Chapta Twelve: Bad Bowel Day
The toilets had never had so many visits than in the twelve hours after everyone ate Marco's three-course-disaster. Sam, Barthees and Marco were up all night with butt-wrenching diarrhoea. Barthees was by far the worst victim; thanks to Marco's countless sachets of wasabi paste, the sergeant also had the dreaded ring-of-fire complex.
Today, work was cancelled. They were all sick in bed, unable to do anything except run for the toilet when that uncomfortable pang came.
Barthees lay face-down on his bunk. "… have we got Vaseline anywhere?" He asked lifting his face out of his pillow. "I swear all the hair in my butt got crisped."
"There might be some in the medical bay," Sam replied from somewhere below; she was curled with the blankets pulled up over her head. "If there isn't any, I saw some bearing lubricant in the mechanics bay. It's non-toxic."
"Too late, he's already got one," Marco snickered. Despite his diarrhoea, he was the perkiest of the lot. He lay in his bunk reading a comic. "Oh, maybe there's a spare butt-hole amongst all the spare organs in the medical bay."
"Go search the medical bay for the Vaseline, you smart-arse!" Barthees grumbled. "Before I use you for an arse-transplant."
Marco's bowels squelched uncomfortably; he threw his comic down. "Oh God, not again…" he jumped out of bed and ran for the toilet.
"Sam…" Barthees spoke silkily, but the private refused.
"No, get it yourself sergeant. My guts could give way at any moment." She said, pulling her blankets tighter.
As lunch time approached everyone was feeling hungry again. However, the fear of fuelling their bowels sparked a debate: to eat, or not to eat… That was the question.
"I… need… food…" Barthees spoke into his pillow. "Before I wither away to nothing and die."
"Honey-mustard baked beans actually makes my mouth water…" Sam replied; her stomach was cramping from hunger.
"Maybe we should eat cheese, or chocolate?" Marco suggested. "It might help to you-know, clump our poo."
"God Marco," Sam griped, "you don't have to be so descriptive. And besides, we don't have chocolate or cheese."
I got a better idea…" Barthees rolled onto his side. "Go fetch the baked beans, Marco. You can eat the first can – you can be the guinea pig."
"Oh… alright." Marco decided the risk was worth taking; maybe his guts would respond better to some baked beans.
He got up and walked to the mess hall to fetch a box of baked beans, three spoons and a can opener. The Imperial Guard no longer used cans with pull-tab lids because the seals had a tendency to open in transport.
When he got back to the dormitories he put the box down and opened a can; Marco shovelled the contents down like a starved dog. Everyone waited twenty minutes to see how it affected the private.
"How're you feeling?" Sam asked.
Marco was back in his bunk with his hands under his head, staring at the bunk above. "I feel okay," he replied. "No sudden gut pangs. Oh I think I need to fart though…"
Marco let rip.
"Twisted, evil mother of the warp!" Barthees buried his face back into his pillow and held his breath. "That sounded disgusting! I'll kill you if I even get a small whiff of that one."
"Oh dear…" Marco looked gritted his teeth. "Uh… I think I just -" Before the words had left his mouth, Sam and Barthees jumped out of their bunks and ran out of the room, hands over their mouths and noses. "-shat myself."
Barthees and Sam dared not think about eating again until dinner time. It had now been twenty four hours since they ate Marco's cursed cooking, and both showed signs of recovering. They sat wrapped up in blankets at a bench in the mess hall with two cans of baked beans sitting in front of them.
"We should be okay…" Sam said trying to convince herself nothing bad would happen. "… just as long as we don't fart unless we're sitting on the toilet."
Barthees nodded in agreement. "And perhaps we should refrain from eating it too fast."
Prepared, they picked up their spoons and cautiously began eating. Their senses were pricked to detect any signs of bowel movement. When they got halfway through their cans they stopped to assess the situation.
"Stomach feels okay… no gas… hunger cramps, but nothing else." Sam concluded.
"My ring's not stinging either," Barthees added. "But maybe that's just because the nerve endings got destroyed."
Just as they picked up their spoons to finish their meal, Marco walked in. He looked rather worried. "Uh, guys… you know that bioscanner thing Sam found? Well… I was just in the computer lab and decided to check it out… I think there's Orks walking around outside. And the computer was doing all these weird things by itself."
The news didn't bother Barthees. "As long as they're out there, and we're in here, it doesn't matter."
"I think I'd like to see what the computer is doing at the least," Sam said standing up. "Why don't you get some food Marco, and meet me down at the computer lab. You'll just feel worse if you put off eating any longer."
