- something a crewmember drew later on, to show the sidewalk setup.
Arrival 6 (Nov-Jan)(Daniel)*emphasis*
[thoughts]PG 13: Blood and potty-mouths.
feedback to h_raelynn@hotmail.com.
I don’t own the B5 universe. But I made up this world and all the original people, things, and places you will find on it. :)
Notes: Thank you to all of my Betas. Hug hug hug. And the head doc’s name (Richard) is pronounced “Ree-SHAR-d”. C’est Français!****
Someone was talking to him, he eventually realised. Whispering, but too loudly for a real whisper.(Kevin)“Dan, hello? Come on, wake up!”
“Mmph,” he articulated.
“Wake up already. You need another dose of radiation treatment, and there’s some stuff I want to show you.” The voice dribbled slowly into an exposed ear and from there to Capris’ groggy brain. Chan was the one talking.
“Uh?” An eye emerged to blink dark brown, gradually clearing and focusing to reveal an urgent, young, Asian face. Then the eye noticed the pale grey stone walls, veined with red; the window; the sound of a bird outside; the feel of non-synthetic fabrics under him, an unfamiliar mattress. He remembered, but still didn’t completely believe. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’. I’ve had four flippin’ days of ‘oh’. Oh wow, oh no, oh great, oh yes, oh can you please consider getting up so that I can show you around? You should eat a decent meal first, and I want to show you the route - real easy, just go inland ‘til the double street and hang a left - to the hospital. The main docs’ll make Richard go to bed again once it gets full dark and you’re supposed to get checked by her today, right? We only have about a long hour until sunset.”
Capris, by now sitting up, was feeling in the space under the cot for his boots. “Are we not supposed to be out after dark? Why the rush?”
“Her they send to bed because otherwise she’s never go, is all. And most of the shops and things are already closed. I can show you around better tomorrow, but it’s usually less crowded about now. They’ll have lamps lit on the sides of buildings, later on, to see with, and there’s always a few people out - nocturnal species and shift workers and such. But I got impatient waiting for you to finish napping and - well - once it gets really dark, it can be rather disturbing to be outside, even once I got used to it. The screaming, I mean.”
“The *what*?!”
****
Grey. Everywhere: ugly, squat, misshapen clumps of grey - not even the same shade. There was no formality or conformation to it, apart from the restrictions made by the streets themselves; huge square blocks that fit not quite eight to a kilometre. Heavy, thick, glowering, narrow constructs, overfilled with aliens; stone buildings just high enough to hide snipers. Walkways with no way to view directly beneath, windows that were dark - or glowing white, occasionally shaded by a thin woven covering - eyes turned towards him. It was all tinged slightly with an orange wash, from the sun approaching the horizon. Shadows were long and ominous. Frequently wrapped about the buildings, the pale white-browns of wood - *TREES!* Trees that had been cut down and dismantled to make frames - were also smattered with grey, as the wood aged and oxidised in the atmosphere.(Daniel)DeClerke wondered if there was a correlation between the corrosion on the cut timber and what had been happening to his equipment. The reports he held seemed to be nothing but bad news. Carefully written out, yet the letters were uneven and clumsy from long years without practice forming them. If the writer had even marked words with a stylus full of ink before was debatable, but here there were none of the usual options. Damaged equipment, far more than the attack could account for. The lifepods had come down over a spread of thousands of kilometres instead of tightly clustering as they were supposedly designed to do, and the equipment within them seemed even shoddier in use than the pods themselves. Almost a third of the collected-here groups had malfunctions or complete breakdowns of their primary communication units. A few had lost their portables as well. Hand-held readers that had collapsed internally, wristwatches that displayed gibberish before dying. Medical scanners and injectors that had quit within days, hours, or - in one case - seconds of being turned on. Then there was the refusal of the colonists to allow the remaining scanners to be used at the medical center - their refusal to allow any scanners, any powered tools (which was damned near all of them), any handcomps, any data readers or book crystals, any weapons. Weapons he could understand, though it chafed at him to obey. None of the locals seemed to have any powered weapons either; no powered anything.
