Alex had waited until he and N'chlos were away from the rest of the detail, then heaved a monstrous beam out of the roadway the crew was clearing. Apropos of nothing and seemingly talking to thin air, he had said, "Thae's a bit ae a' trick there."
His guard had asked, and Kilgour had shown him just a bit about body leverage: lifting from the legs, not the back, putting the entire force of one's shoulders into an effort, and so forth. N'chlos had never learned any of that.
Kilgour had generously offered to show him some other tricks yet had never suggested that N'chlos was anything other than a fine figure of a Tahn. N'chlos fell into the habit of dropping by Kilgour's cell when he was on walking patrol inside the prisoners' quarters.
The young man had quite a taste for caff, heavily sweetened with Earth sugar. Kilgour then had an unlimited draw from the aid parcels.
Sten had never before been permitted in the cell when N'chlos visited. There was a reason, Kilgour had told him. He said he might need a distraction.
"A brew, lad," Alex said, lighting a small fat stove and putting on the blackened, hammered-out tin they used to cook with. N'chlos sat down on one of the stools Alex had constructed.
" 'N how goes th' war?" Alex asked.
"They just cut the ration points again," N'chlos gloomed. "Even for us."
"Shameful," Kilgour said. "An' curious't' boot."
"Something about those who fight the hardest deserve the most."
"Speakin't frank, Ah considers tha' a bit of ae error. Meanin' no criticism. Dinnae th lords ken th' folks on th' home front be fightin't thae own way ae war?"
N'chlos shifted and unbuttoned the top button of his tunic. Damned right, Sten thought. He, too, was sweltering. In the cell below theirs three men were stoking a plas-fed jerry-rigged furnace.
"Bleedin't hot," Kilgour said sympathetically. "Canne y' take off thae tunic?"
"It's against orders."
"Clot," Alex swore. "A wee soldier should know whae orders are to be followed an' when. Mak't comfortable, sir. I' thae lead-booted sergeant comes, we'll hear his clumpin't in time."
N'chlos took off his combat belt and holstered his stun rod and his tunic-jacket after looking doubtfully at Sten, who was carefully positioned across the room. He looked for someplace to hang the jacket and spotted a peg—the only peg—driven into the cell wall very close to the door.
"C'mon, lad, Ah mean, sir. Caff's on."
N'chlos hung up the tunic and reseated himself.
"Y' were sayin't afore Ah interrupted?"
"Oh. Yes. Sometimes I think I should put in for a transfer. To a line unit."
"Sir, once't Ah thought th' same, an ne'ever harked't' m' poor crippl't brother. War dinnae be bonnie, sir. Lookit th' spot Ah'm in noo."
" I wouldn't want to be a POW," N'chlos said frankly.
"True. An' thae's nae th' worst thae can happen." Kilgour paused. "E'en when y'hae no fightin't, thae's little joy. F'r instance, dinnae Ah tell you ae the spotted snakes?"
"I don't think so."
Kilgour spared a minismile for Sten, and Sten glowered back. The clot had trapped him, well and truly.
"I was ae Earth. Ae a wee isle called Borneo."
"You've been to Earth!" N'chlos was astonished.
"Aye, lad. Th' service broadin't thae background. At any rate, an't' go on, Ah'd jus' taken' o'er a wee detachment ae troops."
"I didn't know Imperial warrant officers did that."
"Special circumstances," Alex went on. "An' so Ah calls th' sarn't major in, an Ah asks, 'Sarn't Major, whae's thae worst problem?'
"An' he say't, 'Spotted snakes!'
"An' Ah says, 'Spotted snakes?'
"An' he says, 'Spotted snakes, sir.'"
At that point the cell door opened silently, and an arm—St. Clair's arm—snaked in. Her hand lifted N'chlos's tunic off the peg, and tunic and arm vanished.
"Here's th' caff, sir. Anyhoot, Ah'm looki't ae th' fiche on m' new unit, an' it's awful. Thae's desertion, thae's a crime sheet thae long, thae's social diseases up th' gumpstump—m' command's a wreck!
"So, Ah call't th' unit't'gether an' questions m' men on whae's th' problem. "An' they chorus, 'Ae's th' spotted snakes, sir.'
" 'Spotted snakes?' Ah asks.
"'Aye, sir. Spotted snakes,' they chorus.
"An' thae explain't thae's all these spotted snakes in th' jungle. Ah did say th' detachment wae in th' center ae a braw jungle, dinnae Ah?"
Outside, Sten hoped, N'chlos's tunic was being searched. His soldier book and any other papers were tossed to the prison's fastest runner, who darted downstairs to a cell where L'n waited.
His papers were scrutinized and memorized by her artistically eidetic memory, to be reproduced later.
The tunic was measured, and all uniform buttons had wax impressions made, also for reproduction. The stun rod's measurements were taken just in case someone needed to build a phony weapon.
Within minutes the escape committee would have all the essentials on the off chance that an escaper might want or need to look like a guard. Or maybe to use N'chlos as a cover identity.
Unless, of course, N'chlos turned around, realized his uniform was missing, and shouted an alert.
But in the meantime Sten squirmed under Alex's story.
"An' aye," Kilgour went on. "Thae wee spotted snakes. All over th' place. Wee fierce lads w' a braw deadly poison. Crawl in th' fightin' positions an' bites, crawl in th' tents an' bites, crawl in the mess an' bites. Awful creatures. Som'at hae be done.
"So Ah considers an' then orders up aye formation. An' comit out, an th' men gasp, seein't Ah'm holdin' a spotted snake.
"An' Ah say, 'Listen't up, men. Ah hae here a spotted snake, aye?'
"An' th' men chorus back, 'Aye sir, ae spotted snake.'
" 'Now, Ah'm goin't't' show you th' solution to thae spotted snakes. Ae's by th' numbers. Wi' th' count ae one, y' securit th' snake wi' your right hand. Wi' th' count ae two, y' secure th' snake wi' your left hand as well. Wi' th' count ae three, y' slid't y'r right hand up't' its wee head, an pop, on th' count ae four, y' snappit th' snake's head off wi' y'r thumb!'
"An' th' men's eyes goggle, an then they go't' war.
"F'r th' next two weeks, thae's all y' hear around th' detachment. Pop...pop...pop...pop. Thae's wee snake heads lyin't all around.
"An th' morale picks up, an' thae's noo more deserters, an' thae's nae crime sheet, an' e'en the pox rate drops a notch.
"M' problem's solved. An' then, one day, Ah'm visitin' th' dispensary.
"An' thae's one puir lad lying't thae, an' he's swathed in bandages. Head't' foot. Bandages.
"An' Ah ask't 'Whae happen?'
"An' he croakit, 'Spotted snakes, sir!'
"'Spotted snakes,' Ah says.
"'Aye, sir. Spotted snakes.'
'"G'on lad,' Ah says."
Alex was looking a little worried—then the door opened again, and the same silent arm replaced the tunic and weapons belt. Alex hesitated, then put his story—if that was what it was—back on track. Sten was trying to remember just what the most painful and slowest method of execution he knew of was and was determined to apply it to his warrant officer.
"'Sir,' th' lad in bandages goes on. 'Y' know how y' told us how't' deal wi' th' spotted snakes?'
" 'Aye, spotted snakes. But Ah dinnae ken—'