Marco nodded understandingly and shuffled to the store room. Sam was walking out when Barthees emptied the last of his baked beans into his mouth and threw the can in the bin. "I suppose I'll come," he said. "There's nothing else to do."
The pair headed down to the computer lab; Marco arrived five minutes later with his baked beans. Sam sat at the computer observing the bioscanner and other programs.
"Ooh," Barthees said when he noticed there was a spy-cam and a voice recorder at work. "Turn up the volume of the voice recorder; I want to hear what they're saying."
Sam obliged. She also put the spy-cam's view onscreen. Unfortunately, the view was blocked by snow.
"Aw," Marco whinged at the snow. "I wanted to see what an Ork looked like."
"Don't be so eager," Barthees replied pulling his blanked tighter. "You'll get to see an Ork sooner or later – it's inevitable. And when you do, you'll severely wish you hadn't seen it – or them. Most likely them."
"Shut up!" Sam snapped. "I'm trying to listen to what they're saying."
Barthees quickly closed his mouth – he didn't want to get into another disagreement with Sam again. Marco was also wise enough to stop talking while they listened to the chatter of the Orks.
"We're getting' close to da Deffskulls's territory, Gifrik."
"Well dis iz near where da uver ladz said dey killed dem Goffs. We'll fix any dat try'n' git to us by sneakin' frew da mountains. An' stop bein' a spineless git, if we meets any Deffskulls, we'll jus' kill 'em!"
"Dis rock is comfy, hur, hur."
"Shut up yew idiot. Yer dummer dan a squig!"
"I WANT FOOD!"
"Well gnaw yer 'and or somefin' Scrod. We aint got food."
"Oh, look, dere's a nice pile o' snow."
"Oi, Scrod! Turn de uver way; yer pants split open. Uurgh!"
"Dat's filfy!"
"Shud up! I jus' wanted ter eat da snow! Aint my fault da Gretchin can't stitch fer shit!"
"Yew can walk at da back so no one 'as ter look at yer ugly rear, hur, hur, hur."
"Fer once Datgur made uh inteligit suggestion, yeah."
"I always makes inteligit suggestions!"
"Sayin' dat yew shud 'ave a grot tied to yer legs jus' so dey c'n scratch yer feet when dey's itchy aint counted as inteligit. Snorting snow aint inteligit eiver."
"Hur, hur, it's cold…"
"Don't dat freeze yer boogers?"
"No, but yer get a runny nose. See?"
"Shove snow up dere again Datgur 'n' I'll open yer 'ead wiv me choppa! Hurr… alright yew lot, if yer need ta drop yer guts now's da time. Dis iz our last rest; we aint stoppin' after dis."
"Alrighty, Gif!"
"Go to de uver side, yew idiot! Nobody wants ter see what yer 'ad fer lunch."
"Yes Gif…"
"Well… that was… gross." Barthees said, voluntarily turning down the volume.
"Oh, look, the snow is melting from the camera," Marco said pointing to the bottom of the computer screen where a portion of the camera window was visible behind other program windows.
Sam looked at the window; it wasn't snowed under anymore, but it certainly wasn't showing anything either. It looked like mud had covered the lens. "Is that… wait – oh, that's just revolting!" She pushed her chair away from the computer in disgust and closed the camera window. "One of the Orks just defecated on the camera!"
Marco rushed over to the nearest dust bin. His dinner gushed out in a fountain of beans. His first encounter of an Ork was its big green butt. Barthees had been right all along; Marco fully regretted ever seeing it.
That night Marco slept restlessly again. This time his dreams were filled with big green monsters who were flooding the world with their excretes. It wasn't exactly a pleasant dream, and he woke up sweaty and busting to o to the toilet.
After he came out of the toilet he decided to have a shower to make himself feel better. His bowels were no longer being disagreeable and he felt confident they could hold out for a nice long hot shower.
The bathroom was at the other side of the complex not far away from the starboard man-hole; Marco went back to his room to gather his things and headed over. He turned on the shower until steam was pouring out of the cubicle and spent the next half an hour under the hot water. After he finished, he put on his dressing gown and got out his razor; it had been two days since he last shaved and his chin was getting prickly. His moustache was also growing longer, and needed a trim.
"Doopey-doopey-doopey-doo…" Marco slid the razor over his foam-covered cheek. "Hmm, maybe I should grow a beard…"
A figure appeared out of the steam. "That would make you look stupid," Sam's voice spoke.