Then the other pages of the report ... already three people were listed as having tried to break the no-electronics rule, but seven noted incidents. Five infractions had all been committed by - who else? - Newton. DeClerke scowled. The fifth incident, earlier that day, had ended with some alien receiving a knife hilt-deep in it’s upper thigh, and Newton being restrained by no less than six large locals until she had exhausted herself and her rage. Now she was restricted from entering the cellar hallway where their forbidden equipment was stored, and restricted from leaving the hotel without suitable escort. Exactly what escort would be considered suitable wasn’t mentioned, but DeClerke entertained a vision of Garren - the ship’s chaplain - and some pallbearers. Returning to the papers, he read on. The knifing incident was in addition to the list consuming the next page, grievances all, though most were made by crew instead of locals. Even the private wasn’t fool enough to constantly piss off eight, possibly even twelve, thousand telepaths.
[More’s the pity,] DeClerke frowned, [that infantile brat would be better use as a mindwiped vegetable. Or dead, the trouble she’ll cause.] Flipping to the start of the report, he again looked over the names. Prette could control her, he knew, by the slight edge in martial arts which still remained to the security chief. But the hefty mars-born man wasn’t named on the slightly rough textured sheets. The captain could keep Newton in line, for hours after having spoken to her, but she was apparently more than sixteen hundred kilometres off. With no shuttle service or radio contact between them, no high-speed rail system, not even a functional group of ground vehicles.
What DeClerke did have was injured people to care for, scattered pod groups to collect, order to maintain, and absolutely no answers in regards to Zoe’s safety. Mungai, whom DeClerke had sent to find her - when half an hour had passed since the alarm had sounded and there was *still* no response from the Astronomy lab or their quarters - wasn’t on the list of known crew either. He knew that there had been no possible way to have looked for her himself; yet the lack of knowledge, the lack of control of the situation irked him. While still on the ship, he had managed to keep a screen lit with the names of those admitted to the med bay or checked by the medical teams as to being injured or dead, then the evacuation order came in. With it was the command to prep for a core dump. Fatal to anyone still on board, fatal to the ship itself. He hadn’t seen her name on either; though the last few minutes had been too busy to check the lists.
[Mungai just didn’t have time to report back,] he reasoned. [She has to be fine.]
He hoped.
He just didn’t know.
The Lieutenant was not in a good mood; that was evident from clear across the roof. The small amount of other earthforcers up there were keeping away from him, sheltering from the residual warmth under the other canvas roof-sheets. All were carefully not looking in his direction as he glanced backwards. Scowling down at the sidewalks, he noticed a pair leaving the hotel. Two human men, not close enough to recognise exact identities, heading inland on the street. DeClerke followed with his eyes; the dark haired one was leading, gesturing to things, while the man with his head covered placidly followed. Several blocks along, they vanished down one of the stair-sets that peppered two corners of each intersection.
~~~~
“See? Look at the supports on it all,” Chan said enthusiastically. “Come on!”(Kevin)Pillars.
Pillars, and space, and orderly lines marching off in four directions. Masses of carefully cut and trimmed stone surrounded him from the moment they had descended the stairwell. Considering that they were now several meters below ground, it was surprisingly airy and uncramped. Flat-topped arches supported the wide sidewalk, high above his head; perpendicular to those, thicker arches held the edge up next to the street, looping along from one straight square pillar to the next.
On the other side of the street, Daniel could see an identical set-up that ran the length of the building. All of the other blocks he saw the had same thing repeated. A few of the pillars had been drawn on with coloured chalks, creating people on them and turning the arches into interconnecting arms. On top of these pillar-folk, the thick top and close-set posts - again, all done in stone - of the fence that lined the drop was visible. Daniel saw that someone’s child had climbed up to walk along the wide railing, but was quickly yanked back down by the parent. Scolding could be heard, briefly louder than the background mumblings of conversation.
There were sidewalks that crossed over the street itself, too, long ones with a massive oval archway supporting their middle. Four to an intersection, connecting between each set of buildings. The trim edges moved off, straight as a laser-ruler, on each side of every single street; laid out as neat as a magnetic pin-box.
In the foundation wall beside him there were high archways; it seemed composed more of entrance than barrier, though many of these gaping maws had been closed over with neatly cut planks of wood. A few entrances were doorway-sized; most looked big enough to fit a vehicle through - they were spaced to match the gaps in the sidewalk pillars, he noticed. Most were just obscurities of shadows and dim lighting, but Daniel caught a few glimpses of tidy stacks of wooden crates and other things that he could not identify in a glance.
