to back up the depleted Penal Legion by our side, Diego and Geni’s group included.
“Hey, boss,” calls Tom, the Mapinguari’s fur matted with sweat as he enters the tent, briefly interrupting me from checking a few last crates. He glances at my drone, recharging in its charger-station for the week.
“Hey, Tom,” I call out distractedly before the smell hits me. “Cacete, you smell like a wet dog, man!”
“I know, I know. I’ve been training with those clever things Fiddler got for me - I never thought doing mage-stuff could be so tiring.” I grunt in acknowledgement. I wish I could use Mind Steeling to ward off tiredness, but no such luck. I’m running on fumes, like a headless chicken, from side to side.
“Anyway,” he continues. “Clara asked me to remind you about the feijoada today.”
“Wha-? Already?” I blink, surprised it’s been three days - it actually felt like a week. It had completely slipped my mind since talking with sergeant Kaio. I even miss the opportunity to make fun of him about the way he speaks the reporter’s name. It seems that poor Diego, deployed to help the Americans, might be out of luck when he returns.
“You look haggard, boss. Why don’t you take a shower too? I’m not the only one smelling, and I guarantee I smell your way better, unfortunately.”
“Alright, alright. Let’s go.” I surrender and follow him out of the tent.
***
“Ah, there they are! Hey, Rafael, Tom!” Clara beckons the pair of us as we approach the tarp-covered area set up for the people taking part in the feijoada. Sergeant Kaio deftly swirls the dark stew, black beans, pork and sausages rotating around his long wooden spoon. There are a few small gatherings of off-duty personnel taking part of the little event, throwing hungry looks at the cook’s efforts.
I would never have believed if you told me the strangest thing in a feijoada wouldn’t be the leafy Chibamba, a maned werewolf, a horned Cabriola, or the Mapinguari by my side, but here they are, actual aliens standing beside them. The usual pair, Maliskar and Xenia, is engaged in conversation with Cariri, who’s proven to be a godsend in interacting with the Gnodarians in a number of opportunities. I nod at Clara as Tom goes to speak with her and join our guests.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“So you belonged to a secret organization?” inquires Maliskar, scratching his upper arms together as I’ve noticed he tends to do when focused on something.
“All Mythic organizations were secret in one way or another before the breaking of the Veil, but yes. Not to the Mythics, though. It was dangerous, but they were fun times.”
We’ve being looking forward to trading stories with our new neighbors, but we’ve granted them the space they wished for these last three days. All contacts we had since then were to resolve misunderstandings arising from their relocation to an active military base.
“And now you’ve joined an intergalactic war,” observes Xenia. “Perhaps dangerous proclivities are also in your nature, like ours?”
“Perhaps. Hey, Lieutenant.” Oswaldo greets me, chuckling and mockingly flapping his arms like wings. The insubordinate curl earns a scowl out of me. The aliens then have follow suit in a particular way - which motivated the mockery to begin with:
“Greetings, egg-bearer.” They half-bow to me. That’s really disturbing and has been happening since they first sensed the egg I’m stuck carrying around - yeah, sensed, not saw. They’re more respectful and skittish around me yet they refuse to explain why exactly, which made me pressure Fera for the expert she promised - or extorted me for, more like. The Jogumna said he should arrive in one week. I have to admit that I would be exactly as childish if it was someone else in my shoes - it seems like a common flaw of military people and it has certainly rubbed of on me.
“You’re talking about the Peacekeepers? Did you have any organization of the sort?” I get the conversation going again to avoid being made fun of again.
“Oh, before our breaking, we had many. If we had a Lorekeeper, she might be able to tell you more,” replies the female.
“Lorekeeper? I’ve heard Tom’s people have something similar, but it didn’t come up when we were researching about you.”
“It does not surprise me. The Swarm has made an effort to purge them of our midst,” explains Maliskar, regretful. “The few left are very hidden.”
Damn. It seems the Swarm’s punishment is cultural if not whole species’ annihilation. Very one eye for an eye kind of guys.
“That’s unfortunate,” laments Clara as the duo finally joins us. It would have been a great source for her.
“Were you talking about Lorekeepers? They were the basis of our community,” says the Mapinguari, scratching his chin with his long claws. “A mix of cacique and pajé if you will, chiefs and wise-men like in the native tribes.”
Turns out that the pajés are actually pretty competent spellcasters and the reason why humanity managed to blossom in the Amazon in the days of yore, slaying the magical beasts who inhabited the ancient forests and pushing mythic tribes back. Now it turns out that the Cobra Coral Institute might even be worth the money Rio’s mayorship spends on it for rituals to avoid rain in special days — no, I’m not joking, that happened long before the Veil was broken like in the Olympics of Rio-2016 (where they failed). Mysticism and superstitions ever permeated Brazilian society in one way or another.
