Chapta Twenty-Six: 01001101 01010000 01000110
Say of Da Day: "…01010111 01100101 01101110 01100100 01111001 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01100110 01101100 01111001 00100001…" – Marco
As fate would have it, catastrophic life changing experiences were taking place simultaneously for both the Tamhurt Orks (who had been sold as slaves and abducted), and for Marco Fezz. For the Imperial Guardsman private, the big life-changing event was the realisation he might die in a small room stuck between a wall and a giant, drooling mad Ork Boss who was standing fixated in the only exit.
The entire afternoon and night, Marco had been alone, perpetually frightened of the Ork, unsure if Sam and the Sergeant were even alive. Computer screens scrolled with binary code as Marco typed to the point of exhaustion. The binary was his only saving grace; he had originally feared that the Ork might snap out of the strange hypnosis at any moment, but it was not so: Stikk'ead had unfailingly stared at the screens of ones and zeros, and they kept the gargantuan Ork immobilised for as long as the screens kept scrolling with coding.
A blob of viscous, rancid smelling slime dripped onto Marco's back. He shuddered, trying not to vomit, and whimpered meekly in disgust as it was absorbed by his clothing and dampened his skin. He peered over his shoulder. To Marco's absolute horror, the Ork Boss was leaning closer, its slackened jaw above him near the ceiling, and its torso jammed in the doorframe, which was now bulging inwards from the strain. Marco couldn't help but think that the Ork was somehow being gravitationally attracted to the computer screens.
"Heretics of Chaos, was the f-" Yelled out Sam's alarmed voice.
"Shh!" Marco interrupted, and tried to keep calm. His dire situation suddenly seemed less likely to end in his demise. He couldn't see his comrades, but it sounded as though they were somewhere up the hall. "Don't wake the Ork or we'll all be in trouble!" He said in a hushed voice over his shoulder.
Sam and Barthees had returned from an overnight hunting trip (which was supposed to be an afternoon hunting trip), and were shocked to see the Ork they recognised to be the Deffskull Boss in their temporary abode.
Marco kept his voice barely above a whisper and let his pent up stress flow from him in a torrent of abuse that was very uncharacteristic of the usually timid private.
"It's been here since yesterday afternoon," Marco snapped angrily, "where the hell have you two been? What were you doing? Exploring every rabbit hole from here to the North Pole? I've been up all night, with a maniac Ork ready to slaughter me, once it snaps back to reality!"
He heard a snicker echo up the hallway.
Unimpressed and even agitated, Marco asked tersely, "Was that Barthees?"
"Yes," Sam replied sounding apologetic. "Ignore him, Marco. You can punch him for it later. What's going on? What do you mean the Ork's been there all night? Why hasn't... why isn't it, well, you know..."
"Demolishing everything? Stomping me into a pancake and cutting me up with that oversized flippin' steak knife?" Marco finished Sam's implication, calming down a little. "This is going to sound weird, but... it seems to be hypnotised by my binary coding. If the code stops scrolling across my screens, it'll wake up, I think. Eeeeuughhhh... Sam, help me, it's drooling on me again! I'm going to vomit all over the keyboard if this keeps up!"
Sam hesitated. "That's going to be difficult."
"Why?"
"Because we're out of ammo for the flamer and shotgun, and we lost the las rifle over a cliff. Long story cut short, we have a couple of pistols but I doubt they'll kill it."
There was a short silence followed by sniffles and sobs.
"But don't worry Marco, we'll get you out." Sam tried to reassure her obviously unassured comrade.
Barthees waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft, what's the problem?"
Sam glared at the sergeant as if to say, 'are you blind?'
"The Ork is paralysed, why can't Marco just crawl between its legs and escape? The big green bastard's obviously not in a hurry to go anywhere." Barthees returned Sam's glare, raising his eyebrow and shrugging. The solution was very simple to him.
He smiled as he saw her expression change; but she wasn't convinced yet. "Were you not listening? Marco is typing; the minute he stops, the Ork's going to wake up. I agree though, if the Ork could be kept catatonic, Marco could just crawl out. Well, hopefully. We should take a closer look before getting ahead of ourselves."
