"Transportation for Life -- 1" by Toni J Kaukinen

A squirrel sat on the log, munching on a bit of hardtack he had stolen from the backpack of one unlucky soldier. By all signs he was enjoying the hot and humid day in the jungle, blissfully ignoring the swarm of butterflies that looked like they had flown through a rainbow. Life was good, life was sweet.  He twitched his whiskers contentedly.  Despite attempts by the small group of soldiers to scare the squirrel away, he had at best only hopped a few feet away when shooed. Eventually the animal skittered away when the squad of soldiers scrambled to their feet and stopped guarding their packs. This didn't stop the squirrel from trying to steal one of the backpacks.
        The squirrel, about half the size of the backpack that its owner found unbearably heavy and chafing, stared at the soldiers from a distance. The day's humidity had worn the humans to the point where they looked exhausted even when just standing stock still. The dried mud and dirt most likely had something to do with it. Yet the appearance of another human, dressed in simple leathers and not quite so simple silks, infused them with energy.
        The man stopped in front of the nine-strong squad, watching them in silence broken only by the bustle and hustle of the outpost some two hundred yards away from the training field and, of course!, the sounds of the forest.
        The squirrel ran away at the same time the man rumbled something unpleasant at the squad. For a brief moment, there was silence again.
        "I don't even know why you bothered coming back. Well?"
        A slender, sunburned man at the end of the row, raised a hand. "Well, er, actually it's him who won't be coming back, gov." There was a hint of laughter.
        The gov eyed the man and frowned. "But you didn't bring his head, did you."
        "That's 'cause there's nothing to bring back, gov. He got eaten by a dog."
        "I see," the man in charge said. "That's not enough to convince me, you know."
        After an awkward moment, someone finally stepped up and produced a boot that differed in many ways from the simple, soft, mud-caked boots worn by the squad. On the contrary, it was an almost new, expensive riding boot.
        "Fine," the leader said. "That'll do. Teaches him to mess with us. Bonnear, Neezer, get lost. Come back in three days. Leave the boots."
        The man who had produced the boot looked a little disappointed but left the boots anyway. "Thanks gov!" said the slender man who had spoken up earlier and did as he was told, jogging toward the outpost. For a moment the leader looked like he was going to go back on his word and think of something wholly unpleasant for Neezer to do. He relented, however, and turned around, wiping his hands against his leather trouserskirts. Where was he? Oh yes. The orders for the rest of the squad.
        His eyes settled on the subject of local talk, a thin spriggan of a girl or young woman, whose red hair and tanned, scarred face had been smudged black and brown with paint and mud. She had been careful to try and cover the scars with the mixture of mud and paint. "Wylie."
        "Gov?"
        "Newcomer duty. Two days. That means Deliverance. And wipe your cheek."
        Nika Wylie was not terribly surprised and saluted. She really hated it, though, almost as much as she hated the grins of her comrades-in-arms. (She wouldn't have called them mates, the bastards.)
        "Don't get lippy," the gov said, regardless of how the girl had said nothing. "If you find any newcomers, bring them back. None of that tripe about them being trouble."
        "Yes, gov," she said, her voice lacking conviction. When the gov continued glaring at her, she frowned and started to unhappily clean the scarred bit of her cheek.
        "Mully," the gov snapped, shaking one of the grinning soldiers from his daydreams. "You're going with her. The usual deal."
        Mully sounded much more excited than Nika, but for his own reasons. "Yes, gov!"
        Nika Wylie glared at Mully, who stared right back at him. She knew the maliciousness in the stare, and as much as he might have felt it was justified, she had ideas in case he tried to take advantage of his status. They were very sharp ideas indeed.
        The gov, about to start giving orders to the rest of the soldiers, noticed. "Quit it and get lost!"
        They slipped away into the mid afternoon sunshine, soon fading into the ferns that reached right above their heads. Behind them, the gov gave the last of the orders to the remaining five men and women.
        
        There was one thing Nika Wylie was glad of when she was away from town. Nobody talked there unless they were camped, and even then only if there were more than four people around. As far as newcomer duty went, it was the worst imaginable job there was. She did it as often as possible, though not voluntarily, harbouring no fond feelings toward newcomers. In fact, she tended to hate them as eagerly as everyone sent her on the most dangerous of assignments and odd jobs. Her feelings of hate also extended to her comrades-in-arms, her superiors, even her home town. Nika Wylie gave everyone equal treatment, hating everyone equally.