"Crikey!" Marco fumbled his razor, and looked up to see Sam's reflection in the partially fogged mirror. "Don't do that. I nearly cut myself. What are you doing here anyway? It's like three in the morning. And I wasn't asking for an opinion about growing a beard…"
"I like to have a shower when no one else is here," She replied casually. "And that is usually during the night or early morning. But it seems there is someone here."
Marco continued to shave his face, looking at Sam in the mirror. "Why are you looking at me like that? Geez, if you just give me ten minutes I'll be out of here…"
"You're not very good at washing clothes," Sam said holding Marco's undies up. "I can show you how best to use the clothes soaker and the bleach if you like."
"P-put those down!" Marco turned around and grabbed his undies from Sam; his was turning red faced from embarrassment. "Don't do scabbing through my clothes!"
"They were lying on the ground near the shower cubicles," Sam shrugged. "Would you rather if Barf found them?"
Marco looked confused. "Barf?"
"Barthees." Sam explained. "I've officially tagged him Barf because he stinks the toilets up so bad it makes me want to puke. And that was before we all got the runs…"
"Please, don't remind me," Marco replied with a cringe. "My eyes used to water at the smell…"
Marco finished shaving, packed his gear up and left the bathroom so Sam could shower in peace. He decided to write another entry in his journal before going to bed. He took his writing pad out of the pocket of his pyjamas and sat down at a bench in the mess hall.
Dear Military Field Note Pad:
I am never cooking again. I think I am missing a layer of skin from my butt – it stings after having the runs from that stuff I made for dinner the other day. I don't think it's as bad as Barf's butt (Sam nick named Sergeant Barthees "Barf") though; he sort of seems to limp around. He doesn't like to sit either. Serves him right for forcing me to cook dinner though – I've always had my meals at the mess hall since I first joined the Imperial Guard. Even before then I never really had much experience… but oh well. I'm happy with eating cans of baked beans.
All this writing about food and butts just brought yesterday's events flooding back – that was the most hideous sight I've ever seen! I won't spoil your pages by describing what I saw, but let's just say next time I see an Ork I hope it's his face I see. The image is burned into my retinas; every time I close my eyes all I see is… well yeah. Yuck. Filthy. I almost considered using bi-carb soda to wash my eyes out, even if it left me blind. I feel better after having that shower, but I would like to keep myself busy today to make sure my mind doesn't wander back to what I saw on that spy cam. I had nightmares from it – not that nightmares are unusual for me. I have them all the time; I'm a fragile person you know.
Oh, yeah, the weirdest thing happened in the bathroom; I met Sam. Apparently she likes to shower in the early hours of the morning when no one else is there. It's obvious she must feel uncomfortable about other people seeing her in anything less than a uniform; it really made me wonder if she hasn't got hurt feelings, deep down beneath her tough appearance. I can only imagine what shit she's had to put up with over the years because of her condition. I remember she mentioned she wanted to be a space marine… and that even in the Imperial Guard she was never promoted and always sent on dangerous missions… I feel sorry for Sam.
I wanted to ask her is she ever considered surgery, but that's way out of line; and it's a very personal thing. Hell, I'd help her pay for it if money was an issue and it made her feel better or something. Then maybe they'd let her into the Space Marines… she's good enough to be one in my opinion. She seems pretty switched on; she'd pass the psychology test easy. Unlike me…Man, I dreamed of being a Space Marine when I was a kid! And after putting all that effort into school, I got told by the Space Marine psychologist I'd be better suited to being a baby sitter. Oh well…
I have to stop writing now; I can hear the Sergeant yelling something excitedly. Maybe he found a cure for diarrhoea.
Bye! From Marco. P. Fezz
The sergeant's voice grew steadily louder as he ran up the hall whooping with glee. "I'm a friggin' genius! I'm a genius I tell you all! Whoo-hoo! Pool balls here I come!" He ran into the mess hall just as Marco put his journal away. "Oh here you are – well this explains why the lights are on – I'm a genius!"
"What's going on? Did you find some substitute balls?" Marco asked.
"I don't need substitute balls, I have a fine pair." Barthees hurried into the kitchen to fetch himself some coffee. He called out to Marco, "But I do believe I know where we can find some pool balls. It was in the note from that dongey-whacker all along."
Marco snickered; he had never heard the sergeant use such a strange word before. "Heh, heh… hmm, what do you mean it was in the note?"
"Just let me make my coffee, and I'll show you." Barthees whipped his coffee up in record time and slipped onto the seat next to Marco, slapping a book in front of him. "Look, this is a schematic of Level Three."
