The private, squirming because of his company, takes Major Delavega to the extremity of the camp that descends to the Lake that supplies then with water. The 413th Army does have devices to extract water from the weather, but they are few and far between; the finicky machines are only deployed in hostile terrain. As always, there are magical ways of doing it, but the Army lacks the knowledge and the experts. If some ancient Atacama tribe or Sahara Bedouins has kept the spells since ancient time, they’re not sharing. Spellcasters are secretive bastards.

The trek takes them twenty minutes, making Delavega curse for not getting one of the personnel ATV’s (all terrain vehicles) to cut this new delay of his routine short faster. They just have to follow the tracks: a continuous furrow made by someone (read Dense Artificer) being dragged and the many deep footprints of the ones hauling the heavy AI’s metal body.

“Tell me, Private, have you seen Sergeant Kano by any chance?”

“No, sir, not since yesterday.”

What the hell is going on with him? The captain is intrigued, and so finally decides to ping the man, also sending a message.

Sergeant, I need an ATV at the Lake. The cavalry is making some sort of ruckus.

He keeps waiting for a response as he walks, but he only gets a belayed ping of acknowledgement.

“What the hell is wrong today…” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Did you say something, captain?” asks the oblivious private.

“No, focus on your step,” Delavega admonishes without heat.

The Trasgo has to admit that the hill the Pigs chose is a fairly defensible, high position which makes it a pain to climb - but also to descend. It commands a wide view of the surroundings, pock-marked after the last conflict with the Barkers true, but still with a beautiful, perennial orange vegetation, from bushes to small copses of trees. It was similar to an African Savanna, or the Brazilian Cerrado biome as an example closer to home. The biodiversity-rich biome had a history of being overlooked because of the Amazon rain-forest beside it, despite having 5% of the species of the whole planet Earth. Nearly 10% of its soil had gone through desertification before the Unity arrived and forced the start of serious programs to protect it, having a hard time convincing people of the worth of what they considered annoying ‘brush’ to be cut down in the name of progress.

Thinking about the Cerrado’s many creatures, Delavega had to ask the private, “Did you hear something about the critters around the base? Are they dangerous?”

It was a gross oversight on his part, but in his defense he had been deployed in a hurry from a place where he was supposed to be resting with part of his regiment, on a constant rotation from their deployment. If had had forewarning, he would have studied all he could about the area, including the native flora and fauna, and especially dangerous beasts. All they had told him was that the base kept high frequency noise emitters to ward them off, having to supply some of the mythics with counter-measures to avoid affecting their greater hearing.

“Animals, major? I’ve heard they’re on a somewhat heated arms race — armor versus fangs and claws. But people talk about a weird six-limbed creature that is unusually mobile and smart as hell, using tools and all; it likes to steal from idling trucks apparently. By and by, the animals are ordinary - if with weird numbers of limbs, but there are a few mutated roaming around. Not a good biochemistry match to incentive hunting.”

“I fucking hate mutated beasts…” grumbles the major, and the private readily agrees. Their 1rst Regiment was in charge of hunting down mutated beast packs, and they were dangerous and unpredictable.

But the officer and the grunt’s uncomfortable conversation ends as they start hearing a commotion and hurry up their pace. The hill ends and they walk past a small copse of green-trunked orange-leafed stumped trees to reach the group of shouting people, fingers pointed all around, shoving and shouting.

“What in the name of God is the meaning of this!” bellows Major Delavega rushing towards the group. The private hesitantly follows him, not eager to be walloped in the fray. “I’m recording it all! If anyone moves from now on, you’ll get escalating punishments!” he threatens as he approaches and only then the imminent fight subsides.

He takes a good look at the troublemakers, looking for the ring-leaders. He can’t help but to notice the lassoed AI’s droid body lying on the floor, its intricate art is scuffed and covered with blue-ish dirt; Dense Artificer is the evident origin of the furrow and the reason why the private fetched him. On a ring around the AI are the handful of his people who were in charge of watching over their source of water and – he is surprised to notice – the troublesome quartermaster, Lieutenant Barro, and his Mapinguari assistant. Opposing them are a bunch of Caiporas, peccary riders the lot of them his overlay informs him.

“What is the meaning of this? Help the AI up! You go first, Dense Artificer, tell me what happened.” The cords binding the AI were retracted back to the Caiporas by the means of a device Delavega was not familiar with before it was helped up.

The little Delavega knew about the AI was that it was a prick, though somewhat skilled in his designs. He could do awesome things – if he was feeling like it, which was supposedly not often. The AI was so full of itself that it chose three names, breaking the AIs’ conventions by calling itself Artifices Dense Masterpieces. His nickname was a little mean, but the AI was kind of dense.

“I believe the little mythics took offense to an innocent comment of mine and took upon themselves to punish me,” the AI’s emotionless diction is infuriatingly slow and unhurried even if Delavega is trying to defuse the situation. It was true that the unlucky 413th only attracted weirdo AIs, but at least the 1rst Regiment’s was only quirky instead of arrogant. “Lieutenant Shit was the cause of the altercation in my estimation, Major, and was trying to rectify the consequences of his ill-thought actions with the help of these fleshies,” it concludes rudely.

