A tall, wiry man sprang to attention. He had sharp features.
“Seems a little plain after Onisako,” Mba said.
“It’s my name sir,” the wiry man said.
A snicker spread through the volunteers. Binta silenced it with a scowl.
“Did they explain blade-names to you?” Mba asked.
Jahn nodded. “I was going to use ‘Maw,’ on account of I have big teeth, but I figured it might be in bad taste.”
“Everybody,” Mba said, waving his hand. “This is Dummy.”
The stationhouse erupted in laughter.
“Foots?” Mba asked, reading another name.
A woman with shoulder-length, kinky locks nodded and snapped crisply to attention.
“Why?” Mba said, shaking his head.
“From my past, sir,” she said. “My ex-husband’s father always said ‘Woman, you have some pretty foots’.”
“Do you?”
“I can remove my boots and show you, sir,” Foots replied.
“Later,” Mba said.
He continued reading. “Furs?” Mba continued. He looked up and recognized Bunseki, the veteran constable from the Ndeleya furrier building.
“Back from the dead, sir,” Bunseki said, his dark eyes steady.
“Good to have you with us,” Mba said. “We’ll still call you Bunseki; Daarila knows you have seen as much action as any captain.”
Mba’s back ached. He decided he’d make the acquaintance of the rest of the recruits later. Right now, he needed a drink.
CHAPTER twenty-three
Jima watched Kundo cross the stationhouse, his footsteps echoing heavily but ringing hollow in the open space. Then, to Jima’s naked senses, it seemed like the big man’s movements started to slow, become labored, as though the air was thickening around him, solidifying as the past crowded in. A tremor of panic constricted Jima’s scarred chest and caught at his breath. His pulse thumped under his skinless hands and throbbed in his ears. The seconds grew sluggish. He pulled his hood over his lidless eyes to shut the memories out. Time was slowing down. Jima drew a long breath. A tremor wracked him.
Jima watched Sheeka’s approach through the clear curtain draped over his bed of herbs and aromatic flowers. She was a rough drawing, a smeared sketch, distorted by the gossamer cloth.
Kundo was always there, somewhere in the background – a tall wide shadow, hovering just out of sight. Sometimes he spoke to Sheeka; just reassuring words about Jima’s surviving squad members, about how his service and sacrifice would be rewarded; his family would be looked after. It was always so cold there on that bed of herbs and flowers.
Sheeka’s features were blurred by the curtain – a cloth with powerful healing abilities imported from Fez – that kept him alive. Her face was obscured by a surgical mask. They kept the light low in Jima’s room as he adjusted to a life with lidless eyes.
“Hello,” Sheeka said, the first time she worked up the nerve. His wife’s hazel eyes were dark in the gloom.
Jima lifted a bandaged arm before gingerly setting it back in a nest of brown-stained bandages.
“Are you…?” she asked, her voice shaky. She took a step toward him. “Can you…?” She continued another step. “Do you need a medicine priest?”
Jima hissed as he pushed the thought away with a painful wave of his hand.
“Does it hurt very much?” she had asked. Sheeka had a direct way of asking questions that sometimes made her sound naïve or ridiculous.
The absurdity was too much for Jima and he broke into a painful chuckle. His laughter spiraled upward, soon taking on an insane ring. The pain of the action is all that kept him from sinking into madness.
“You could say that,” he finally hissed.
Sheeka took another hesitant step forward. She searched his blurred shadow for clues. “I’m sorry, Nire. I just don’t know what to do.”
Jima watched her silently through the curtain. She regarded his shrouded shape. “Please, Nire,” she said. “You have to help me.”
Something, the herbs perhaps, caused Jima to laugh again – a humorless chuckle with a mocking tone.
She shuffled two steps backward and then turned to leave.
“Wait,” Jima said, unable to soften his tone without lips. His voice came out sharp, almost angry.
Sheeka spoke over her shoulder. “The medicine priests said they are growing you new skin; a process they learned from the medicine priests of Kamit.”