        She wasn't stupid enough to show it, though, and ultimately she wasn't stupid enough to try and run. When Mully, roughly thirty yards to her left, suddenly changed course and started running at a pace faster than a jog, she too sprinted and scaled one of the many angular boulders that peppered the jungle, and lay low on top of it on the moss. Just to be on the safe side, she scattered the moss a bit to fill the air with its scent.
        A series of howls from the vicinity suggested she had made a wise choice: Mully hadn't wisely yelled anything, but he hadn't tried to warn her either. She wanted to call him a bastard. But not now. Nika Wylie smiled amid the moss, watching the five foot tall brown and black dogs prowl their way through the undergrowth that almost covered them. She was maybe the tiniest bit happy that their howls meant they were hunting and that because of her current position, they were most likely hunting Mully.
        It was the best thing that had happened to her that week, and once again feeling that she ought to play it safe, she hoped the dogs would make short work of good ol' Mully.
        Even if the dogs had gone, the danger hadn't passed: there were creatures other than the dogs and the squirrels, the latter of which by themselves could be exceedingly dumb, biting hands which they could not tell apart from smaller birds.
        Squirrel tasted good, though.
        But that was a thought for another day. Nika Wylie poked her head up to scan her surroundings, then tumbled off the boulder and disappeared into the undergrowth. Once again she felt a little sorry that she wasn't brave enough – or dumb enough - to run away from anyone or anything but the animals... which in themselves weren't that far down from the humans and others here. Not for her, certainly. It was all very philosophical (if she got the word right), much more natural for the nobs and dandies that ended up here, and so she didn't think about it very much. She did what she could do best – snuck around at near jogging speed in the lush undergrowth, hiding when she thought she would need to.
        She made it about five minutes away when she thought she heard someone screaming far, far away behind her. Wylie wasn't certain if she actually heard it, but she smiled at the thought anyway and continued her way along the road to Deliverance. Along the way she took her chances and stopped to rest, eat (moss) and drink. It was far from luxury, but she needed it. It was also dangerous, especially alone, but in a way she liked that, too. She had covered herself with moss and ferns and had climbed in a little crevice between two boulders. It was as good as home for the three hours she spent half-awake, half-dozing.
        Wylie drank again before she left, and two hours later she approached Deliverance. The welcome wasn't warm, but she had expected that.
        A thin man with too much hair and beard to be healthy met her at the gates, or rather, stood on top of the fort's walls. "Where the blazes is your first?" was the first question posed to her, unfriendly and – goodness – surprised. Even shocked.
        First. Not second. The same old story. "We bumped into some dogs on the way," she said peaceably. "I'm not sure if he made it."
        The man glared at her. "You damn well hope they find him."
        She shrugged. Not her headache. "Can I get some food?"
        Once again, she was ignored. "You damn well hope they do, and if he has an arrow in him or an ear-ear smile..."
        Wylie sighed. The man's finger was pointing at her accusingly. She'd heard it all before. Maybe it was cocky of her, but she didn't think anything of it. She was good at what she did: good enough for the leadership to think twice about sending her on a real suicide mission.
        As his bravado and posturing seemed to have no effect, the man spat and turned around. "Hell. Whatever, kitten. Get inside. Don't expect you're staying. We've got a real treat for you."
        Somehow she didn't like the sound of that. What was it? Some rabid warmongers, rapists and backstabbers this time? Nika frowned, grumbled and began to scale the walls when it became obvious they weren't going to open the doors for her. Sometimes they could be such fools for no apparent reason, and it wasn't like they were going to be doing the newcomer duty if something worse than dogs showed up and chewed her up just outside Deliverance.
        It was a really damned pleasant day in Godzone for Nika Wylie, coward extraordinaire, who had to ask the backward secondary outpost three times before they gave her food and a place to sleep. And they managed to screw that one up as well.
        Deliverance was an apt, ironic name for a secondary outpost. Why they called them secondary outposts, Nika Wylie didn't know. It was most likely the invention of yet another army or mercenary type that had made it into the top brass or high leadership or who were connected to such people through blood. She had no idea about the traditions of the government. Most of the names like Deliverance, she knew, were given by the grunts, pioneers or settlers. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered when the society of hapless newcomers had changed into this gritty bunch of Zoners complete with a dark sense of humour. It hardly mattered, of course: the present was always the first thing one had in one's mind here.
        Wylie found that these times of wonder happened every time she met fresh blood. Newcomers. Like now: the large tent they gave her a place in housed four others, one of them in the process of wasting much of the water they had been given by washing up. Nika got angry rather quickly, shoving the protesting woman away from the barrel of water. She drank, then turned to face the newcomers. They all wore clothes much too clean and neat to be locals, and the way they looked at her reminded her of scared children.