“Lieutenant Shit?” the major asks, bewildered, as he looks between the AI and the quartermaster. The Caiporas grumble and threaten to restart the ruckus, but his heavy stare makes them falter and stay still - for the moment.

“The ungrateful toaster claims that’s the translation it indicates for my name,” explains Barro, wincing afterward and shaking his head. “Refuses to correct it, I’m tired of asking.” Oh, that would be because the AIs speak English and some feel free to translate names. But to translate Barro, that means mud literally, to Shit, the most derogatory meaning of the word possible… Nope, not getting into it. Delavega just shakes his head slowly at the bickering duo before turning back to the guards, refusing to enter into that discussion.

“Does that match what you saw, sergeant?” Delavega asks the 1rst Regiment Kurupira in charge of the lake guard detachment, trying to regain his grip on the questioning.

“I can’t say I know how this began, sir, but Lieutenant Barro was trying to help me, yes,” the sergeant replies, trying to dust off some of the dirt she’s had to waddle in.

“Well, how you could just see, sir, Dense Artificer is dense and rude, and made a loud pejorative comparison when I approached him for a sensitive question involving a mythic race, sir. I’ll be sure to notify the Racial Equality Committee, I have his violation recorder in my internal computer, sir.

A headache already setting on the back of his head, Delavega made a carry on gesture to the lieutenant he regarded suspiciously.

“Well, sir, keeping the mythic race’s privacy, all I can say is that it compared a famously bad smell with the Caipora’s peccaries where they could overhear it. Then they immediately sought an apology, but it brushed them off contemptuously. The Caiporas opted to punish him by dunking it on the lake instead of reporting it to the R.E.C.”

“So you were trying to help it, that’s your version quartermaster?” Delavega asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Of course not,” the lieutenant replied, looking at him like he was daft. “I want him to get a bigger punishment, if they punish him right away it will surely be smaller.”

Though the earlier look ticked him off, he had to resort to snorting as he held a chuckle at the obvious glee in the man’s eyes at the prospect of getting back at the AI.

“And what you Caiporas have to say for yourselves?” he asked, looking at the group of fifteen steaming mythics, bad-tempered as usual. Good fighters though.

“Respecting privacy, sir, what Lieutenant Barro said is true,” stepped forward one of the riders, a sergeant. But not the Sergeant Aiowara he had just punished yesterday, at least. He would have cut the man a new asshole if he had already gotten into another fight. “We were deeply offended, and were in the process of applying punishment when your guards intervened.”

“Did you want to murder the AI by drowning it?” he asked, more curious than angry by now. He checked the outspoken sergeant’s Record, one thing jumping to his eyes.

Darwin’s Bark Spider’s Silk Devices (Mech-Slot)

Allows user to draw the resistant filament or cord from their forearms in the desired length and width. Useful in making trip-wires. Usable as a strong lasso.

Unity Warning: Peccary-Rider’s Exclusive until the Silk’s Mass Production is achieved on Earth.

It seemed like many of the riders had it or something similar, but no one was so enthusiastic as the sergeant who had two. A mistake in Delavega’s opinion, but the soldiers were given a great degree of freedom in choosing their implants.

“No, sir. We asked it if liked water after lassoing it.”

“And what did it say?”

“That he had to shower to remove our peccaries’ smell everyday,” replied the man, and all the Caiporas jeered and started working themselves up again.

“Enough! ENOUGH!” he had to shout to lower the noise. “I’ll consult with Lieutenant Barro and Dense Artificer over there, in privacy, and make a decision. Either way, you should be ashamed to have behaved like this! Now stand still!”

After berating the men, he walked away with the two persons he singled out in toe.

“Now, explain me what the matter you consulted it about was, Lieutenant. And do you even have an olfactory sensor, Dense Artificer? Why were you riling up the Caiporas?”

“Sir, I asked the useless calculator to design a combat deodorant for Mapinguaris on my assistant’s - Tom - behest. You know how they smell when they get agitated…”

“Hmmm, yeah. I’ve heard complaints about it before actually. The request had merit in my opinion.” It was a minor, silly request truth be told. But Delavega was well aware that the Regiments were sent AI designers exactly to suit all the many unexpected needs and malfunctions a new force acclimating to the Unity Army discovered. If they were left unchecked, they could affect morale badly according to what he learned in the Unity’s Officer School

“I don’t have an olfactory sensor, no, major. But their filthiness disturbs my optical sensors.”

“That’s it?” Delavega asks, incredulous. He’d never heard of an Unity Army AI being so racist.

“I meant because of their peccaries, not because of their race as you seem to have assumed, major. And… no. They also blew up many of my tools in the attack at our base,” Dense Artificer told sullenly, emotion evident in his tone for once. “And I thought the request beneath me, I tire of this constant moaning about irrelevant details.

“That’s your job, Dense Artificer. And your behavior is completely unacceptable. I’ll have words with Command about you. But let’s go back, I’ve made my decision.”