Marco looked at the picture; Level Three was the smallest floor in the underground complex. It consisted of two rooms, the lift, and three hallways. "Is that another bathroom?" Marco asked pointing to the room titled 'B'.
"No, no, that's a bomb store – not that we have any yet – look at the other room!"
"Pan?" Marco said confused. He looked to the key chart. "Oh! It's a panic room! Kinda like a bomb shelter, right? But how's that going to solve our pool table problem?"
Chugging down mouthfuls of coffee Barthees dug out a piece of paper from his pocket and threw it in front on Marco. "Read the note again," he explained in a rush.
"I don't think you should be drinking coffee right now…" Marco said picking up the paper and eyeing Barthees nervously; the sergeant was well and truly excited. "Don't PANIC, blah, blah, blah. Hmm, yeah, no I see why he wrote something that sounded so corny – it was a clue."
Barthees stood up, spilling some of his coffee on Marco. "Let's get Sam, load our guns, and get down there!"
"Ow! That's hot… what, guns? Why do we need guns? The panic room is in the base."
"A tiger never changes his stripes," Barthees said trying to sound philosophical. "I know what that bastard is like. You don't think it's going to be as easy as walking down there and picking up the pool balls, do you?"
Butterflies began to flap in Marco's stomach. "Maybe…"
"Maybe?" Barthees scoffed. He sculled the last of his drink and began to lecture Marco. "Kid, you're forgetting this is the man who built a three level underground base on this rotten planet, just so I can die here after living the rest of my life with an idiot and a hot chick who isn't actually a chick. He's the devil reincarnated into human flesh and blood. He's the essence of the warp. He's everything but nice. He's conniving, sadistic, and cruel. What the hell makes you think he'd just leave some pool balls in that panic room? That's about as likely as him leaving us his inheritance."
"If you knew what he was like then why'd you have to make him angry…" Marco spoke looking at the floor. He didn't dare look the sergeant in the eyes while he was in a ranting mood. Ranting sergeants had a tendency to get violent when you looked them in the eyes.
"How many times do I have to explain it? I thought I was going to DIE! I wasn't worried about making that bastard angry! I thought he'd be dead by the time he found out anyway." Barthees pointed a rigid finger at the door. "Now get dressed Private, we've got a panic room to raid! Meet me at the q-store, that flimsy las-pistol won't do much good on this planet."
"Yes sergeant…" Marco picked up his things and walked back to the dormitories.
Sam was walking down the hall when she saw Marco exit the mess hall; she ran to catch up with him. "Marco," she said in a low voice, "what was Barf ranting about? I could hear him when I was walking down the hall. Has he got another crazy plan?"
"Sort of," Marco replied, looking over his shoulder to make sure the sergeant wasn't following. "He thinks the pool balls are in the panic room on Level Three, and he wants us to get changed and meet him at the q-store to get issued new weapons. He thinks the panic room is trapped or something. God only knows what he thinks is down there."
Sam looked puzzled. "But, doesn't he know that I 'searched' down there? He's the one who told me to scour Level Three."
"Well, I also kind of think he knows you didn't actually do anything." Marco said with a wry smile. "He doesn't worry if you don't do as you're ordered. He prefers to yell at me instead."
"Oh well, I guess I'm just more assertive than you." She said with a shrug. "Let's get changed. I could do with a few more hours sleep, but that aint going to happen while the sergeant is fired up about the pool balls."
Ten minutes later.
"Ah! Sam, I thought I heard your voice. Good, that means I don't have to go looking for you." Barthees inspected a shotgun before handing it to Sam along with ammo. "Take this, and these."
She accepted the weapon and stepped back to let Marco forward. "Do I get one of those too?" he asked. Marco had rarely handled anything larger than his las-pistol but he knew how to use most standard weapons… theoretically.
"Well, not quite." Barthees handed Marco something a little less powerful. "You can have a rapid fire lasgun instead. It doesn't matter it your aim's a little shitty, just keep the trigger pulled and you'll kill something eventually."
Marco looked disappointed as he took the weapon and the ammo. He was sad he didn't get a shotgun, but decided not to complain. "Yes sergeant."
Barthees opened up a long crate and pulled out a large weapon. "…and I'll take this beauty." He grinned as he put the strap over his shoulder. The weapon was a combi flame thrower and grenade launcher.
"What the hell do you expe-"
Sam was interrupted by Marco. "Don't ask, or you'll get a lecture like I did."
