biding their time. She served at the same atoll where the mem-bead had been, although she was extracted from the locale due to her tier status making her too valuable to leave behind. She had felt relief, if she was honest, when her name was announced as one of the lucky ones who could flee from the awful, blighted sand spot long ago. What saved her was one of the so-called “sea-trucks,” a semi-submersible that carried cargo to distant islands, very little of it above the water to avoid detection and often they got through. This one had brought rations, ammo and other gear to the atoll on the way in but left with a few passengers, some strange mammalian species that chittered nervously, and other material deemed “valuable” even while it could have saved some of the garrison. She remembered looking around once inside, thinking empty space that could have carried out more people but knowing that sub-tiers or “subbies” would never get those slots. At the time she’d felt no remorse, after all the system had its expectations, and mid to high tier got better treatment. Period. THE DIRGE When she resumed, the next recoverable audio file sounded like throat-sing- ing and only when it was carefully processed could she divine the words being said – even then she was guessing. The final product she wrote down like decoding an ancient text, painstakingly, one word at a time until it reached a chilling conclusion – it was a dirge: [Audio File-02] “Across a vast sea Leviathan bars the path Jungle beasts roam Leathery sentinels soar Subbies await doom
Send the seahorse Vanguard of the people
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