They move back, and the Caiporas look anxiously towards him. “You were not wrong,” concedes Delavega. “But neither were you right. You should have heard Lieutenant Barro. I ask that you don’t involve R.E.C., I’ll solve it by regular channels. It is your right, but I ask that you give me a week.”

The Caiporas grumble, but at least they are not getting punished. “You’re dismissed, go back to base and prepare yourselves for an inspection! Barro and Dense Artificer, wait with me,” he commands and the milling crowd disperses, the guards returning to their duty as well. As soon as they go, he hears the noise of an ATV approaching and his ride arrives — conspicuously without Sergeant Kano.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and doesn’t notice the lieutenant grinning at his dark mood by his side. “Corporal Laroche, what’s the meaning of this? I asked for sergeant Kano, what are you doing in his place?” he questions the caramel werewolf, staring at him without entering the vehicle.

“Erm… I don’t know, major. I was just ordered to fetch you and take you to the base’s hospital - there’s been some trouble with Captain Roca from what I’ve gathered.”

“Something is rotten in the Kingdom of Denmark,” he rattles off before entering the ATV. “Hop in you two, you’re getting a ride. But you’ll have to answer me some things, Lieutenant Barro.”

The man squirms, but the duo enters the vehicle and they depart for base, quickly overtaking the Caiporas climbing on foot. Before he can begin on the quartermaster, he gives up and sends a message.

Sergeant Kano, this is an order, report to me right now.

He sends the message, but no reply is forthcoming, not even an acknowledgment like last time. He notices the corporal is driving suspiciously fast, cutting his time of inquiry shorter. No matter, he’ll just have to be direct.

“Lieutenant, I know you’re hiding supplies from me. I had my personnel back on main-base check the manifests and the warehouses. You’ll give them to me, or I’ll give you a stain on your record that will never wash off.”

“It must have fallen of the truck, sir,” the man offers, probing him.

“Don’t fuck around with me, lieutenant. You won’t like the results.”

“I know your kind doesn’t like me much, but you’ll have to come out and accuse me of stealing outright then. I’ll be sure to let R.E.C. know,” the man defiantly ripostes, playing the race card to Delavega’s dismay. He has to think for a second, but this time he feels completely justified in his suspicion, heedless of the man’s color.

“I have not said nor accused you of such a thing. And this is not over, lieutenant,” he promises, messaging his people who bother to answer to get his ducks in a row to bring the lieutenant down when he has all the evidence he needs. He’d never do something that could remotely make R.E.C. mad if he could help it.

Swerving through the scant traffic on base, the corporal parks them in front of the hospital in record time, and the two hitchhikers dart away after dismissal, letting the major to enter the medical pavilion where Captain Roca is still mute, and tired of being angry. The beautiful doctor Friedsch is talking with her, a pale southerner like him. She has beautiful, unusual green eyes while the Captain sports the more common but no less enticing Brazilian sun-kissed skin tone, and has a short, black hair with brown eyes.

“Lieutenant Friedsch, why have you called me here? Haven’t you been able to heal Roca?” he asked, looking critically at the doctor and pulling up the abilities on her record.

Precision Appendages (Mech-slot)

Two extra appendages tuned for precision work.

Note: Medkorporate Inc, Unity does not hold itself for liable for damage caused due to lack of precision before the synchronizing rate hits recommended level.

Roca sends him a private message complaining.

Damn witch doesn’t want to heal me, major. I’ve tried arguing the whole morning. Please order her to, I’m sick and tired of this shit.

“Healing the Hex has proven to be very costly, major. I’d be out of magic for the whole day if I did, which could cause me to be unable to save a critical patient. I’m recommending that she returns to the Main Base to be healed.”

“That’s unacceptable, lieutenant. I’ll have her healed here,” Delavega said, shaking his head, resolute.

“Are you acting against my medical recommendations, sir? I’ll lodge a protest,” Fridy said, crossing her arms. At that moment, sergeant Geni, lieutenants Bumba and Barro entered the hospital, making him turn to address all of them.

“Yes, I am. Something is off about all this, you’re making me run around like a headless chicken. I’ll have Roca help me to seize the supplies for your party,” Delavega threatens the pair while Roca looks on, surprised. “And where is my sergeant, sergeant Geni? He’s not answering my calls, and I know it has your fingerprints all over it.”

“I’ve got it- hic, Friedsch. Clear the room,” says Geni, visibly drunk. “I’m afraid Kano is-hic, indisposed, major.

“What is the meaning of this?” asks the major, glaring at the conspirators. But Fridy nods to her staff and they quickly depart the tent. But there are some pacients still, so they might be overheard.

“Let’s go to Fridy’s office, major. We’ll explain everything,” proposes Barro, and the group starts heading there even before getting his agreement.

“Caralho de asa! Insubordinate curs,” curses the major, off-balance and only with a mute, bewildered Roca as support. Exchanging a look with his subordinate, he sees himself dragged on the wake of the Pigs, following the group inside even before he consciously makes that decision.