As he exited the barracks after his shower, Sergeant Gonzal allowed himself an instant of hope: no thick tobacco in the air, no Minds by the tree. Only Squirrel squatting against the dark trunk, the little Homo Pernix dark-gray and gnarled like a root…

… then Gonzal saw what was on Squirrel’s plate. “Sheesh… my kingdom for some fortitude…”

“Same turdstew as yesterday, Sarge,” Squirrel said. “Maybe a tiny bit better. Or maybe we’re just getting used to it.”

“Don’t let Captain Luthz hear you. He won’t waste a second before he scratches ‘spare parts for food reps’ from his budget. Is Minds inside?”

Squirrel nodded and chewed. “Yep. He ran outta chocolates. Doc gave him some mindlockers to block our waves, and Minds decided to take a chance. We’ll see how long before he throws up. The whole crew is in there save the Clyps; those two are still in the vats.”

Gonzal looked towards the Mess Hall doors, needing a few moments before again facing this trial.

Squirrel swallowed. “Them synths don’t learn, do they?”

“Nope. Minus three turrets for them today, yet again.”

“They seem to be aiming a bit better, though. Managed to send both Haiko and Bigfoot for a swim into the vats today.”

“Yeah…” Gonzal agreed, “that’s what meatshields are for, anyway. Although the synth may have gotten lucky today. Fortune accomplishes much, not only in other matters, but also in the art of War.”

“Heh… wish Lady Luck would accomplish much with Kooks’ reps. Somebody finding a spare nanoplex inside a random pocket, for example.” Squirrel gulped some more of the reeking, marshy stew. “No jokes now, Sarge: this dung is revolting. As in: sickening, nauseating, and stomach-turning. And won’t be long before it’s revolting as in mutinous, rebellious, close-to-rioting soldiers.”

Gonzal looked thoughtfully at the Hall doors.

“Anyway,” Squirrel said, “heard the rumors, Sarge?”

"Hm?"

“About angels.” Squirrel made a pause to let that sink, then continued, “Coupla Jays were chatting about it. Something about someone seeing an angel while being recloned.”

What did Haiks say yesterday…? ‘Maybe I just saw an angel’, was it?

“A few Jackdaws too, Sarge. They keep it all hush-hush, but folks return from the vats smiling wide and talking about seeing things in there.”

Gonzal sighed. “That’s all we need: haunted clone vats.”

“Well…”

“Well?”

“There is this bright, flashing light, right after you die and just before the pull, right before you find yourself swimming again in the vat…”

“You mean you actually believe this celestial bullcrap?”

The little Pernix shrugged. “We do die out there, Sarge. That’s a fact…”

“Yes… and sticking with facts, at which point do heavenly creatures enter into this equation?”

Squirrel made some vague gesture with his hands.

“Go see Shayla from HR”, Gonzal said. “Tell her to show you all the paperwork we signed when we signed up for UGC. We pledge our services to UGC; we give our bodies to it. The Corp owns us. In exchange UGC feeds us, equip us, throws us a buck or two into an account in one of its Banks…”

Gonzal paused.

Squirrel bit. “And…?”

“Do you really think that if we had some soul that could be possessed, it wouldn’t be clearly stated on the paperwork, and such intangible asset already indentured to the Corp?”

Squirrel laughed. “Got a point there, Sarge.”

“And neither do papers say anything about devas, valkyrs, or fatty cherubs showing up for the cloning show.”

“Well…” replied Squirrel, now thoughtfully, “Haiko also says he saw one; was talking about it yesterday.”

“Told us he might have seen one. Then he added figure of speech; means he didn’t.”

“That’s what he told you, in the Hall. Then he came here, under this very tree, all smiling as if he had just been promoted into HiComm, and said: ‘Squirrel… don’t tell anybody, mate, but I think I’ve just met an angel.’ Word for word, Sarge."

“And now you are telling me what your mate asked you to keep shush?”

Squirrel waved his hands defensively, as if he could undo his last phrase.

“We die,” Gonzal said. "We wake up in our clones. We eat Kooks’ shit, then we kick the shit outta our foes. Rinse and repeat. That’s what UGC brought us here for. That’s all there is, Squilly. No angels, no angles, no unknowns in the equation.”

“I dunno, Sarge... there’s lots of weird shit. And I don’t mean on my plate, or in Kooks’ cauldrons. A few weeks ago, the Jay Eyes ran support for some Chelic Chapter operation. The Chelics had a couple of Nemurastii with them. The Jays say the Nemu talk about their mech suits having a ‘spirit’, and that they also talk about the ‘machine soul’…”

“Bah,” Gonzal interrupted, “that ‘spirit’ thing is probably just rotten babelfish for ‘source code’, or ‘targeting software’, or something like that."