Although there seemed to be plenty of room, other than the ones seen and heard on the sidewalks above, the soldier pair was alone. Daniel grasped that a monumental effort had been placed into making these dug-out lanes. To have the solid granite mass he remembered from the harbour cliff chipped out - no machines or power here, he remembered, hand labour only - and replaced with smaller blocks to make the walls he saw next to them, seemed strange. All that effort, no apparent use.
Then he paused. Looking across the street to the other buildings, he now noticed now how the straight lines went right up, unbroken until the rooflines themselves. The sidewalks, with all their stiffness and curving grace, didn’t obscure it once you knew how to look for it. Even the buildings still covered in scaffolding had it clearly shown.
“The streets aren’t dug down, are they,” Daniel stated. “It’s the sidewalks and main entrances that are raised up.”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“This is an old geological floodplain, supposedly. Gets the occasional Typhoon, too. They figured better to be safe than sorry - everything below the main floors is able to be secured, or moved in a hurry.” Then he spent the next several minutes talking about how the city was laid out to get everything to safety in a flood. Then how the plumbing was sealed off under the thick silt layer that sat over the bedrock. After that, Chan started on how the water systems worked, on gravity and grade and handpumps, quite enthusiastic about it all. “ ... They had me digging some new ditches for the system, yesterday. I was dumb enough to ask about it. So don’t ask about something unless you want to be put to work on whatever it is, okay?”
“You already warned me twice, Hu.”
“My hands are blistered, live with the warnings.”
“So for floods - but why so elaborate, why not just storm drains? There are signs and paving and everything down here.”
“Oh. They have those too. Ki was also digging yesterday, the poor bugger, he was right down in a tunnel with a bunch of locals. He asked that question. But the things with wheels - delivery carts, and I saw a 8 wagon caravan the first day I was here - they go below. Here, I mean, the alleys. And when it rained a couple days ago, just about everyone ducked underneath to move around, ‘cept when they had to go up to get into a store or their home. The large archways into the basements are for getting big things in and out, animals and wagons and such. They’re trying to prevent anyone from getting run over, not block any routes.”
“That makes sense. These are back doors, then. Service entrances.”
“Yeah, basically. Look in there, see how they’re put together. Long and narrow. The walls hold the weight of the buildings, so they only need short spans of rock arches, or sealed timber, to hold up the floors. I’ll try to find us a half-finished house tomorrow to look at. Keep up!” Chan hurried along, tapping the pillars with one hand, pat-pat-pat in a rhythm. “All this is quake-resistant, too. They can get some bad tremors, being this close to the gas giant.”
“Have they had any while you were here?”
“No, not that I noticed. Just little shivers, so far. But you can see how they anchor things - they must have some real big shakers. The Hotel is unusual because it’s open-floored, with fewer, but bigger, pillars to hold up everything. Well, the external walls are loadbearing too, but that’s normal here. It’s not the usual long thin rooms inside. They were able to cut and move some rocks long enough to make the big arches you saw - and the high ceilings. It’ll be really impressive once done. Jhosell told me that some of the other races with Seers - teeps who can supposedly see the future - like the Centauri claim to have - saw it in visions, all fancy and castle-ish. Before her uncles even got here to make it, apparently her family had figured on something smaller but got talked up. I am *sure* they creep her out, she didn’t want to talk about them at all. Something to make an impression to people getting off the boats, anyway, where it’s placed. Some other big buildings, too, are going to be made grand like it is. The council chambers, which are basically just a foundation so far, and at least one library and there’s a theatre under way too. I have no idea how they plan to keep its roof up and still be able to see the stage. But most buildings - the hospital is big but it’s built normally for here - are just these smaller stone blocks, ones easily quarried and moved. They interlock, tightly enough to not need mortar in most cases. Mortar can crack in quakes without metal reinforcing.”
“Where is the hospital?”
“Straight ahead, then turn left. I’ll get us back up to the sidewalk after this next block. Slow down a sec ... the hospital is almost done, they’ve been putting a lot of effort into it. Three sections done and putting up a 4th, and the day before yesterday I got conned into moving some blocks for the foundation of the 5th area. Each section takes up the whole block, a hundred meters to each side. Huge sucker, you can’t miss it. It’s not full either, but I’ll let them explain that... What?”
“Why are we the only ones down here?”
“Because there’s more light above. You can still see some people on the walkways above, there, across the street. I just wanted to show you something first. That, and while down here you have to watch where you step.”