"What are you two talking about?" Marco asked aloud, unable to hear the conversation clearly in his room.
Cautiously, Sam and the sergeant crept closer towards the Ork down the hallway.
"Just a second Marco, we're coming closer," Sam replied.
The pair stopped less than a meter away; the Ork remained still as a statue, not even its gnarled and scarred ears twitching at their approach. Barthees stepped forward and risked a hasty jab, poking an exposed roll of green flesh with his finger, jumping backwards immediately expecting some kind of reaction. Nothing happened, although Sam elbowed him and chastised the sergeant.
"What the hell would have you done if the Ork decided it didn't like being jabbed? Don't do stupid things like that Barthees; at least, not while Marco and I are around to suffer the consequences!"
"Get the pine cone out of your sphinkter, Sam. Nothing happened. Now we know it's probably safe for Marco to crawl out – look, see? There's enough room for him to squeeze through without the Ork waking up."
Marco became very optimistic. "Is there a hole in the wall? Or the roof? I never saw one, but is there?"
"Marco, is there a way you can keep the Ork... pacified, without you having to be at the keyboard?" Sam asked, avoiding answering his question.
"Well, yes, there will be shortly," he replied proudly. "I am coding a basic program that will repeat anything I tell it to in binary. It will be finished shortly."
Sam and Barthees were equally surprised. "Really?"
Marco had a plan, but he wasn't going to elaborate on it; he didn't want to get Sam's hopes up, and it was likely that Barthees would disapprove. "Give me another ten minutes, and I should be done."
While they were waiting, Barthees was running about looking for something. He eventually came back with what looked like a pair of bolt cutters.
"You didn't think I'd forgotten about those pool balls now, did you Sam?" Barthees said, testing the tool. It was a bit stiff, but he kept flexing them and they loosened slightly.
"I am NOT retrieving those!" Marco yelled out, fearful Barthees was going to make him get the pool ball necklace from around the Ork's neck.
"No need, I can get them," Barthees replied chirpily.
The sergeant's obsession made Marco seriously consider the mental integrity of his superior, making the private all the more certain he was doing the right thing. He pressed enter on the keyboard, and his program initiated. Screens were full of zeroes and ones, as they processed the data and cycled through pre-made data packets that Marco had diligently typed during the long hours of the night.
"It's working!" Marco removed his hands from the keyboard, tired and relieved.
Always eager to depress Marco, Barthees asked, "Do you want the good news, or the bad news?"
They heard Marco whimper.
"It's not so bad," Sam quickly interjected. "Barthees is just trying to stir you up. You just... look, don't freak out, but you will need to crawl out of the room between the Ork's legs. Nothing's going to happen, you have the program running, right?"
"Oh my God-Emperor!"
Marco was freaking out; Sam and Barthees could hear the private as he began to wind himself up into a panic attack.
"Once your head heals, I'm going to drop a bloody anvil on it," Sam hissed at Barthees.
She got down on her knees, and made her way up behind Stikk'ead. She leant forwards and stuck her arm out, lifting the loin cloth so she could see into the room. Marco saw her face, and seemed to calm down somewhat.
"That's pretty awesome," she said nodding towards the computers. "I never would have guessed you could do stuff like that. Ow! Barthees, get the hell off my back you ass-wipe!"
"Gimme a sec," he used Sam as a footstool to climb up onto Stikk'ead's back, and sheared through the thick rope of the Boss's necklace with the bolt cutters. He pulled the string of coloured spheres free, but one of them fell to the floor, making a loud clatter, bouncing onto the keyboard. "Oops... Marco, would you mind picking that one up for me?"
Marco swivelled around, not out of generosity but out of fear that the ball pressed something it shouldn't have. He checked to make sure the program as still running; thankfully, it was. He picked up the plastic sphere; it was the black eight ball, and was surprisingly unscathed after having spent a long time hanging around an Ork's neck.
