“And what is their purpose?”
“Garbage collection.”
Astor-Smath’s reply was so unexpected that Darzhee Kut supposed none of the Hkh’Rkh knew how to frame a further, productive inquiry, either. Meanwhile, a second group of humans emerged from the ground floor beneath them, their loose, gray fatigues flapping in time with the shoulder straps of the assault rifles they were carrying at port arms. They angled toward the motley group of locals, marching with a unison and precision that bespoke considerable time spent drilling on a parade ground.
“These are the—beings—who support our warriors?” First Voice’s question was a sotto voce aside to Graagkhruud that could nonetheless be heard by all on the deck.
“Yes, First Voice.”
“They all look—very similar.”
Darzhee Kut stared at the humans more closely and noticed what First Voice had called attention to: all the armed humans were extraordinarily alike in height, coloration, build. As they turned to close with the ragged mass of civilians, Darzhee Kut had the impression that their facial profiles were also remarkably similar. Even for humans.
Astor-Smath nodded and smiled. “The First Voice of the First Family has eyes that are as keen as his intellect. Yes, they are not merely similar. They are identical.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
The Hkh’Rkh made noises in their chests that sounded like a combination of revulsion and nausea. “They are Unbirthlings,” one huffed hoarsely.
“We call them ‘clones,’” Astor-Smath supplied. “They make excellent soldiers, if for no other reason than they know no other existence. They are matured quickly and taught only what they need for the tasks that they are given.”
Darzhee Kut listened carefully, decided he had not heard incorrectly. “These humans are not part of a family? Not taught to, to—harmonize with others?”
“They find satisfaction and a sense of belonging by performing their tasks excellently and in unison. They ask for no more than that.”
“Because they know nothing else.” Yaargraukh’s comment was low and rattling, a dangerous sound.
“Which is why they remain happy and untroubled by needless complexities.”
The clones, all wearing shoulder patches bearing CoDevCo’s logo, had split into two columns, each flanking one side of the civilian throng. They escorted it at the double-time march toward the sickly-looking trees and greener slopes that were beyond the blasted kempang to the northeast.
“And they are going up there to collect garbage?”
“Yes, but not just typical refuse, Darzhee Kut. The ground there is regularly littered with scraps of soda cans and tattered mylar balloons.”
“That is strange garbage.”
“Not at all. It’s just another part of the insurgency.”
“How so?”
Yaargraukh interceded in a calmer tone. “To complicate any scans attempting to detect small metal objects, such as the enemy’s ground sensors, booby-traps, or personal weapons. Looking down from orbit, or even from a loitering high-altitude observation drone, this rubbish produces thousands of sensor returns. We can sort some of them out as false signals, but it takes time, and there is usually too much uncertainty to act upon one of these signals without sending in a scout patrol to confirm the presence of a valid target.”
“And already, the vermin are fond of ambushing those patrols.” Graagkhruud’s talons came together with an infuriated clack.
From behind them, the sound of an aggravated, oversized hornet rose, approached, shot overhead; a remote operated vehicle with a two-meter wingspan, four tilt-props, and a bulging belly buzzed after the receding trash collecting detail.
“To help them find the trash?” Darzhee wondered aloud.
“To make sure that there are no ambushers waiting to shoot the clones. And to spread chemicals.”
More noise from behind—this time a growing crescendo of heavy, rapid footfalls upon the ramp from the ground floor—caused Darzhee Kut to turn about.
The troop of Hkh’Rkh had arrived, stopping at the head of the ramp when they saw to whom they were reporting. “First Voice of the First Family!” They were in a respectful, even awestruck, crouch immediately. The troop-leader rumble-whispered from his chest. “Permission to speak?”
“You have it, and you are to stand before me. You are warriors to whom we owe much—since you are the only warriors here.”
Even though, as a member of the Ee’ar caste, he was trained to find harmonies with creatures radically different from himself, Darzhee Kut felt First Voice’s dismissal of the Arat Kur war technicians as though it were a physical blow.
The Hkh’Rkh had risen, some of the younger unable to keep their tongues from wiggling out in a brief spasm of amusement at their greatest leader’s backhanded gibe at their ostensible allies. This does not bode well. If at this early stage, with matters mostly under control, there is so little harmony between us, what atonalities might arise along with serious problems?
“How may we serve, First Voice of the First Family?”
“I see no Arat Kur with you. Are they not assigned to assist our troops?”
“They are, First Voice of the First Family, but only upon combat missions.”
“What mission is not a combat mission in time of war?”
“The Arat Kur have—have a different concept of operations, First Voice of the First Family. They call this a ‘security escort.’”
“And they are too important to aid you with it?”
Rubble and scree: more trouble?
“No, First Voice. They may only conduct operations within their combat-suits. These are wondrous devices, but they need much maintenance, particularly in this climate where mechanisms foul and jam frequently. Thus, they are deployed only on missions where we have confirmed contact with, and intend to engage, the enemy.”
The troop-leader’s explanation seemed to mollify First Voice. “Very well. Perhaps we will have some opportunity to see these wondrous combat suits ourselves.”
Let it please the first mother of the first rocknest: No. Please, no. The troop leader began detailing the deployment of the many Hkh’Rkh on the base and pointing to the less noticeable support systems, particularly the domelike PDF blisters dug in along with the bunkers, and in a ring around the vertipads behind them. Darzhee Kut looked after the dwindling quadrotor ROV and noted again the sickly color of the vegetation towards which it was headed. “Senior Liaison Astor-Smath, I would make an inquiry.”
“Yes?” Astor-Smath, despite his smile, seemed to be even more bored than Darzhee Kut with the troop-leader’s ongoing explication of interlocking fields of fire, overlapping intercept umbrellas, and primary and secondary fallback positions.
“The foliage to the north seems to be turning brown. Is this evidence of a blight?”
Before Astor-Smath could answer, Graagkhruud swiveled around. “No, Speaker Kut, this is evidence of common sense. You saw the remote vehicle that flew overhead?”
“Yes.”
“It has a payload bay for chemical dispersion.”
“You are defoliating the area?”
“We are. With new dispersions every hour.”
“And First Delegate Hu’urs Khraam knows of this?”
“He approved it yesterday. Finally.”
Darzhee Kut looked cautiously toward Astor-Smath. Again, no sign of concern on the human’s face. “But why?”
Graagkhruud was the one who answered. “Why do you think? These jungles, particularly those close to our compounds and installations, are perfect lurking grounds for these human vermin.”