Jima could not contain himself; he giggled hysterically. He tried to wrestle his laughter under control before Sheeka took it personally again. He lifted a hand and swatted the curtain. The action left a streak of infection. He started chuckling again.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Sheeka cried. “I can’t take it if you…”
“I know you can’t take it!” Jima spat, interrupting her. “Trust me, you can’t.”
Sheeka shook her head. She understood what Jima was doing. She could hear the release in what he said.
“You left me before this happened,” Jima said, struggling with his rage. “And you only returned when you found out you were pregnant.”
“We were working it out,” Sheeka croaked.
“Go!” Jima barked. He looked away.
“Surai needs her father,” Sheeka said weakly.
“Her father’s dead,” Jima hissed.
“You’re just upset,” Sheeka cried. “You need time.”
Jima turned toward her and then clawed at the bandages on his face. His fingers and hands burned, his cheekbones radiated pain. He surged toward the curtain to show her; so she could see what the Gnaw Maws left.
“You will leave later,” he screamed. “So go, now!”
The overpowering call of a bull elephant tore Jima from the past.
It was time to Tiptoe, even though Jima had no toes to tip. He chuckled at the thought.
CHAPTER twenty-four
Mba took a seat at the table well away from Iya Siju, Bande and the Old Man. They were studying something on a scroll.
Mba half-turned in his chair, slid his little calabash out of his jacket pocket and then took a quick nip. He kept the bottle low as he studied the group at the front of the lunchroom, and then upended the calabash for another swig.
Kundo entered the room. He locked his gaze on Mba and frowned.
“Oops.” Mba said with a shrug. “Busted.”
Kundo shook his head. “It wouldn’t take a great detective; I can smell you through the door.”
“It’s just to keep my hands steady,” Mba said. “I’ve been going too long.”
Kundo walked up to the table. He lowered his voice. “Are you ever sober?”
“Only when it’s absolutely necessary,” Mba replied. “Hasn’t been necessary for a while.”
“You need shuteye,” Kundo said. He held his hand out until Mba placed the calabash in it. The big man opened it and took a drink, before handing it back. “You’re too old to run on wine and no sleep, Mba. But I know how you work.”
Mba slipped his calabash away. “How are we going to Tiptoe in on elephants?” Mba asked. “And Badundu is too far away to hoof it, so…”
“You won’t be riding elephants,” Kundo replied. “Oga’koi-koi will be your transports.”
The oga’koi-koi – the “Sand Creeper” – a massive creature whose corpse had served as transport on many missions throughout the lands of Ki-Khanga when stealth was of utmost importance. The giant, red, worm-like monsters, controlled by telepaths or necromancers, carried riders inside its diamond-hard husk as it burrowed through earth, sand and stone as a fish swims in the sea. While the husk was mortal, the oga’koi koi’s easily controlled mind was immortal, making it the perfect transport or mobile home.
Mba believed that one day, these giant undead creatures would wake up and digest the riders inside them. In over a thousand years of their use, it had not happened, but it was inevitable. He swallowed hard. His gut felt as if his intestines were tying themse
lves into slip knots around his liver and strangling it.
“Nobody wanted to touch you, Mba,” Kundo said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I know you still have what it takes. I know half of what you’ve done – and continue to do – to yourself is punishment for what you did to Jima and the squads.”
Mba grunted.
Kundo tilted his chin toward the recruits. “They’re young. They only know stories. They’ve heard djele sing of the day. They’ve grown up with their nursery rhymes and bogeymen, but it’s always been a distant thing, blanketed in peacetime. It’s been a game. They don’t know the hell they might be getting into.” He turned to face Mba. “They’ve got to go where only a captain with your skill and experience could lead them.”
Mba felt his chest constrict.
CHAPTER twenty-five
Mba shot a glance at Jima and then rolled his eyes as he walked past him.
The old freak had muttered something that made Binta smile. Mba didn’t know if it was an in-joke and he didn’t care. He didn’t want Jima spoiling the feeling of nostalgia that rose in him as he approached two massive worms, whose heads protruded from the ground in the field at the rear of the stationhouse.