"… or maybe the Nemu know something we don’t know, Sarge? Their tech is eons ahead of ours. But for all their tech, the Nemu can’t reclone, right? How come, them being so advanced? Those xenos had half the galaxy mapped before we discovered fire, yet they refuse to cheat death like we do. Why? Maybe they just don’t want to?"

For once, Gonzal didn’t know how to answer.

“Nobody knows what happens to us in-between clones,” Squirrel insisted. “That weird somewhere amid die in combat and wake in clone vat. You know? That no-place no-time nowhere, without up or down…”

“Yeah…” Gonzal agreed, “been there. Although there’s no there, there.”

“Yeah, there. Right before the pull and the flash from the vat’s wake up call. Doc Kourailen says our mind’s there for just a bunch of nanoseconds, and he’s probably right. Except it tastes like a big fat chunk of forever. Doc’s says it’s nowhere, but it feels like… like…” Squirrel trailed off.

“… like?”

Squirrel shrugged. “Don’t you feel sometimes you’d rather stay in there, Sarge? Stay in there for good?”

“Well… yesterday ol’ Haiko was happier than ever to be alive again. You said so yourself, right?”

Squirrel nodded. “Yeah… that’s true…” He chewed on his spoon. “Don’t mind me, Sarge. What the heck do I know ‘bout nothing ‘cept sneaking around and sniping straight, anyway? This shit Kooks’ feeding us is making me all gloomy and doomy. Cherubs and devas are probably just Doc fine-tuning our chemos.”

“That’s Noui’s bet: that Doc’s beta-testing some new happy dope on us.”

Squirrel downed another spoonful and chewed slowly. The cool evening wind gently rustled the leaves and branches over their heads.

“I dunno, Squilly,” Gonzal said. “Haven’t made the vat trip myself in quite some time. It’s my job, really. Staying alive, I mean. After all, somebody’s gotta pick up your dead asses’ gear after a fight, and bring the surviving dumbasses back home to the Nest.”

Squirrel chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. And a damn good job you do, Sarge.”

“Whoa… I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that, lest I think you’ve been raising you brown nosing skills. Always thought than when it came down to asses, you were all kicks and no kiss, Corporal.”

“You heard me right, Sarge,” Squirrel smiled. “But never mind me, Sir. Go help the other dumbasses hold their ground in there; Kooks probably has them all pinned down under heavy shit-tillery fire. Like that time in Kali Ai, when we got ourselves into a pinch under the Phaays’ barrage, and we were outside beacon range…”

“Heh,” Gonzal smiled, “tough job, that one. Great paycheck, though.”

“Yeah! Best times, those.”

“Never better than present times, Corporal.”

“Of course, Sir. You know me: all here and now.” Squirrel gulped down a mouthful of cooling turdstew. “Hundred per cent Carpe Diem, that’s me.”

Gonzal laughed heartily. “Wish we could bottle your attitude and make it into pills, Squilly. Or have more men like you.”

The small Pernix raised a quick eyebrow. “Whoa… I’ll pretend I never heard that, Sir, lest I get all faggoty and misty-eyed.”

“Won’t say a word if you don’t,” Gonzal said. “Finish up, Corporal; we fighters need all the protein we can get. It’s angels and cherubs that we can do without.”

***

Famine was the better part of valor, it seemed. Gonzal scanned the Mess Hall: less than one third of the Corvids gathered around the tables. And one quick glance at the grim faces confirmed Squirrel’s forecast—the general mood was every bit as rotten as Kooks’ putrid refuse.

The stuff mutinies are made of, Gonzal thought. Out in the field, brave men will face a shitstorm with a joke, but eating moldy shit in here is not something they’ll tolerate for long…

Gonzal grabbed a tray from the pile and took a long detour towards Kooks’ trenches, straining his ears to pick up the each squad’s mood.

The Jay Eyes were chit-chatting even more vividly than usual, but too fast and too low to grab anything coherent. Gonzal nodded to Ayelen, their Sarge, a lithe Pernix that had probably been rather beautiful a few years ago but whose face was already showing the yellowish skin and rugged brown stains of advanced senexia. Neither Ayelen nor her crew seemed about to spark a revolt, though: the three Sapiens doing most of the whispering were smiling.

The seeds of discord were easy to notice a couple of tables ahead. A bunch of Raven Talons loudly grumbled about pulling a big thick stake through Kooks, ass to mouth, then roasting him over red hot embers like Cheruvian-style ribs.

“Bet his fat ass’ fat would drizzle nice and yummy,” said one.

“We could feed on him for days; probably ‘till the spares come, no doubt.”

“But then what? Who’s gonna work the food reps?”

“Bah… we’ll just ask Doc Kourailen to reclone the fat bastard, and we’ll roast him again!”