Over Marco's shoulder, Sam saw something grey appear on part of the screen that she could see. "Marco, something popped up on the computer."
He looked up; the computer displayed a message, written not in binary but in written language.
THE HERETICS WILL BURN.
Beneath the short message was some kind of number sequence.
"Sam, what's this?" Marco asked, and moved so she could see the screen.
What felt like an electric zap radiated from her solar plexus. "Crap! Those look like GPS coordinates; and... what looks like a timer just appeared beneath it."
Marco read the new text. "Time until satellite in range... two minutes and forty five seconds... oh boy."
A rumble resonated deep in Stikk'ead's throat; the Ork was beginning to stir. Its eyes blinked, slack lips began to draw back in a snarl, and its chest expanded as it took in a long, deep breath.
Marco squealed like a little girl, and removed the grey window from the screen so it wasn't covering the binary. Immediately the Ork seemed to becomes unfocused and resume staring at the coding.
"Hurry up!" Sam snapped, beginning to lose patience. I don't want to be here sixty seconds from now!"
Marco dived head first for the gap between the calves of the Ork's massive dinosaur-like legs and started crawling through; he was almost out when he heard another rumble from the Ork, and it moved ever so slightly that Marco became partially jammed between its bulging calves. He couldn't look over his shoulder to see if something had gone wrong, but the smell of burning wires was a fairly obvious indication that perhaps the old hardware had given in. Sam grabbed his wrist with her good arm, and pulled him out, dragging the meek private to his feet.
Adrenaline aided in a fast escape; Barthees was already running down the hall ahead of them, and in the few seconds it took for Sam and Marco to reach the end of the corridor, Stikk'ead had smashed the door frame he was lodged in like it was made from twigs and rice paper. The Ork roared incoherent babble that neither of them understood a single word of, aside from 'waagh!'. The Ork, it seemed, had woken up in an extremely ill temper, and was demolishing everything surrounding it.
Sam and Marco headed for the front doors held open by the sergeant. As they ran out, he swung it shut and started wrapping a rusty chain around the handle and an exposed beam.
"It's an Ork, and that's a wooden door," Sam blurted hurriedly, a little confused by Barthees.
The sergeant looked from the chain to the door. "Oh, right... never mind. Keep running!"
Marco needed no encouragement to obey; the sargent lead the way down the dirt path to the valley, the guttural, psychotic garble of the Ork echoed around the valley and sounded ever closer – the door to the decrepit building exploded outwards in a thousand splinters with the force of a dozen grenades detonating, and Stikk'ead appeared. The three Guardsmen looked around; there was barely fifty metres between them and malevolent green death.
The private grabbed something from his pocket, an anger never seen by Sam or Barthees overcoming the weary private as though he were possessed; he charged a few metres, and threw something straight at Stikk'ead.
"Keep your slobber to yourself, you filthy Nurgle-spawned stinking steroid-pumped meat slab! Get some bloody lessons in hygiene, your mouth smells like a latrine in summer!"
"Clearly, he needs a nanny nap," Barthees commented as he watched Marco hurtle a small object into the gaping mouth of the Ork, lodging itself in Stikk'ead's throat. The Ork stopped yelling, now choking and spluttering, like it had swallowed a very large fly.
Recovered from his momentary rage-fit, Marco regained his quivering, frightened normal self and ran faster than a Gretchin from a shokk attack gun; Sam and Barthees followed in his wake.
The three Imperial Guardsmen ran as fast as their legs would carry them from the communications post. From some reserve in their bodies, a second round of adrenaline gave them the steam to sprint down the goat-trodden trail despite their less than favourable health.
FOOM!
A ray of light came down from the heavens, spearing the communications post, obliterating the decades-old building as it caught alight instantaneously; its timbers and mortar exploded from between the walls of the mountain, spraying a fan of burning debris down the slopes of the valley.
The tremor of the explosion caused some localised rock fall, but the Guardsmen were far enough away to come out unscathed. They didn't even stop to watch the thick clouds of dust and smoke billow out of the rift in the wall.
