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Author Topic: Precious Cargo - Chapter 8 - Camptown Races  (Read 1957 times)

Offline jokerman

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Precious Cargo - Chapter 8 - Camptown Races
« on: November 22, 2009, 08:28:25 PM »
<boring stuff>
The following story is copyrighted material and all rights belong solely to the author.  Any reproduction or republication of any or all of this publication without the explicit and expressed written consent from the author is strictly forbidden.
</boring stuff>



Chapter 8 - Camptown Races


Already aware that they had company, the BFM camp was on alert.  Several humans came out to the compound to greet the new arrivals.  All were sizing up the Elite and Spartan.  Some looked at the Grunt that was shuffling next to the Elite.  The Grunt looked all around and waved at the humans as he passed.

“We should stop here and remove the collar before we get too much closer”, the Spartan said.

“Then we eat, right?” the Grunt continued unanswered.

“What is that thing doing in here?” came a shout.  Walking up to the trio was armor that the Spartan recognized.  It was very similar to his own.  This was one of the original Spartan series.

“They’re here to help us, sir”, Liam said.

“Really”, came the reply.

“Yes sir.  They have intel on the enemy”, SüprM@ñ said.

“I’ll bet they do” the other Spartan said harshly.  “Well… what have you got?” he said looking at the two.

The Spartan stepped forward and said, “First of all, do you have any more of these Grunts or anything else that could be wearing one of these collars?”  The Spartan waited for a reply but got none.

“Okay…  This is an explosive device that contains components from both the Spike Grenade and the Firebomb Grenade.  When triggered by remote or weapons fire it will blow off the head of its wearer and kill anyone or anything nearby.  Along with the methane tank on the Grunt, bigger boom.  So… do you have any more of these?” the Spartan asked again.

The group looked at the Grunt but said nothing.  The Spartan looked around and noticed that everyone in the camp wore an armband with the same design.  All were BFM.

“You brought something dangerous in our camp?  Something that can kill us all?” the BFM Spartan asked.

“What do you think ‘we’ are?” the Spartan said motioning to himself and the BFM Spartan.

“Humph” came the reply from the BFM Spartan.  Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Can you safely remove it?”

The Elite said, “Yes, it is a simple matter.  But the methane tank of the Grunt requires a more delicate approach.”

Still looking at the Spartan, the BFM said, “Give him what he needs, I want that thing disarmed, now.”

Liam motioned for the Elite and Grunt to follow.  The Grunt looked up to the Elite and said as he began his lumbering walk, “Don’t forget to show them how to make a Food Nipple.”

“Who are you?” the BFM Spartan demanded.

The Spartan looked at him and said, “Just a someone that answered your request.”  Looking over to the Elite working on the collar, the Spartan could feel the BFM’s eyes burning into the side of his helmet.

From his right, the Spartan heard a voice with a British accent.  This caught him as odd since most accents of this type had evolved into slight variations depending on where the person grew up.  On Old Earth, the peoples of the Americas, Australians and some South Africans evolved a different accent.  And on several of the occupied worlds, all the British descendant colonies had their own variation.  This one was different.  This one was as if the person was actually from the British Isles.

“Perhaps I could help”, said the voice.  The Spartan turned and saw a figure in black armor with a distinct marking on the center of his chest plating.  The Spartan turned to face him and left the BFM Spartan to see his left shoulder.  Feeling shrugged off, the BFM Spartan looked at the newcomer.

The young man with dark hair walked toward the two Spartans.  As he neared, his face turned into a frown.  “Spartan II, is it?” he said.  “Not many of you around anymore.  Well, let’s find out who you are then, shall we?  Would you be so kind as to remove your helmet?”

“Not on your life, ONI.  Back off”, the Spartan said with determination.

“Well then, it appears that we will have to do things the hard way.  Name and rank, if you please”, said the ONI representative with a slight exasperated tone and raising his eyebrows.

“Just mark me under ‘Other’”, came the reply.

“Other?  You Spartan II’s always had an attitude”.  The BFM Spartan turned to the left and faced the ONI representative, cocking his head.  “Present company excepted, of course”, the ONI said quickly.

“Well then, what shall we talk about?  How about your armour?”, the ONI said looking at the dent over the Spartan’s heart.  “Rather a dingy colour, isn’t it?  Is that supposed to be green?  Ha ha!  I think not!” he said laughing and looking around at the others.

The Spartan smiled in his helmet and slowly said, “Emerald”.

“Really.  Because it looks more of a…”.  Suddenly, the ONI representative stopped laughing and his face fell.  Looking up into the visor with his eyes squinted, he said, “What did you just say?”

The Spartan stood without saying another word, grinning in his helmet for none to see.

“You can’t…  They…  You’re dead”, he said stumbling.  Stepping closer he asked cautiously, “Which one are you?”



« Last Edit: November 23, 2009, 11:48:23 PM by jokerman »

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