Daniel stomped the grey pavers with his boots. “Looks sturdy enough to me.”
Chan chuckled. “No, but this - the lanes, not this part unless going into a building right close - is where the big animals tend to move around. Things that can’t or don’t control bodily waste excretion are supposed to stay below. There’s bins all over to shovel the poop into - like that one,” and he pointed a few archways ahead. “They’re hoping to breed enough animals to make all this really useful, that’s why they left room to have 2 big carts going each way on the street, to pass and not hit anyone. Right now everyone and everything walks, apart from merchant caravans and the carts that bring things in from the fields and quarries. And those are very short-supplied still.”
“Oh.”
“You gotta give the colonists credit - they’re aiming big and working hard. See the specks of mica? Next stair up, it’ll be glittery in the sunlight. I’ve seen at least twenty kinds of stone, a real rainbow of rocks. There’s even a few with brick facings, they learned how to make - erm - you know what brick is? The red stones people make with clay and powdered rocks, all square?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good, because I’ve heard it explained at least twice to others in the crew.”
“And they were put to work making some, right?”
“No, the process is still new and tricky, and us fool soldiers were too spooked by the idea of telepaths-” Chan growled the word out “-to even go look at the little factory thing. Jhosell told us that they’d just started to figure out how to make it and not have the bricks crack or crumble. Just this spring!” He had stopped moving, finally. Chan pointed into a dim archway.
“What?” Daniel peered, but could only see stone blocks and wooden crates and a few small archways, doorway sized, along each of the two side walls.
“Shh - just look - left, near the back. I saw her the other day, being taken for a walk. I can sense her, she’s there,” Chan whispered. “I don’t think we’re allowed in, not until the locals are less spooked and then we’ll have to ask.”
Whispering back, Daniel asked, “Who is-” and he stopped, his breath caught. A head had peeked out of an archway inside, blinked in the lamplight. Then it turned to almost face them, still held slightly sideways.
“Isn’t she pretty?”
“A *horse*!”
“Shhh! Yup. There’s several animals in there, the stalls are all next to each other, I saw a couple of goats yesterday morning. She can hear us, I can sense it - we better not startle her.”
“A horse! Out here! We’ve got to be weeks, months even, away from Earth! How did...? *When* did-?”
“Dunno, haven’t asked yet. Startled the heck out of me when I first recognised them. They’re a lot bigger than in pictures. I wish you could sense her too, Dan, she’s really sweet - and pregnant as can be. She kept broadcasting impatience, heaviness, prolly still is - too far away for me to get emotions this time.”
“You were trying to scan her? A pregnant horse?” Daniel carefully moved up, until he was under the entrance to the building itself. He didn’t dare go inside, but he wanted to.
“No, I’ve just been listening these past few days. Trying to understand all of - well, this.” Chan waved his arms to encompass everything around him. “Listening to - ah - tell you later.”
“We have to come back here. Are there other horses around?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen some, but this is the only one that I know where it lives. We need to keep moving.”
Reluctantly, Daniel let himself be pulled away. “Do you think we could ask to ride one of them, while we’re here?”
“Hospital’s a few blocks further, come on. Fiftieth and the river, I’ll show you. It’s right on the highway running through town. Dan, come on! There’s more!”
~~~~
The sound came as an echo before it was distinct enough to become words. “Lieutenant? Lieutenant! L-”DeClerke half turned, straightening as he did so. The man who’d called out so frantically was sprawled on the floor, just past the top step. The young fool had ran so fast he’d tripped, but with equal haste he clambered to his feet and continued. DeClerke brushed invisible dust off of his clothes, then walked to meet the soldier partway.
He didn’t feel like giving or returning a salute, but was still about to tear into the subordinate for the general lax discipline (and just because he was pissed off and wanted to whip someone). DeClerke never got the chance to start, however: the man was gasping out his message before he came close enough to start a dressing-down.
“Lieutenant, sir, downstairs, you’re needed - she did it *again* sir-”
“Who and what?”
“Newton, sir - just now!” We’re trying to restrain her, but sh-” he was cut off as DeClerke moved past him towards the stairs, the faint sound of words very unbecoming to an officer all that lingered behind. The subordinate followed close to his heels as he plunged down the wide steps, a blur of blue against gold-specked white marble.