It wasn't until Marco slowed to a walk, nearly collapsing and gasping for breath, did they stop. The sergeant was quite willing to jog on, but was apprehended on the collar by Sam.
"Take it easy Marco, I think we're safe for the moment. I can't hear the Ork." Sam helped her comrade to sit down on a rock so he could catch his breath. "And it's not exactly concerned with discretion."
Barthees scanned the valley looking for signs of life. "I don't see anything, but that means nothing. We're going to have to get the hell out of here quick smart though, I bet my stripes that blast was heard – and possibly seen – by Orks in these mountains."
"Give us a few minutes to gain our breaths," Sam retorted irritably. "Marco's not an athlete, and neither you nor I are in any shape to be sauntering across the Alps! We need to pace ourselves."
Barthees grumbled but Marco interrupted before the sergeant could voice his objection. "What are we going to do now? We're going to die out here, aren't we? In our sleep, in a snow storm, half starved and smelling like Ork..."
"We never did get to tell you the good news, did we?" Marco was surprised to see a smile on Sam's face as she spoke confidently. His hopes lifted just above zilch.
The sergeant also seemed to perk up at the mention on the news. He took it on himself to explain. "That's right, we got distracted. There was a reason we were gone overnight, and came back empty handed."
Marco sat rigid, his heart fluttering as he listened to Sam and Barthees explain how they found a way back to their base.
"...Sam said she'd gone exploring in one of the sentinels a few days ago. Yesterday she thought she recognised some of the terrain in the distance, so we decided to see if we could get a better view. Sam intrepidly believes she has spotted the two peaks our base is located between. We now have a direction to follow, but it could still be a couple of days travel or more. There is a road that heads in that direction. I assume it was originally carved through the rocks by humans, but now obviously is used by Orks to cross the ranges."
The private was relieved at the real possibility of making it home in one piece. Marco put his hands on his cheeks and let out a long sigh of relief. Though exhausted, he immediately wanted to press on. He only had one concern.
"This road you mentioned; wouldn't it be busy with Ork traffic?"
Sam and Barthees both sat down on rocks of their own.
"I never said this was going to be stroll in the park," she began tentatively but with conviction. "I observed the road overnight and it appears to be quiet; it had minimal traffic and most of it was bikes and trucks. It looks like it was once a highway but is now in very poor condition; trees and shrubs are growing around the edges. On either side of the road there is a plateau cut into the mountain side that I assume was designed to prevent rock fall onto the highway. We can walk on that, rather than the road itself, and be able to hide if we hear anything coming with relative ease. The man-made escarpment is elevated about nine metres above the road, so it's hard to see anything up on there from below."
Ten minutes later, having agreed on the plan to follow the highway most of the way, the trio got up and followed Sam's lead at a quick pace. They stopped once at a spring to drink, fill their canisters, clean their wounds and wash as much as they could without wetting their clothing.
It was afternoon by the time the Guardsmen were out of the valley; Sam stopped and pointed to an unusual looking gorge with straight edges in the distance. "That's the highway," she told Marco, "we will have to climb down the sides to get onto the plateau. We should get there by late afternoon after we have lunch."
"Lunch? We don't have anything left – you didn't bring anything back..." Marco reminded her.
"Another surprise!" Barthees butted in. "We did actually catch something. We got a goat; cooked some of it up and buried it. Figured it was just as easy to leave it here for us, once we knew we could get to the base."
Barthees instructed Marco to come with him, and the pair moved aside a slab of rock which revealed recently upturned but compacted, cold, icy gravel and dirt. They only had to dig a few centimetres before they found a thin sheet of rock; the meat had been sandwiched between two pieces of shale with snow packed around it.
"I cooked it myself while Sam scouted the highway overnight. I ate some last night as well, obviously; no point starving."
Marco was surprised that for once the sergeant didn't sound obnoxious towards him. He could understand the need to eat whenever possible in a survival situation and chose not to comment on going hungry and being frightened to death while Barthees and Sam had a banquet.