        Wylie sighed and ignored their complaints, sat down on a makeshift cot, smoothed her armour skirts and put her weapons down.
        "I said, are you stupid?" the woman... no, elf girl said, hands on her hips.
        "Tess, stop it."
        Tess did no such thing. She stood stock still like a hen with pointy ears, mouth pursed and eyebrows knit together. Wylie felt too tired to teach her a lesson: she really just wanted to sleep.
        "Tess," the man, now walking behind the elfin girl, repeated and laid his hands on her shoulders. "Come sit down. Please."
        Wylie smirked. Tess, perhaps more outraged, complied and went to the other side of the tent with the man and settled lay on a cot with him. After a while she began to cry, and the man did nothing.
        While the loveydovies did that, Wylie inspected the two others. Normally she would have grinned at them, maybe given them a few bad words about the local government and certainly told them the slowpokes would get left behind on the trail – to die.
        This time Wylie felt a bit of trepidation when she looked at the oh so fine, oh so skinny Tess and her dandy man... and the others. The third one looked like a soldier. Worn, but still too neatly dressed, rough and angular. Face full of despair, the usual expression of a man who knew when he was in trouble. Wylie suspected the guy was some kind of murderer or thug. She hated those.
        The fourth one looked fit to die any moment now. Maybe the heat would get to him, maybe the humidity. Maybe some disease... although that was unlikely. Any of those would be better than dying on the trail, and Nika felt this man would most certainly die there. Not just because he was an overdressed buffoon, maybe some lecherous nobleman who was sentenced to disappear, but because she hated him already. It was a very important factor when it came to survival games with Nika.
        "Tell me what is going on," he said the moment Nika looked at him. "We've been told nothing! I am not scum, I am the Earl of Lancetowne. Fetch a superior!"
        Wylie raised both of her grimy eyebrows. "I suppose next you'll want me to warm your bed... my lord."
        Maybe it was the way she looked, Wylie thought, trying to remember if she used soap the last time she bathed. The man blanched. "I would never!"
        Nika drummed against her knee and pulled a dagger. She began to clean her nails. "Too bad. Might be the last lay you get, you dumb mule," she said with a hint of an edge to her voice.
        The crying in the other corner turned into sniffling. The noble's mouth turned into an O.
        "You'd rather take Lady Coatrack's man?" Nika asked.
        The lad in question sat up quickly, his delicate, clean face flushed with anger. "Hey!"
        Wylie pointed her dagger in his direction. "Let's get a few things straight. I'm not your servant. We don't have no prison here. But yanno, I'm the fool who has to get you lot back to 'civilisation' so I might as well tell you what the deal is."
        "Please do that," the third man said, looking ever more tormented by the situation. "We would appreciate it."
        Nika Wylie, who normally had a stinging barb ready, found that she had nothing to say. Then she nodded, uncomfortably aware of the attention she was receiving from all four newcomers. "Fine. Right. You're in Godzone, er, God's Own now."
        Lady Coatrack's oh so sweet Dandy cut in, sounding exasperated. "I've never heard of --"
        "Shut up?" Nika said calmly, raising both eyebrows. "Fine. Er. Right."
        She cleared her throat and started taking her boots off, thinking she might have to treat her feet with some salve again. "God's Own isn't a penal colony. It's exile. Not that whoever owns the gate knows the slightest thing about what it's like here. Those numskulls think it's 'toss and forget', yeah, well, it's 'toss and forget' for them.
        "First things first. Don't drink water unless you know where it's from. Don't eat anything that looks bright. And don't damned well stop unless there's more than three people around. Then the more important stuff, which is – the govs own your asses. Everything here is possibly only 'cause of people working together. You don't wanna work together? The gov'll say, 'Suits me. Get out of my town.'
        "After which, by the way," she said chipperly, "you're dead. Deceased. Given up the ghost."
        "Who are the... governors?" the third man asked, staring at Nika somewhat reproachfully. It did nothing to her, but she felt uneasy anyway. Something about the man. Murderer.
        "Really good survivors. We've got a little primitive military thing going on, don't let anyone else say it's anything but that. For the last, oh, hundred and fifty years it's--"
        "Wait. The portal's only been open for fifty years!" Dandy said.
        "Yeah, it has, blinky. Thing is, time's a funny thing – and this ain't your precious home." That shut him up. Good. "Yeah, so anyway, like I said, you're with us or you're a nobody. If you're a nobody, well, screw you. Die. And in case you're wondering why we're so bloody damned blunt, hah, guys... have you seen the squirrels?"
        The tent's inhabitants looked at each other. The urgency of the matter was starting to weigh down on them. Tess burst into tears again. Dandy – whatever his name – was just as pale as the nobleman. The assumed murderer frowned. "They're huge," he said.