Others were running up towards them, others who paused when they saw that DeClerke had already been summoned. When he was only halfway down the steps he could hear a commotion. Turning at the bottom - hand on the rail to steady himself as he spun - he picked up his pace; the noise was louder now. Several out-of-uniform Humans were scattered around; they were moving to the sides, away. He was running right into the mess.
The better part of three dozen people, two clusters. Nearest him, swarmed by concerned guards, someone with their face covered in blood. His clothing was damp and red, half a dozen hands were holding a wound closed. Cries to get a medical kit, a doctor. The second cluster of people, separated from the first cluster by a large splatter pattern of crimson, was almost entirely marine green. It was also considerably louder and more vulgar-sounding than acceptable. This second swarm was almost entirely occupied with holding and beating down the one that wished to get free.
Newton, unwilling prisoner and momentary punching bag, was splattered in almost as much blood as the one she’d injured. She was also cursing in several languages and struggling wildly. Several of the marines, too - and others who had since pulled further back - were visibly wounded. One of them was holding a slashed arm with his other hand, the hand under the injury gingerly gripping a pair of small, bloody knives.
All of this was seen and noted in the heartbeat it took DeClerke to inhale. “Stop!” he shouted, and most of his crew obey promptly.
Newton almost broke free, but four of the angrier marines had kept their grip; they knocked her down finally and knelt on her to hold her still. The profanity continued unhindered until a boot-toe was inserted in her mouth, too hard to bite through; the back of her head was wedged as well, silencing her but for angry nose-puffs of air.
The first order was to look after the wounded, and DeClerke let the irate private stay pinned until it was done. One man - barely even 19 years old - needed to leave for the hospital; the rest only required first aid. The second order was to disburse the crew who were just standing around - a few sent off in impromptu cleaning teams, and the rest scattered before they, also, could be set to work.
Once that was done he stood and glared, along with the five marines, at their captive. She was now holding still, no longer even growling, just glaring. “Enjoy that boot, private, because all you’ll have afterwards is crow.”
No change in her appearance. DeClerke motioned for the boot to be removed, and when the torrent of cursing did not resume, he let the man take a step back. “There isn’t a thing you could say to convince me that boy deserved to get his head opened. Or the others that you’ve injured, or the others that you will injure in the future. I have never understood why you were even permitted on board in the first place, nor the reasons why you were permitted to stay. Infraction after infraction, punishment after punishment, continual confinement, all have done nothing to tame you. You haven’t learned a damned thing about true discipline, and if you didn’t have those damned generals insisting we keep you until you could fit into the normal, obedient soldier category, I would have personally spaced you more than a year ago.”
She had barely blinked; just glared.
“It’s not enough that you had to raise hell on board our ship, but even here! Without any of your precious virus programs or sneak-toys, you continue to be a pest, a menace, and a danger to my crew. Now you have actually attacked more than one person, more than once! And you obviously have no intention of stopping. We have already confiscated weapons from you - four of them, correct?”
“Correct, sir,” the fifth marine said. “These are new - either hidden when we searched her earlier, or she’s stolen them from a local since then.” He held out the pair of blades, small ones with battered handles. “Definitely not issued, sir. Decades old, too. Appear to be throwing knives, but she held them for this.”
“They’re mine,” she growled from her place on the floor.
“Lock them away with the rest - do you have anything else hidden?”
“No, sir,” she said angrily.
“Search around anyway, she’s bound to be lying,” DeClerke ordered. Then, “are you sure there’s nothing that can be used as a cell? Nothing in the whole damned city?”
“None, sir. The cellar where our tech is was about the only exception, and we certainly can’t let her in there again. The locals are beyond squirrelly about confinement of any sort, sir.”
The lieutenant scowled. “What is there for ropes? For restraints?”
As Newton snorted, the marine replied, “I will check, sir. I have seen ropes around.” Then he gave a crisp salute and left for the kitchen doors.
The lieutenant sat back against a table - one that was still upright - and looked at the mess around him, deciding whom he would assign to clean away all the blood. One of the tables, and at least one of the benches, had a leg broken. DeClerke had no idea if or how it could be repaired, since he assumed wood did not weld. “How do you intend to pay for the damages, private? You are not exactly earning wages here.”
He held up the pages of the report. “Not only are we dependant on the goodwill of thousands of rogue telepaths, the so-called good will of aliens, but you, in you vast stupidity, have put us in debt to them! I should forgo a trial, and just have you executed for treason here and now!”