The meaty meal was divided evenly and the three ate as they walked; they could hear faint echoes and chose not to test their luck by stopping for a lunch break. The going was good; they were walking on mostly level ground except for blocks of rock which jutted out here and there. Snow had not fallen over night, and the sky was patchy, posing no immediate threat to the travellers. Sam hoped the weather would hold, but the longer they went on the chances of snow or rain increased. She was thankful it was not the middle of winter or they would have been almost surely doomed.
Nearly three hours later, when the sun was beginning to set, Sam, Barthees and Marco were on their stomachs gazing carefully over the edge of a rock ledge at the highway below. It was a very wide span, with remnants of tarmac and cement showing on the otherwise ruined surface; through continual use and no heed to maintenance for one centaury, the Orks had worked the road down to mostly bedrock and bare dirt. Bits of wreckage from a totalled Warbike or plundered trukk lay scattered along the edges here and there among the scrub which lined the highway, little more than twisted lumps of rust left behind after a "salvage" operation.
The plateau was beneath the Guardsmen, approximately twelve metres down a somewhat steep incline, but not so steep as to be impossible to navigate down with care, and made of solid rock. The incline had been worn over time and there were plenty of crevices and a few weeds growing from cracks to provide hand holds. The plateau itself looked to be five metres wide and overgrown with grass, bushes and a few spindly, neglected trees. Rocks, boulders and loose gravel also covered the plateau, providing reasonable amount of semi bullet-proof cover.
In the distance, in the direction which the three wished to travel, was the rumbling and spluttering of an engine. The three companions lay still and observed as the noise grew louder, and watched silently as a trukk laden with what appeared to be barrels sped past, its engine fading into silence shortly after.
"That appears to be the last vehicle in the vicinity for now. I suggest we make the most of the dimming light and climb down."
Sam did not wait for a reply; she climbed over the edge feet first, with her stomach to the rock. She carefully but steadily began to descend.
Barthees and Marco followed suit, climbing down either side of Sam. Marco was far slower, and though he felt fear, the safety that the plateau promised gave him the courage to worm his way down the incline.
When he reached the bottom he walked a few feet away and crouched with the others, behind some tall grass.
"We'll rest here the night," Sam advised them, "We'll travel better when we're not all faint from exhaustion."
Barthees and Sam decided to split picket duty between them; it was Sam's intention to let Marco sleep as much as he could, being the most sleep deprived of the three. No fires were lit, and their small camp was made behind a boulder with a screen of scrub surrounding them.
Marco was uncomfortable, but his weariness dragged him into the depths of sleep almost as soon as he lay down and curled up on his side. He did not dream that night; or at least he could not recall any dreams when, twelve hours later, he was shaken gently awake.
"Stay quiet," Sam's voice whispered somewhere close to his face. Marco's eyes were still blurry and he struggled to stop them from rolling back his skull, as his brain protested being forced to wake up. "No immediate threats, but there's been a few bikes out and about. We don't want to attract the locals, so don't move around much or speak unless necessary."
Marco's eyes protested; it was mid early morning and the sun was peeking over the peaks, blinding him. "Why don't we wait until nightfall to leave again?" He suggested blearily – he still felt like he was exhausted.
"The sooner we get back to base, the better." Sam patted Marco on the shoulder encouragingly with her good arm. "We're sitting ducks if the weather turns foul." She decided it was better not to remind Marco of their more pressing concerns of Orks.
The trio trudged their way along the plateau after a meagre breakfast of goat meat and water. Sam scouted ahead, but progress was slow; almost every ten minutes they had to stop and hide while Orks drove past below them, on their various shabby vehicles. The traffic eased up after approximately three O'clock, and the trio took advantage of this, pushing themselves to make up for snail pace earlier in the day.
They stopped only for meal breaks and to hide now and then, until they finally made camp in the pitch black – they dared not risk using any form of light source. In the morning, Marco felt slightly better than the previous morning; he was sore and smelly, but he was now almost caught up on his sleep (he was not required for piquet again which helped immensely). Feeling he ought to contribute in some way, he dug a shallow latrine out behind a slab of collapsed rock (Marco tried not to dwell on the giant charred crater on the slope above his head).