Everyone exited the q-store and the sergeant locked the door. He led the way to the central elevator; it was the only one of the three elevators which went down to Level Three. When they stepped out into the hall they felt the chill.
"Is that the panic room door there?" Marco asked pointing to a reinforced steel door.
"No, that's one of two containment doors." Barthees replied and walked over to the door; it scanned his eye and the door slip up. "It will only open if it scans one of our eyes."
They walked through, and this time Sam opened the door with an eye scan. Beyond the last containment door they could see the Panic room's door. It looked similar to the containment doors, only it was covered in large metal spikes.
"That looks so cool," Marco said walking up to the door. "I want to open the door this time."
Sam and Barthees looked hesitant; they waited behind the containment door threshold. Both felt a little suspicious about the spiked door.
"Be careful Marco," Sam warned. "Don't get your eye poked out or something."
Having a rapid fire gun made Marco feel more confident. He stood in front of the door and the scanner flashed in his eyes.
Suddenly a red light flashed on the roof; the containment door slammed down and the spiked door began to slide towards Marco.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah! Shit! Open the door!" He ran back to the containment door, screaming to be let out flailing his limbs like an octopus being electrocuted.. "Open the bloody door!"
Sam stood in front of the scanner again; it took what felt like a millennium for the scanner to respond and scan her eyes. To Marco's relief the spiked door stopped and reversed. The containment door also opened, and Marco flew through. "I am not doing that again!" He whimpered.
"The scanner probably made an error when it read your iris," Sam explained. "You have to stand very still when your eyes are being scanned."
"Fine," Marco replied shakily. "You go and try it. I don't want to risk becoming a kebab again."
If she was scared or nervous Sam didn't show it. She walked over and stood still while her eyes were scanned. To everyone's relied, the spikes retracted and the door slid open.
Sam walked in and signalled for the others to follow. "Come on, before it closes or something."
Barthees grabbed Marco by the arm and forced the private to walk into the panic room. Once all three were in, a few seconds later the door closed; they heard the spikes extend again.
"Well, at least we know not to let Marco open the doors." Barthees joked. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with the end of his flame thrower. "I wanted to save these for special occasions, but my brain hurts for nicotine right now."
"I guess even the sergeant can have his nerves tested," Marco whispered to Sam.
The room was long and rectangular; it appeared to be almost completely bare except for a tap for water and a box labelled '24 hour rations'. Spotting the crate, Barthees ran over and ripped the lid off. He emptied the contents on the floor only to look very disappointed.
"Dammit, there really was only rations there. Where the hell could the balls be?" He wondered aloud.
Marco grinned; he walked over and patted Barthees on the shoulder. He decided now was a good time to be assertive like Sam had mentioned. "Sarge, do you really think he'd put them in a crate? You have to think like the Commissar. Think conniving, sadistic and cruel. Remember that lecture?"
Unfortunately Barthees didn't take Marco's assertiveness too well; he turned around and poked Marco's stomach with the barrel of his combi weapons. "Call me 'sarge' one more time private and you'll be wishing you were out there with them Orks."
Marco held up his hands defensively. "Heh, heh… I was just trying to cheer you up…"
"Sarcasm doesn't cheer me up sonny, it pisses me off!" Barthees yelled spraying spittle over Marco's face.
"Sergeant," Sam nodded her head over her shoulder towards the rear wall. There was another door and a piece of paper stuck to it. "Look."
Forgetting Marco Barthees ran over and snatched the paper from off the door. He unfolded it and read it eagerly.
Congratulations, you have managed to get yourself locked inside the panic room. I hope you are wearing your cold weather jackets… otherwise you'll be freezing your balls off. It's a bit chilly outside, you know. Up here in the mountains and all that. There is still hope, however; there's a small ruined resort not far away. Perhaps the Orks will be kind enough to rent you a room for a night.
See you there, then? Well maybe not, I don't need to go to a resort to have a spa bath.
Barthees re-read the message several times over. "Locked inside the panic room..." He muttered. "Sam, see if you can open the door."
Sam walked over to the entrance and waited for the door to scan her eye; but nothing happened. She looked around but saw nothing. "Sergeant… I can't see a door handle or a scanner."
Barthees cursed beneath his breath; he pulled the base manual out from his pocket and flicked it open to the page which had information about the panic room. What he read confirmed his fears. "…The panic room cannot be opened from the inside. The panic room has a three kilometre escape tunnel which leads to the outside in case any personnel accidentally get stuck inside the panic room by accident, or, if personnel need to evacuate the premises."