Huge lamps containing scores of glowflies were embedded in the flesh of the oga’koi-koi. Gnaw Maws hated bright light – a side effect of possessing lidless eyes.
Each Sand Creeper had a number engraved on its face. This pair was #1 and #2.
#1’s pilot, who stood outside of her transport chatting with a few constables, wore the common indigo uniform of the squads. Her mask read “Digger.” Her black hair was braided back into a tight bun. She had bright dark brown eyes, red-brown skin and scores of freckles all over her cheeks and nose.
Oga’koi-koi #2 was the supply and barracks transport. #2’s young, but massively muscled pilot bore the blade-name Swole. #2 would also be used for squad extraction if anything happened to #1.
Mba ignored Digger’s salute as he strode into #1’s mouth. He walked to the back of the creature and took a seat on a chair carved out of the walls formed by the oga’koi-koi’s stone-like flesh. He perused his surroundings. To the left was a narrow chamber carved into the wall. This was the room where passengers relieved themselves.
Opposite that was a mini-galley that contained crates of water, bread and oxen jerky.
There was antiseptic in the air, but Mba caught a whiff of funk, like the ass of a rhinoceros after it ran a marathon. Oga’koi-koi always reeked a bit – they were dead, after all.
Just behind the mouth of the creature was the pilot’s cabin.
The rest of the body was the main compartment – a capacious bay that could hold up to twenty squad members, with their weapons and equipment. There were several puckered scars where pipes had been stubbed out on the walls and on the armrests between the squad couches that ran the length of the compartment. Weapon and equipment lockers lined the walls behind the couches. Overhead, more lockers held medical kits, torches and lamps. Also embedded in the wall were sleeping couches for two command officers, with an indigo curtain draped across each one.
Mba turned to see Binta and Kundo with Iya Siju and Jima enter the oga’koi-koi.
“Why do we only have nineteen recruits?” Binta asked, looking up from the roster on her scroll. “Makes us one short a full squad.”
“You’ll pick up your extra man at the Badundu roadblock,” Kundo said. “We had to pull a few strings to get him.” He gave Binta a reassuring look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jima hissed from under his hood.
“It’s Kanan Biko,” Kundo said.
“Biko…” Jima trailed off. He picked at his scarred palm to jog his memory
“He went to prison,” Mba said. He remembered Biko from back during the First Outbreak. He was a career constable who jumped into squad-work with gusto.
“He has been given a special pardon,” Kundo said. “We need his skills.”
“Didn’t he kill his own squad?” Jima said.
“The Mujedin Building Outbreak is still classified,” Kundo replied.
Jima’s eyes flashed under his hood.
“I can tell you that his squad encountered a highly infectious form of Bacillus,” Kundo explained. “Everyone who was bitten turned.”
“His whole squad was bitten?” Jima said. If he had lips he would have smirked.
“How could he be sure?” Kundo sighed. “He acted. You know how it goes – hesitate and lose the world.”
“He has responded well to our treatment,” Iya Siju explained.
“He won’t respond well to mine,” Mba threatened, “If he goes mad.”
“Checks and balances,” Kundo said. “His inclusion in this mission tells you how important it is that you succeed.”
CHAPTER twenty-six
Mba’s eyes snapped open. It was dark. He wondered where he was. It took a minute to figure it out. He was lying on a sleeping couch.
He had almost fallen asleep in the galley – he felt his senses dimming; even his taste for drink left him. He had squeezed past recruits who were packing the oga’koi-koi, mumbled something and then shambled to the recess in the wall. Constables took shifts sleeping on blankets on the floor of the transport.
Mba’s bulk heaved and swayed. They were moving. He identified a couple of voices outside of the curtain that gave him privacy while he slept.
Toy and Dummy were passing the time with a bit of competition – seeing who could come up with the best rhyme. Dummy was winning; Toy’s poem was terrible, so that came as no surprise to Mba. The others in the transport were listening or taking a nap.