Barthees cheerfully christened the hole, followed by Sam and Marco. The highway was quiet, so they decided to eat on the go, after washing their hands. The two peaks which the base was somewhere between were tantalisingly close; Sam estimated they would possibly reach the base by early afternoon the following day, if there weren't any major obstacles (like vertical cliffs).
By early afternoon the highway was curving away from their target peaks; it was time to climb down the escarpment and cross the highway, into the wilderness once again. It had also begun to snow; as soon as there was utter silence below, and no Orks in sight, Sam urged Marco and Barthees down the steep rocky wall. Once on horizontal ground again, the trio ran across the span that was the decrepit highway.
To Marco, the road was suddenly much wider now that he was at the same level as it; he was three quarters of the way across when he heard the distinct sound of war bikes racing rapidly closer. The three dived behind a pock-marked cement barricade just in time. The pack leader thundered past followed shortly after by a group of war bikes. The Imperials remained motionless behind their pock-marked barricade, hands over ears and their insides vibrated from the noise, dust and bits of gravel flying over their heads. Marco coughed from the fumes and dust, but he was in no danger of being overheard, for Sam and Barthees couldn't even hear him over the racket.
"That was close," Barthees said when the Orks were gone. "I hope they stay on the road..."
"Perhaps we should find somewhere to set up camp, and light a fire? There might be a cave or hollow, down there." Marco gestured to the valley they were about to enter off the side of the road. "If this snow gets heavy..."
Sam appeared to be considering the options; but she didn't look too happy. "I don't want to light a fire down there, so close to the highway," she sighed, "but we may have no choice..."
Barthees also sighed. "Why don't we jump one of the green bastards and steal its friggin ride? Even if the lump of rust didn't work we could still burn the fuel and maybe get another jacket."
"Because," Sam said exasperatedly, "I doubt we'd stand much of a chance with just pistols. They put the most outrageous guns on their vehicles – even the bikes!"
The sergeant continued to argue his case, suggesting they could roll a boulder down the escarpment onto unsuspecting Greenskins below when they drove past. He had only made the suggestion with the intention of trying to stir up Sam (a sign, perhaps, that he was recovering from his injuries), who was the most alert and serious of the three currently, but quickly shut up when she glared at him with a look that would have made even Stikk'ead think twice about taking the stout Imperial on.
In a very malevolent Silence, Sam led the way wordlessly down the slope into the valley. The further they walked, the more trees surrounded them. It was as though Orks had not bothered cutting, burning and in general pillaging the forest within the valley.
"At least if it snows, we'll have some cover," Marco spoke in an attempt to break the unbearable silence. But he was simply told to be quiet.
"No unnecessary talking," Sam said in a hushed voice, glancing from side to side. Marco did not seem to notice her vigilance, trudging along glumly.
His spirits were not damp for long – they came upon a rock ledge which they could shelter beneath, that was surrounded by trees; it was not a luxury, but it was some form of shelter. They raked up dry leaf litter and pine needles forming a mound beneath the ledge, making it into a very rudimentary bed to be shared by all.
The three huddled together in their nest, Sam in the middle because Barthees complained very loudly about Marco's Orky stench and refused to lean against him. They took it turns to stay awake and stay alert for movement in the forest beyond.
Marco had the middle shift; it was pitch black, the middle of the night, and it had been snowing – the air was bitterly cold, and his mouth issued a cloud of steam with every breath. He was not as frightened as when he had spent the most god-awful night in the presence of Stikk'ead, but his heart still raced at the mere thought of what might be lurking nearby. He held his breath at every sound; the slipping of snow from a branch, the fluttering of wings from a nearby bird... none of which lead to his demise, but still invoked fear in the young private.
He could only guess how much time had passed, but when he was at the point of falling asleep he felt it would be prudent to wake the next watch, Barthees.
When dawn came, Marco was woken up. He was happy to find he had not been eaten during the night. The possibility of sleeping in a warm bed deep inside their cosy, safe, underground base seemed to be on all their minds – everyone, including Sam, were in far better spirits than any of them had been in for days.
