Over the next hour, Zan and Colonel Winters hashed out the support he could spare to the rebels. Every step along the way, Winters went through pains to ensure Zan knew had the boy not saved his life, this outlandish, wild idea would not be entertained in the least. Zan nodded and said, “Yeah, I know,” a lot.

“Good… well, it looks like we have our deal. As part of my blood oath to you, I will lend the rebels myself and a few good men. Together, we will route the foe. Help drive back the invasion some,” Winters said.

“Excellent! I am happy we could reach an understanding,” Zan told the Colonel. “Our differences aside as politically engaged countrymen of arms, we should always be willing to set aside our differences for the greater good. Even if we feel icky inside.”

At hearing Zan used the word ‘icky,’ the Colonel burst out laughing. “I think so as well! Ickiness be damned!”

Zan joined with the Colonel and laughed. Why the Colonel found his word choice funny, however, Zan did not know. Maybe it was how he said it? Had he maybe mispronounced the word?

Cutting into the fun, Jiehong spoke. “Speaking of war-fighting, is there any word from the king? Can you tell us anything?”

Getting serious, the Colonel said, “There is too much word from the King. He writes missive after missive. Yet the substance is strange. He is under pressure, I can tell. The enemy has made a push straight to the capital. Defenses seem to be holding, for the moment, though. Although, for how much longer we cannot know.”

Zan saw Jiehong become crestfallen. Yet livened, too. “So there is hope.” He said.

“Of course there is, boy! Why wouldn’t there be hope? You think your homeland would roll over and take it like a whelp?! Neigh!” the Colonel replied.

“No… of course I knew we would put up a fight. I only didn’t know how much of a fight we could put up. It is not like I am privy to the armament budget…”

Colonel Winters laughed again with mirth. “Very true, lad. Oh, so true! Worry not for now. The capital holds and will continue to hold. Talking about the situation with you boys has helped me; I will confess, before you arrived, I was in a melancholy, but as youth tend to do, you snapped me out of it by your directness. If there isn’t anything more you boys need, however, I must prepare for the mission. I will not leave for another day — perpetrations, you know; finding volunteers, you know — but once I do, I will head straight for the location you told me.”

With the conversation ended, the three of them split.

“I’m tired…” Zan said to silence when they were outside.

Jiehong said nothing, admiring only the dirt. He kicked at rocks with his shoes.

So this is how it’s going to be, is it? Zan thought.

Hearing a ping in his ear, it took Zan several moments before he pressed it. So long it had been since he last spoke with the Wardens, the ping took him off-guard.

He touched the tiny button and said, “Zan speaking.”

“Zan!” Sigma-Prime said. “When you have a lull during your mission, please return to the command center. We have a new development ready for use.”

“What do you mean ‘development’?” Zan asked.

“Like a tool. Do not get your hopes up: the development is not a weapon. It is a tool. A companion tool to the Backroads.”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

“Okay. Sounds good. We will be along soon. We found nothing in Feathervale except for Whiskey and an assault,” Zan said, proceeding to fill the Wardens in on what they had missed.

“Unfortunate. Do not give up looking. We will see you soon, that is all,” Sigma-Prime said before ending the conversation.

Turning to Jiehong, Zan said, “Back to the command center! We go…!”

Jiehong remained unimpressed.

Knowing the command center was a good way away from Feathervale, Zan figured they should leave right away. Being already in the town, though, Zan asked Jiehong if they should get something to eat.

“With what money?” Jiehong stated coldly.

Zan considered whether he wanted to go at it with Jiehong about his attitude.

He did not.

“Let’s get going,” was all he said instead.

Making it back to the command center uneventfully, Zan practically collapsed once he passed through the doors. He hadn’t even heard the many well-wishes people gave him upon noticing his return.

“Wardens! Sorry. Jiehong and I need something to eat, or we will die!” Zan announced once inside the war room.

“Factually incorrect,” Screen Master Simulacrum said. “I understand your point, however. Your vitals indicate you need both food and rest. See us when you replenish your bodies.”

Zan did not waste any time. He scurried on down to the kitchen. Was half-surprised to see Jiehong with him.

“Have you ever had our cook’s cooking?” Zan asked.

“No. If I did, I clearly don’t remember, so it couldn’t have been too good,” he said.

They entered the kitchen and must have been in perfect time for lunch… dinner? Jean Pual-Paul stood at the oven wearing his chef whites and fancy hat.

“Oh, there you boys are! It had been so long since my mouths made an appearance. I was thinking maybe you met an untimely end? Or perhaps a timely end with some lady parts? Eh-eh?” Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said.

Zan was going to reprimand the chef for his dirty insinuations, but Jiehong laughed like old times at Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth). ‘I can let bygones be bygones,’ Zan swallowed, letting, for now, the chef’s rather strange mentality go free. ‘For Jiehong.’

“You’re my kind of man,” Jiehong said as they got settled into their seats.

“Oh, ze, me?” Jean Pual-Paul (the Fourth) asked. “In what way?”

“Nothing obtuse. Worry not. Your personality. Zan here has been my best friend since youth, but our personalities are day and night. Usually… you, though, have a humor inside you,” Jiehong replied.

“Mon father was a funny man for a living back where we used to live. He rubbed off on me, yes?” Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said.

Jiehong laughed again. He said, “Maybe he did, Jean. Maybe he did,” with a wink.

Zan didn’t know what they were goofing over. Probably nothing. Humor was something he had to work at understanding.

“What would you recommend, mister chef?” Zan asked, actually hungry.

“Ah, zthe food eater shall be prepared food. Yes. yes… we have so little in the way of supplies. Although ze campers are happy to pay their modest tax, vegetables only grow so fast and meat only dies so slow. I can make you each some hearty cheese sandwiches with an assortment inside. I will prepare some fried potatoes stalks to go alongside it.”

“Magnificent!” Zan said. “I’ll take a double!”

While Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) cooked, Jiehong continued to make small talk with him. Mostly about his cooking style, where he learned. It wasn’t anything Zan didn’t already know. He let them both go on in peace. Zan had his metaphorical plate full of keeping his eyes open.

Finally, the meal, done cooking, Jean placed it before them. Jean excused himself and had to rush to what he described as his ‘other job,’ though Zan had no clue what other job he had… cooking for other people? Hunting with the other campers?

Irrelevant, the lives of others — though Zan didn’t mean what he thought, he was only tired — he dug into his food. Three slices of cheese fit between three slices of bread, which were then fried alongside potato slivers. Touched with salt and pepper, Zan and his empty belly never felt a meal more filling.

Finishing their food and cleaning their dishes, Zan told Jiehong, “We have to go to the War Room. The Wardens have something for us.”

“Fine. But they need to make it quick. The energy from our food is only going so far!” Jiehong replied, which Zan agreed with. He was tired too and didn’t want to remain flustered with Warden explanations for too long. Zan only understood the Wardens, at the best of times, as one understands an incoherent professor on the first day of classes on a tough subject. Clearly, today would not be a ‘best day.’

In the War Room, Zan and Jiehong plopped in front of the Wardens, slouching against a wall. Talking directly to the Screen Master, his blue-ish hues still, as always, projected on the far wall, said, “Okay. What have you guys discovered? Or made? Can we make it quick? I need to sleep.”

“Of course. Sigma-Prime, please bring out the prototypes,” the Screen Master said.

“Right away, Screen Master!” Sigma-Prime said and then scurried off, her legs, golem-like, pattered away to a table covered with a white sheet.

“Behold!” she said, pulling the cover away. Revealed was…

A pile of crap?