[b]Guard duty[/b] Getting his arms ripped off wasn’t the worst part of his punishment. What had really sucked was his demotion and new place of subservience to that [i]drakh [/i]of a Nahrix. This was extremely aggravating, seeing that it was Nahrix that had let the enemy’s lightning bug escape in the first place. Yet with a cunning that belied the dim shine of his ocelli, he had actually succeeded in pinning his failure on his rival. And now Buht, instead of Nahrix, had been demoted and given guard duty. Guard duty wouldn’t have been the worst part of the demotion. What had really sucked was when he found out he was to be permanently stationed in an old base in what the Thieves called Old Russia. While some of his House preferred to roam on planet instead of being nestled in the comfort of the [i]Ketch[/i], Buht was not one of them. The cold here bit through his chitin and the rust particles flaking from the crumbling buildings gave him a rash in places he wouldn't even be able to scratch if he still had four arms instead of two. The rust allergy wasn’t the worst part either. What really sucked was that he was standing guard in a dark and dank hallway. While Buht didn’t mind the dark so much, it was what he was guarding that bothered him: a doorway to one of the outposts of the Dead Ones. From his station he could see the mucus-like molds that magically appeared wherever the beasts nestled. Even if those fungi were not always a sure sign that those mindless [i]frakk [/i]were actually at home, the reek of death that wafted from the hallway was. The nightmarish stench still wasn’t the worst bit. What really sucked was that his tympanal organ was continuously assaulted by an endless stream of blabber from Klep, his guard buddy. In Buht’s professional opinion as a former drill master, Klep was probably the most idiotic egg that the Great One had ever cracked. The [i]drakh [/i]had only one passion and that was all he ever talked about: pikes. Types of pikes, famous pike pilots, his wish to become one, the best pants to wear on a pike, what the easiest snack food is to eat on a pike, whether intermittently squeezing the gas handle would make it go faster or not, how to prevent burning through your lightning-bolt emitter charges and so forth. Pikes, pikes, pikes. To be short, between two of his four arms being ripped off, his demotion, the cold, the rust rash, the very real possibility of being disemboweled by Dead Ones and the ganglionic hemorrhage he was getting from his moronic associate, Buht had seen better days. “So you see, when I heard this rumor that there were going to be pike races taking place on planet, I had to check it out for myself. Turns out that even if the infrastructure is there to do it, command will simply not authorize races. They tell us that they are too focused on other, more important things to organize races at the moment. They tell us to show some initiative and figure it out for ourselves. I think that’s crazy: the whole House is clamoring for pike races, but they won’t do anything!” “That’s real interesting, Klep, but, if you don’t mind, I’ll politely ask you to shut up now. You are so loud I wouldn’t be able to hear if one of those dead stinkers ran up to us, shrieking and all, to rake us in the back.” “Yeah, if we only had pikes, we could outrun them! That reminds me! Have you seen those prototypes where you can disengage the stabilizers, so you can do all sorts of sick tricks? How radical is that!” Buht wished he still had an extra set of arms so that he could both hold his gun and cover his tympans at the same time. It was several hours into his shift. Several hours of the raving monologue of this pike-fanatic. Buht had just started contemplating whether he would be demoted or promoted if he shot his partner, when he heard the sound of quick footsteps. “So, I told the guy it seems to be an engine thing and the problem is not so much with…” “Quiet, [i]drakh[/i]!”, Buht hissed, “I think one of the Thieving soldiers is approaching.” This actually managed to shut Klep up. The moment of silence that followed was almost welcome, if only the proximity of an enemy elite would not have been so nerve-wracking. They both readied their guns, breathing heavily, their chitin clicking in anticipation. Then, only illuminated by the sickly green light of the passage behind them, Buht saw the enemy soldier. She was clad in a gaudy yellow and purple, half-cloak mysteriously flapping in this windless hallway. She looked at him, her eyes held a fanatic boredom that suggested she had been in this situation countless of times before. She raised her handgun, and fired a single shot. He heard a crack followed by a whistling sound as his head was violently separated from his thorax. As his soul departed his husk to join with the Great One’s Ocean of Light, his only thought was: “At least guard duty is done for today.”