"Don't let your guard down," Sam lectured them over a very meagre breakfast – their goat meat was almost all gone. "And certainly don't do anything stupid, like yelling or laughing. This forest... seems a little too tranquil for my liking. The fact such an unscathed forest exists so close to an Ork camp puzzles me."
Barthees was quite contented to let Sam continue giving orders and lead the way once again. It was far better travelling, it was no longer snowing and the canopy had prevented the ground from becoming too thickly covered in ice to hinder their progress. They did not stop for lunch, having no goat meat left, powered by clutching to the hope their legs could bring them back home before nightfall.
Shortly after noon, the trio emerged from the top of the valley onto a plateau; it was still forested, but Sam was very sure they were close to base now. She led them through the forest, around the side of another peak, and there, below them in the saddle, they saw the barren dirt and rock which their beloved base lay beneath. Their stomachs rumbled together in harmony.
"Blessed, blessed, blessed home," Barthees whispered in utter bliss, falling to his knees, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He began bowing up and down, arms stretched out, worshipping the sight before him.
Sam walked off, leaving him behind. "You can praise whatever you like once we're inside." Marco followed her, and Barthees scrambled after them.
Contrary to Marco's original belief, getting inside the base did not prove difficult – the paranoid and untrusting private had been expecting some last ditch effort from the Commissar to make the final stage of their perilous journey difficult. It would have been easy for him to change the pass code or lock them out through mechanical failure...
Or maybe he thought we were already dead, Marco mused. No questions asked - it was that callous bastard who arranged to have the satellite attack us.
Indeed, the trio may have made it inside, but they were about to receive one last, final hurdle. Just when everyone thought the worst was over, while they were still at the bottom of the steps, the entrances shut tight around them, and a red light flashed on the wall. An alarm blared so loudly it left them a little stunned.
Warning, contamination. Warning, contamination, Warning, contamination.
The three covered their ears; the siren repeating the two words over and over.
"Crap!" Sam shouted, but no one could really hear her. "How the hell do we shut that thing up?"
Marco stood hunched over, looking petrified, and shrugged. Barthees yelled for Sam to repeat what she had said, but before she could, a panel on one of the walls slid open revealing a large cubic void. The blaring siren changed its lines, now repeating 'place all contaminated clothing inside the hole for decontamination'.
The three looked at each other horrified. This had the obvious implications of stripping.
"How about we just put everything but our underwear inside, and see if that shuts it up?" Sam suggested, hollering at the top of her lungs to compete with the excessively noisy alarm.
Marco and Barthees immediately began emptying their pockets and stripped down, hurrying to free their hands so they could clamp them over their ears again. They looked at Sam as if to say 'hurry up'. She hesitated.
"Close your eyes," she demanded at last, almost snarling. "And turn around."
Marco and Barthees complied immediately. No one was going to argue with Sam today. A minute later, the siren stopped. Sam and Barthees gingerly removed their hands off their ringing ears.
FFFFSSSSSHHH!
The pair jumped to the opposite wall in fright, feeling a wave of heat radiating onto their backs. As welcome as the warmth was, the experience was made unpleasant due to the roaring.
Shocked, Barthees and Marco huddled against the wall, looking over their shoulders at the source of their fright – the hole where they had placed their clothing now resembled a small sun. Jets of flame gushed from the walls of the hole, incinerating the contents within. The flames stopped as abruptly as they started, leaving the three in silence.
Barthees stared round-eyed at the pile of ash that was scattered in the hole, down the wall and on the floor. "Well, bloody hell! Good thing we never had our hands in that when it started!"
Marco just stood trying to cover himself, with the appearance of a frightened rabbit.
Sam, on the other hand, was still partially dressed in her under wear and a shirt. She looked at the hole with narrowed eyes. "I had my suspicions..."
"You could have told us about your suspicions!" Barthees snapped indignantly.
