by John Migacz
CHAPTER 41
Morning came to call on a very stiff Commlead Haridep. “Ouch,” she said, sitting up. “I could use a rubdown this morning.” She struggled to her feet.
“Just shake it loose, Ma’am,” said the Strikedag. “You’ll be all right after some chow and a few miles.”
They sat down around the make-believe campfire again, eating what their suits dispensed from their tubes.
“Could this suit be breaking down? My rations taste worse than normal,” she said.
“It’s not the suit, Ma’am, it’s you,” said the Lancelead. “With this much activity, your body is requiring different nutrients than normal. Your suit is giving you what you need.”
“What I need is a couple of yaglas over easy and grennis tea with honey.”
“Don’t start talking about food, Ma’am, please,” said the Strikedag, holding his stomach. “Talking about it makes me smell it, my mouth waters, and I get incredibly hungry. All the tube paste in the world doesn’t help.”
“Sorry, Strikedag. I’ll change the subject,” she said. “What do you think is the best way to approach the human residents when we find them? Any ideas, anyone?”
“Tough one to call, Ma’am,” said Lancelead Grey. “We’re going to have to wing it, I’m afraid.”
She nodded.
“We’d better find them first,” said the Strikedag, standing and stretching. “We should be moving along.”
The others stood. From the corner of her eye, the Commlead watched what appeared to be a small rock arc through the air and roll to a stop between them.
“Grenade!” yelled Strikedag Tanner. He turned to run as an explosion ripped through the air.