3 In Which We Make a Small Discovery, 3

The body was splayed out in a mimicry of a dance, arms twisted the wrong way, face contorted in pain, the last expression of the legless man as he drained of blood. In the scarlet edged flowers, he looked like the blood had exploded out of him, in a spurt of excitement. Perhaps he'd died of surprise. The sun was a slice of butter in the sky, an the crickets were chirping away to the croakings and callings and howlings of animals far off. A mist had settled low on the ground, to one's chest, but thick, and as Jacob moved towards the commotion he had to watch his step for the puddles on the ground. Sweat was in the air, with a hint of warm copper, a taste of the red stuff. Sascha watched, already by the corpse, as Jacob's boot was slurped into a mud cavity, and his looking around to see if anyone had noticed as he got out. When Jacob reached him, he asked, "There's a body here."

Jacob's eyes widened in shock. "What? What happened? Deserters?"

"Stepped too far into the dark, got his legs snatched out from under him." Sascha grunted. "No bullet holes. His legs've been bitten clean off. A meshi, I'd say."

Jacob moved past Sascha and pushed his way to the body, swimming through the crowd gathered. Before he made it, however, somebody up ahead shouted, "Disperse, soldaten! Back to operations!" The swarm began to slowly flow in the other direction, and Jacob was forced to go with it. He found Sascha on the outskirts of camp again.

"This is bullshit." he complained. "What's the point of dragging the entire expeditionary out here for one sub-operation?"

"You're smart, Jacobi." Sascha leaned on an empty supply wagon, arms folded. "This entire thing was centered around that little cabin from the start. Just because the Colonel didn't mention it to us doesn't give it any less importance. Just so happens they don't wanna tell us about it. Can't blame them. I wouldn't tell a bunch of recruits, either, 'specially if they have the likes of you in the ranks."

"If it's so secret… what the hell are they up to?"

"I've found it's best not to try and find out, in these situations." Sascha began sloshing back to the tent. Jacob followed in his steps.

"You have experience with these situations?" questioned Jacob.

Sascha looked ahead, rubbing his nose. "We all do - 'these' situations occur all the time. It's all I can do to stay out of it. Let's hurry up, now, every second we waste talking is one we aren't sleeping."

"It's discussion, not something you'll come across every night. Every conversation is something new, every night the same."

"That simultaneously sounds like something a cynic might say as well as a believer."

"I guess it doesn't matter, certainly didn't mean much to that poor guy back there."

"You're right. I never ask my beef about its beliefs."

"Must be a terrible way to die, you know - eaten."

"The worst."

Jacob smiled. "Hold on, now - it's bad, but there's worse, you know… being tortured, poisoned, and not just any poison, something like lockset."

"But if you're eaten, you will never know if you were worth killing."

"I've been left behind, Sascha." Jacob fluttered his eyes. "If the animal thought I looked tasty enough…"

"If you're tortured, it means you made somebody mad. If you're poisoned, somebody went out of their way to assassinate you. Eaten… you fed an animal. Your death made no real difference to your enemies."

"Anything that wants to eat me is my enemy, I'll tell you that much." Jacob patted his steam pistol exaggeratedly.

They reached the tent, hitched loosely in the mud, bulrushes creeping onto the dirtying fabric. Sascha lifted the flap for Jacob, and as he stepped in, Sascha said, "I just want to die knowing I pissed somebody off."

"Where does that leave us?" Mordeci sighed heavily, slouching into the red couch in the corner. She was still wearing her previous day's dress, brown vest over the button-up, tucked into brown cargo pants and wrapped around with a brown belt. The bathroom was to her left, the entrance to her right, daylight flooding in. Arlo stood by the door, occasionally looking out as if the guards outside weren't enough. The Colonel sat on a chair he had pulled over from the upturned table, feet crunching glass as he shifted in the seat. A light breeze made the drapes on the windows flutter in upset.

"The doctor is still suspect." said Arlo. He was fully geared, pistols and arm rods polished, the pillbox on his back shining. He had a beige corduroy coat rimmed in white, pegs pulled through the leather straps keeping it tight around his torso, neck collar pinched down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The inside was a fine white wool, laced with dust and dirt, as were the knees of his deep green moleskin pants, tucked into his boots. "Both of these bodies complicate things."

"The dead soldat complicates nothing. We bary him - that's the end to it." decided the Colonel, the bottom of his black loden and black shoes caked with cracked, dry mud. He had his officer's cap back, and tugged on the rim once more. "And the woman complicates nothing, either. If she is dead as well, so be it. We have nothing to take from her but information. Once the coroner reports back to us, we will know how the doctor killed her. Then we can begin to ask why."

"We don't know the doctor killed her." said Arlo.