“They were the same to us. The Swarm’s even punishing us for the grave crimes of our ancestors,” replies Xenia. The conversation awkwardly dies for a moment after the heavy topic.
“Have you gotten used to freedom yet?” asks Oswaldo as Sergeant Kaio starts handing out the first plates and a line starts forming — Brazilians just love lines, we join them even if don’t quite know what they are for.
“It feels good, but it’s been… challenging since we finished setting up the Warren to our liking. There’s little to do besides keeping the young ones from harm,” replies Maliskar.
“Well… we should discuss if there’s something you’re willing to do,” I reply.
“And maybe Unity education for the children?” proposes Clara.
“Hm, yes, that would be good. We’re a people of mostly practical knowledge, but that’s not by our choice,” replies Maliskar. “But tell me, who’s it you fight in this alien planet?”
“Oh, has that never came up before?” asks Tom, surprised. I scratch my head in consternation, realizing it’s true. And worse - the Barkers are members of the Swarm, aren’t they? Oh, shit.
“We’re actually fighting… members of the Swarm,” says Cariri. The two Gnodarians stop and look at each other.
“It might have been interesting to hear that before, yes?” says Maliskar, and we nod abashedly.
“We should let the Matriarch know immediately,” points out Xenia. “If you’ll excuse me,” she asks before moving a bit away from the line we’re coming close to the end of, fixing her sight to the ground, and moving a few steps further to start digging into the loose ground. I frown, wondering if she’s planning to dig her way back to her Warren, but her objective soon reveals itself.
“Aw! Not fair!” cries the juvenile she hoists out of the ground, squirming and kicking. I wonder if that’s how she detected my egg?
“Be quiet, Nagrin,” admonishes Maliskar, “and listen to what the co-matriarch has to say.” The other soldiers spread around us look on curiously, but I know well that little rascal. Nagrin is one of the reasons I’ve had so little sleep in the last three days. The leaf-green young one, still short of developing his lower arms, is the most rambunctious kids I’ve seen - alien or otherwise. He’s always snooping around and takes the punishment in stride when he’s caught.
Xenia moves him away to dictate the message to Yovka, but it’s my turn to get a plate. I badger Kaio to get more of the delicious, spicy ‘calabrese’ sausage and less of the salted pork I’m not so fond of. There are some unusual cuts of pork used in the feijoada as well — ears, tails, knees, and feet for example. A good helping of farofa, toasted cassava flour with butter and garlic, and white rice, and I’m happy. I dig in my meal as the others join me, and can’t help but to appreciate the feijoada’s spice - heavy on the garlic and with touches of bay leaves and onions. I’ve told y’all before, garlic is our thing. Luck for the Gnodarians it’s compatible with their biochemistry - a reasonable number of our foods is.
We eat and talk little, the Gnodarians clearly consternated by the news. I can’t believe we’ve let such an important matter slip our minds. I’m sure that Longcannon and Walker must have considered it, but was it really safer to send the Gnodarians here instead of trying to transport them? We’re on active front with the bastards who want them to keep being slaves and now I feel we’ll have a target painted on our backs soon, if it isn’t there already.
With the mood shot up to hell, the small soiree ends on a bit of a sour note.
***
A few hours later.
“Fliers!” Private Rudá sounds the alarm from his sentry post, raising his Runed Rifle to target the shadowed figures on the dusky sky and letting loose without awaiting for orders. The men in his post join him, followed by all the others while the base’s aerial defenses spun up. Chemically and magically accelerated bullets are propelled through a speed increasing runed long-barrel, flying towards the enemy. Their number is few and their formation spaced for minimum casualties. The few projectiles that hit their mark are deflected by magic barriers that shimmer when impacted, and too soon the fliers are approaching the base.
Fliers have a significant advantage over planes and constructs - it’s incredibly harder to lock on to a living creature than it is to their alternatives.
They fly high enough to make life difficult for the defendant’s weaponry and low enough to avoid the optimal range for artillery and barrage spells. That does not mean they’re safe on their late raid - magical protections are overtaxed by repeated hits or by powerful projectiles and the first fliers start falling. Explosions light the darkening sky when they hit the ground - bombers. In the last second, the aerial column splits to fly around the base, confusing the defenders for a moment just enough to pass them by.
Their target, after all is not the base, but what lies behind it. More fliers are shot down, but six in ten reach their objective and release their payloads, the huge explosion disturbing the sensors long enough they disperse and fly away in various escape vectors.
From a point at the foot of the hill, two females observe the fireworks.
“This was too close,” says Yovka.
“I’m sorry, matriarch, we only learned today of it,” replies Xenia, chagrined.
“Never forget that they might mean good, but they are far from infallible.”
“Yes, matriarch!” The younger female bows to her wisdom.
“Let’s return to the new warren then. It was good that we decided to dig away a shelter, very good.”
“It was insightful, matriarch. We’ll need to do much more if we want to survive, however.”
“Yes, yes we will.”