“Are you always this bitchy when you haven’t been fucked recently?” she said flatly, and was met in the face by the lieutenant’s angry foot. A fresh stream of blood from her nose and another bruise began to darken an already black-swollen face.
“Shut up!” DeClerke snapped.
The four marines held her still as she tried to wriggle. “Seriously, DeClerke, how are you feeling? Still got any hair left? Any lunch?”
“Sir,” one of the marines said quickly as DeClerke drew back his leg to kick her again. The man jerked his head towards the corridor; DeClerke’s eyes followed. Something - a person, if people were two and a half meters tall with muscles like a bear, four arms, and thick legs that had wide cloven hooves on the bottom - was approaching. If the alien had been red with horns, he would have scared the devil himself. Mottled grey with patches of cracked brown on his front and obviously thick-skinned, the huge alien wore little more than a sort of loincloth and a thin, reddish strip of leather around his bald head, the narrow band strung with many hanging rows of tiny, irregularly shaped, off-white bits.
DeClerke somehow managed to not step backwards as the thing came close. The word ‘TROLL’ leaped into his mind, plastered itself to his mental wall and refused to leave. He wondered if this thing was a telepath; if the monstrous creature had put the word into his head and perhaps now intended to remove it permanently with one of his four enormous paw-hands.
The marines showed very little, apart from their eyes widening slightly, but Newton either was blind from her swollen eyes or was able to ignore it. She had continued her venom, “after all, it’s not like the little missus is going without! You’re supposed to be dead by now. Do you think she waited a whole day from mourning, or just long enough to land?”
“Shut up,” DeClerke said to her in a low voice. The huge alien was now just a single pace-length away, examining the scene.
“It’s not like she’d even get much of a choice, half the morons who’re forced to work under you would gladly bang her - by now they’ve probably formed gangs and started taking turns!”
“Private-”
“She’s probably screaming right now, you freak, in pleasure!”
This time DeClerke did lash out, only to be stopped by a large hand, three thick fingers grabbing his shoulder. Just hard enough to startle, the troll kept him from striking again.
A slow, deep bass voice, directed to Newton. “You are the one who wants to kill others.”
“I don’t answer to a Clofna,” Newton growled.
The troll rumbled, apparently laughing. “So. You recognise my species. I know yours, too. Now you will be silent, there is business to talk about.” With that dismissal, the troll turned back to DeClerke. “This world is not a place for violence.”
“-you can just piss off, ugly brute-”
“I have been told by others here that this human in your crew, she hurts your crew, she hurts citizens. Correct?”
“Correct,” DeClerke said. “What is your intention here?”
“-stupid fourarmed rockbrained freak-”
The Clofna-troll grinned, a grey space of large blunt teeth, rippled and worn with long use. “She is sloppy,”
“Sloppy! You freak!” Newton’s voice was suddenly too loud to be considered a grumble.
“-she needs discipline. You cannot give it. I offer my service. Some who came, also, are too violent to be let loose unmarked.” The alien brushed a hand against the dangling head ornaments.
“I’ll mark you-” her snarled tirade was cut short when the alien reached down and grasped her throat.
Crouched there, the Clofna said, “Be silent. You are not a citizen - none here or elsewhere will care if a mob rips you to gore. Such things have occurred.”
The alien stood up, returning its stare to DeClerke. “It was the request of someone very important to me that each of us do all we can to help each of you. You are to be gathered, cared for, and sent on your way. I propose a service to you. This one-” a thick finger pointed at Newton “-wants to cut up living things. Here, now, we have outlets for such rage. Uses. Better than in the Before. I will offer to take her. It will be a poor job, since you have few days here, but I offer that she will then be of use on your journey. Ha! Or she stay here as apprentice. If you permit her to try, it will assist all your crew. If she is able to learn.”
DeClerke wondered what the Clofna was getting at. “You intend to prevent her from harming anyone else?”
“Yes.”
A snort from the figure pinned to the floor.
“How,” the lieutenant asked.
“She comes, she works, she learns. Ha! She helps feed the rest of you.”
“How?”
The alien grinned and leaned over just a little, closer down to DeClerke’s face. The echoing bass reduced to a comparative whisper. “I am the butcher in this city.”
~~~~
(end part 6)
.
- something a crewmember drew later on, to show the sidewalk setup.