Before the conversation could continue, the hole in the wall closed, and from the roof and floor great clouds of vapour gushed out as violently into the small confined room as the flames had into the incinerator. Marco and Barthees danced around squealing as much because the vapour was dead cold as because it was extremely forceful. The remnants of their possessions that had littered the ground flew around like bits of confetti, turning the room into a life-sized snow globe.
The vapour cleansing lasted longer than the incinerator, but when it was finally over and the door unlocked once again, the red flashing light turned to an unwavering green, Sam was the only one with any dignity left.
She averted her eyes as she spoke. "You two can go first... I'll wait until you've had time to grab towels and get in the shower."
Marco bent over to grab his things, but was hastily ushered out by Sam. "I'll carry your things; get your naked butt out."
An hour later, after taking very long, warm, soapy showers, the trio were eating a feast of baked beans in the mess hall. After being forced to live it rough in the mountains for several days, the canned food was in far higher standing than it had been before their little adventure. Barthees even licked the tins clean.
Marco was scraping the sauce off the sides of his can with his spoon. "You know... I'm not entirely certain if I want to go near the medical bay."
They had been discussing their injuries, and whether it was worth activating a currently hibernating 'medicae servitor' – essentially, a cyborg human that specialised in medical procedures and nothing else - sealed away in a cryo tube near the semi-autonomous medical equipment. Barthees insisted it was probably homicidal, malfunctioning, and a lover of Orks and best left alone.
"The medical bay would almost have to be the most expensive part of this base," Sam reasoned. "I don't mean it doesn't seem fishy... after what just happened... but, as Barthees has stated before, if the Commissar wants to truly punish someone down here-" she gave the Sergeant an icy glare "-he wants to make our lives a living hell, and that means, well, living to experience the hell. Keeping us alive for longer is best done by treating our injuries."
"That doesn't mean he wouldn't give us a nutter for a servitor," Barthees counter argued. "Imagine what it could do to us – you might go in to get your shoulder fixed, and come out with a third arm attached! You can't tell me the old bastard isn't that sadistic."
"He did try to vaporise up with the satellite..." Marco prompted. "I'm not entirely sure he does want us alive. Maybe he's trying to kill us off one by one."
Nobody could come to an agreement about what to do; they all wanted a perfectly good medicae servitor, it would exponentially increase the quality of their lives, but there was a high probability that opening the cryo tube would be like opening Pandora's box. In the end, they had voted, and Sam was the only one in favour of activating the servitor.
The rest of the day they relaxed, after treating themselves with what they had – Sam had some knowledge of advanced first aid and was able to treat their wounds enough to let them heal cleanly, and advise give Barthees medications for his head.
One by one they fell asleep on their bunks, finally allowed to rest on a comfortable bed without fear or Ork raids.
Marco had no idea what time it was when he awoke. He got up to go to the toilet and went back to his bunk, laying in blissful comfort, turning over yesterday's medical discussions over in his mind.
It was easy enough to slap a few bandages over their wounds, but Marco knew without some kind of surgery Sam's left arm would almost certainly never recover to its full strength – she had a shallow crater on her shoulder, and he didn't need to be a doctor to know that that was going to have repercussions. He was amazed at her resilience for soldiering on through the mountains, taking lead the way she did – risking her life for their safety. He felt guilty, now... he had voted against activating the servitor. What if it was perfectly normal? Sam might be impaired forever because of his cowardice...
He wasn't sure he could live with letting Sam suffer silently; on the other hand, he feared what the servitor might do to them if it really was homicidal or if it was mentally unstable – servitors only had a limited number of years before their human brains, having been tampered with to fulfil their destined role only, began to malfunction.
We could just have our weapons at the ready. If it acts abnormal, we could kill it before it has a chance to harm us. At least that way we can activate it and see if it's okay.
It seemed to be the obvious solution; they had only come close to discussing the possibility Marco was pondering about the previous day when Barthees had suggested borrowing the cannons of one of the walkers. It had been such an absurd suggestion, and their minds were probably clouded by their tiredness, that the obvious solution had not been recognised. He was sure even Barthees would approve of this approach.