“Let’s just roast Ordie instead! It’s that pencilneck’s fault for buying all the wrong spare parts!”

“He wouldn’t be enough for us all, man. You and me, maybe, but that’s all the meat we would get from his thin bones.”

“Well… let’s stake Shayla too, then! When I signed up, she said that the Corp would always feed us well!”

“Yeah! That Shayla chick, now that’s a treat I’d like to drive my stake through!”

Their Sarge was not there, and that was not a good sign. Without Baator keeping them in check, a few pissed Talons sufficed to morph a boring bar into a bloody battlefield. And with every other Corvid in the room gloomily chewing Kooks’ shit, the idea of stakes and roasting fat could catch fire in a flash.

One of Talons, with the proud, scarred face of the often-wounded, never-killed fighter, glanced at Gonzal and kept on talking without even pretending to try to hide his discontentment.

Damn it… This is gonna get worse before it gets better.

Kooks himself could smell trouble in the air, congealing like a dark cloud. When Gonzal reached his stall, the chubby chef was pouring a ladleful of reeking goo into three Black Magpies’ trays. Although the Magpies kept their mouths shut, their murderous stares had nothing good to say about the fortunes of discipline in general, or the chef’s fate in particular.

Gonzal offered Kooks the reassuring smile that he reserved for telling his Wings to keep their heads down, that Cavalry was on its way.

“I’m doing all I can, Sarge. I really am.”

“Don’t worry, Kooks. We know it’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, you do,” said Kooks, not in the least relieved, “but do they?”

“Spares will be here soon, Kooks.”

“Bloody spares won’t be here for at least a week if not two, Sarge!”

Dire times, dire measures… all right: this is for your own good, Kooks.

“Come again?” Gonzal said, his voice smooth and soft as velvet.

Any of his Wings would have treaded very, very carefully from there onwards—the Sarge’s yelling was bad, but not even close to the Sarge’s all of a sudden speaking softly…

… but Kooks kept on, and blurted, "I said those bloody parts—!!"

“ARE YOU YELLING AT ME, YOU PATHETIC WASTE OF BIOMASS!?”

Kooks was so taken aback that he fumbled and dropped his ladle.

"Pick up that spoon!"

The chef was scared stiff. The three Black Magpies were perfectly motionless.

"I said PICK YOUR WEAPON UP, SOLDIER!”

Terrified, Kooks dropped on all fours and groped for his ladle.

Gonzal listened to the deafening, utter silence of the Mess Hall behind him. The three Magpies to his right had frozen solid where they stood. As Kooks managed lift his huge physique back to his feet, Gonzal’s voice became soft as plushy velvet again. “Do you know what I would do to anybody in my crew if they were to blunder with their guns while under fire?”

Kooks struggled against his rigid neck and shook his head.

“OF COURSE YOU DON’T, YOU VAT REFUSE!! Because if you knew, you’d get such nightmares that Doc Kourailen would have to rewire your nut-sized brain for you to be able to sleep again.” Gonzal extended his tray. “Now stand up! I mean stand up straight, soldier! You signed up to serve, didn't you? Now keep your big mouth shut and SERVE!”

Kooks, too scared to think, defaulted to autopilot and mechanically went through the motions serving a wavering spoonful of steamy turdstew.

“Thanks, Kooks,” Gonzal said, soft as silk.

Kooks shrunk in his place.

You’ll thank me later, Kooks.

Gonzal turned around. He fixed his gaze on the nearest Magpie. "Is there a problem, Private?"

The Magpie’s eye quickly darted down. “No, Sir!”

Gonzal sneered, then resolutely marched towards the Wings’ table, who were as surprised and speechless as anybody else in the Hall.

C’mon guys… any of you, play along…

“With all due respect, Sir,” Chinkx said, as Gonzal was about to sit beside him, "it’s not Kooks fault. His food reps…”

“I know damn well it’s not Kooks fault,” said Gonzal, coldly and loud enough for even the terrified chef to hear. “I get it: His food reps are fucked, and he is doing his best. His shit I can eat. But taking shit from him, that I won’t. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, Sir.”

Chinkx was hurt, that was clear too. Gonzal fought against a couple of turdstew mouthfuls while waiting for other squads to slowly and carefully return to their conversations, and only when the Mess Hall was again a humming hive of chitchat and murmur he whispered to Stoic, “With a bit of luck they’ll all think Kooks has just got enough flak, and leave him alone for a couple of days.”

Chinkx’s face lit up as he understood; he exchanged some quick glances with Stoic and Wolf.

Yep… except sharing a trench, nothing bonds a crew together like being yelled at.

Stoic, straight-faced as ever, said to Noui, "Told you, girl. Sarge’s always one step ahead."

###