        "Just imagine the wild dogs, then. I'm not pulling your leg when I say they're about so high." She indicated about four and a half feet – much too low. It was better if they learned the real scope of things harshly when they did, anyway. "The dogs ain't the worst we have," Nika continued in a tone of grudging respect. "Not by far."
        "The dog skull," the nobleman whispered, "in front of the gates... it's about their size?"
        Wylie raised both eyebrows again. "Yeah. About their size... really vicious, not your average pooch as I hear from you... newcomers, usually."
        "You don't have dogs here?" Tess asked.
        "Darling," Wylie said after a guarded look at her, "only pets we have is the fleas newcomers bring. Which you all probably have." Tess blushed instead of trying to argue, but she looked furious even so. Wylie nodded. "Mud helps."
        Before the silence could become awkward – and before Wylie could start scraping dead skin off her ankles – the pale-eyed man continued. "If you are the person who is to get us to civilisation, maybe we should introduce ourselves."
        Wylie stared at the man, startled by how confidently and yet so nonchalantly he met her glare. But even so she found reason to smile: they were dependent on her and the man knew it. She hoped it meant the bastard wouldn't get any strange ideas out in the zone. If he did, she would have to do Things about him. "Wylie. Scout."
        She looked at the nobleman. "What?" he said. "I am Earl --"
        "Your grace," the pale-eyed man said. "We are not home anymore."
        "But I am Earl Matheson of Lancetowne," the Earl snapped. "That is my name."
        "Whatever you say, governor," Wylie said and began to scrape the dead skin off her left ankle much to Tess and Dandy's disgust – the Earl hadn't noticed. "It don't mean a thing here-there."
        "Fine," said the Earl. "I will make do."
        Wylie grinned, then glanced at Tess and Dandy – who misinterpreted her look as a demand. "Stafl. This is..."
        "Tess," the woman Wylie had already renamed as Crybaby or Coatrack in her mind said venomously. She blushed a moment later when Wylie chuckled and said: "Yeah, I bet."
        "Will you leave her alone?" Stafl said angrily. "First you come and shove her and now you're acting like a pig."
        "First. Don't you talk to me like that. Second, that water's for drinking, not for washing. Sorry, kittens, but cleanliness just isn't possible in the middle of a jungle. And clean, safe water's so scarce you'd rather stink and ache than wash up 'cause you'd die thirsty otherwise."
        Stafl glowered at Wylie anyway. She ignored him. "Third, Tess is no name for one of the pointies, but I guess I wouldn't be able to even say her name without cutting my tongue forked."
        Much to Wylie's pleasure, Tess made a very indignant sound.
        "I think that's enough," said the murderer (guilty until proven otherwise). "Wylie."
        "What?"
        "Can I talk to you outside please?"
        She shrugged and indicated that he should go first while she pulled her boots on.
        He clearly had trouble in the brightness of the day, Wylie noted once she got outside (quickly looking around the small secondary outpost). He was squinting heavily and rubbing his eyes as she marched in front of him arms akimbo. It was common among newcomers, most of whom complained that the colours were all wrong and too bright... Wylie couldn't tell. She was used to it. But some newcomers also complained that the world felt wrong. By the looks of it, this (worryingly) pale-eyed man was one of those.
        "What?"
        "I would like to ask you to go easy on us."
        "Wha? The hell?" a thoroughly confused Wylie blurted out after a few seconds' worth of confusion.
        The man frowned, squinting heavily at her. "Please. We are not here out of our own choice, but I recognise how dangerous the situation is. I want to help."
        "Don't you tell me you're an earl too," Wylie said after a moment of contemplation. The man sounded considerably refined now that she thought about it. It wouldn't last for long. "Look, I've been worrying about what you're going to do instead. You're not some poor bastard who can't take care of himself."
        He winced. "That much is true."
        "Yeah. So who'd you murder?"
        "Nothing of the sort. I lost a company of soldiers at war."
        The scout suddenly had nothing to say. "Okay."
        "I am not happy about it," the man said somewhat angrily. "But yes, I can take care of myself if you... just help me understand the dangers."
        "I'm impressed," Wylie finally said, wearing her usual smirk. "Yeah, sure. You'll have to pass it on to the kittens with me though... but I don't expect the old man to make it, let alone that... Tess character."
        "We shall see," he said uneasily.
        Wylie regarded him.
        "So," she finally said, "what's your name, and exactly what kind of stunt did you pull to get control of a company?"
        "Oh," he said. "My name is Elian. I'm a knight."