Mba felt the transport stop. He climbed down from the couch and strode to the pilot’s cabin.
“What is going on?” He asked. “Where are we?”
“We are just past a roadblock,” Digger said, staring at the wall as she focused her mind’s eye on what was going on outside of the oga’koi-koi. “We are about two miles outside of Badundu. Soldiers are here to greet us and there is enough supplies and shelter to feed and house…a thousand?”
“Open up,” Mba said.
Digger inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. A moment later, the oga’koi-koi’s mouth opened at Digger’s mental command.
Mba stepped outside.
Iya Siju glanced over a scroll before she authorized something with a thumbprint and handed it back. A pair of soldiers armed with crossbows walked over to a steel box that sat a few yards away. A third soldier opened the door of the box and then reached in to help someone out. The figure was of average height but compactly built. Mba recognized the set of wide shoulders and solid military stance. Kanan Biko held out his thick wrists. The oga’koi-koi’s headlights glimmered on a pair of shackles. The third soldier removed them. Biko was wearing a squad uniform. His long, kinky locks were kept away from his face by a strip of crimson cloth tied around his forehead. Iya Siju led Biko over to #2, where they disappeared behind it.
Mba sauntered back into #1. He walked past Digger and the constables and then fell back on his bunk. The giant worm lurched into motion.
Mba did not believe in redemption. Biko being brought on a Tiptoe said loud and clear that he was not cured. He was still Biko. Iya Siju said he had taken part in a conditioning program. Mba wondered what they had conditioned him for. As exhaustion fell over him again, he listened as the constables took their seats. They had been watching the exchange too.
“Did you see the manpower out there?” Dummy said. “The military has it locked up tight.”
“Bagged,” Onisako corrected.
“It’s good to have them at our backs,” Dummy said.
“Until we try to get out of the bag,” Onisako replied.
CHAPTER twenty-seven
Mba wrenched his back using the toilet-shower, but managed to spruce up enough to warrant a change into his indigo Squad uniform.
He thought back to his old uniform, the one he had retired in. He couldn’t even button the collar now
. Mba’s back twitched as he walked toward the transport’s mouth, flexing his injured hand. It had a hot, rubbery feel, like the bones were too big. He had ripped off the old bandage before showering, and would get Iya Siju to replace it when she had the chance.
After a half hour of travel, the oga’koi-koi arrived at the Badundu military base, chewing its way through stone and dirt until its head speared the surface, poking out through the high grass at the rear of a capacious building constructed of sticks and palm plastered with mud.
Mba and the constables stepped outside.
Kundo joined them. He ordered the constables to establish a temporary stationhouse in a spacious warehouse designated by the military base’s leader, Commander Dinsu. Dinsu would provide a secure area for them to work. Mba didn’t know the man, but was told he had experience with Bacillus Squads. That did not mean much, though. The Tiptoe Squad might be able to call on the army for support, but if things got really bad they were on their own.
“Survey Team,” Kundo began. “You will check out Badundu undercover, to get the lay of the land while the rest of the squad remains behind to continue training under Binta. Survey Team, you will have ‘army security’ passes to show around when the inevitable questions come up as locals identify you as strangers. Captain Mba has command of the Survey Team.”
Mba looked around the warehouse. It was capacious. Huge glowfly lamps hung overhead, beaming downward and bathing the warehouse in light. At the rear of the warehouse was a training area that Binta was putting to good use. About half the recruits had formed ranks there. Binta stood in front of them looking tough in her Bacillus Squad uniform.
It had bothered Mba a bit when Kundo informed him that Binta was in command of the Tiptoe, with him and Jima along as ranked advisors. She was the direct liaison with Kundo and the Old Man, and gave the final order to the boots on the ground, with authority to override any command Mba or Jima might issue. The only consolation was that she didn’t have rank over them. Mba was sure that was because Kundo knew they would be more effective untethered. Inflexible command structures failed in rapidly changing situations – especially situations where your own people could start eating you. The current set up also made Binta responsible for what happened on the Tiptoe; a responsibility Mba was happy he did not have.
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