"You said it yourself, Captain."

"I am only a human, and I can only make mistakes." Arlo walked to the fireplace and dragged his hand under the mantle. When he was done he presented it to the window light, rubbing his fingers together. "Something here happened, Colonel."

"Something is always happening."

"I believe the gauntlet was somehow involved with the burning of the tree." Arlo looked at the Colonel, emotionless eyes trained on the colonel's left, an eye no different from his right except in the fact that Arlo had decided to stare into it. "Can one of your men fetch it for you, Colonel?"

The Colonel called for the box, and a soldier entered a minute later, hauling the chest. "Where would you want me to place it, xiansheng?" He looked at Arlo.

Simultaneously, the Colonel answered "to me", and Arlo said, "drop it there". They looked at each other. The Colonel cleared his throat as the man looked at Arlo for permission, and Arlo gestured to the Colonel. "To him," he said.

The soldier knelt down and delivered the box to the Colonel, who rested it on his lap. He saluted and left as most left the Colonel: hurriedly.

They watched in silence as the Colonel opened the box. The gauntlet was as they had stored it, grey and cold, bolts on the end, the mud having dried in storage, cracking away into dust as the Colonel lifted it out. It was large, as large as the Colonel's head, and Arlo thought of the skull, and how easily that gauntlet could fit over one. But no, the skull was undamaged, not crushed. "I think this gauntlet would complete an armor that may have something to do with the tree."

The colonel turned over the gauntlet, then tried to adjust the fingers, but they refused to move. "It's power armor. So where is the workshop?"

"A lack of horses, no roads leading here, no wagons, not even a wheel. However this armor came to be, it came to be here." decided Arlo. His eyes scanned the room differently, looking for something. "The workshop is hidden." He took out his pistol and pulled down the lever, a popping sound ringing out, like a cork. He aimed it at the planks, and said, "Cover your ears," before he fired. A foot of the plank blew to splinters, raining into the room. There was darkness beneath it. Arlo kicked a piece off of his boot before he fired at the plank beside it, and then the plank on the opposite side. The hidden room became more visible, and with a final stomp he made a hole large enough for him to hop into. He stirred up dust as he landed, in a room that only rose a foot above his head, but was dug under half of the home. Beams rose into the dirt roof, supports, and at the end of the hiding place was a workbench, surrounded by boxes full of wires and machinery and ammunition. To the right, an armor rack, green limbs spreading up and under the ceiling, grasping for the power armor that wasn't there. He looked up. Mordeci was staring down at him.

"How did you figure?" she asked.

"Pure instinct." he answered dryly. "Pass me a lantern."

Mordeci left for a moment, then reappeared, beside the Colonel and some soldiers. He reached out for the lantern. She frowned. "Hold on - I'll be down there in a moment, Captain."

"Don't." he said. "There could be explosives. Quite a bit of weaponry down here-"

"Stand aside, will you?" She jumped down, Arlo sidestepping her fall. She landed clumsily, eyes narrowing at Arlo.

He shrugged. "If I had a stronger sense of humour, I'd say ladies first."

She handed him the lantern, and moved to the power stand. Arlo dimmed the light a bit, then followed.

"Why do you not listen, Mordeci?" Arlo walked to the green box, looking over the ammunition. "He found a supply munition. Military."

"I wish to see you blown up." Mordeci flipped a switch on the stand, and chains dropped from the top arms, hooks grasping for armor. "How'd that get here?"

"Somebody brought it in."

Mordeci glared at Arlo, and he returned a blank look. His eyes were pits, holes with no bottoms, and if you threw a fishing rod in with a long, long line, you'd come back up with it and reel it in and you'd feel the cold end and it wouldn't be wet in the slightest - just cold. She looked away. "Your humor is returning."

"Mhm. Humor. What a draining thing to occupy yourself with, when-" he pulled the box out, casings and clips shifting and rattling, falling to the ground in a cacophony contained only to this small corner of this small room. It groaned to a halt, Arlo crouching down to retrieve the tag hanging on the side. He removed it and brushed off dust, reading, "Mirkhome Facilities - Supply zero-nine-o'-nine. It's new."

"Mirkhome?"

"Yes."

"You have a pen?"

"I have a pencil."

"Just give it to me."

Arlo took a pencil out of his back pocket, gear shifting, handing it to Mordeci.

Mordeci took out a notepad from a back satchel and scribbled down Mirkhome. "What's that number?"

"Supply zero-nine-o'-nine."

"You would do well to laugh a little, Captain." Mordeci removed the notepad. "You'll die elsewise."

"If only I could, Lieutenant. These side operations kill me."

"The only kind that won't." Mordeci moved to the hole. "Give me a boost."