Harrick and Clinton walked confidently out of the GET tunnel into the magnificent gateway terminal in the centre of The Capital.

  Using the special HTI shuttle, they had travelled from Dirt to the edge of Dirt’s solar system, then used their Intersect drive to leap to the nearest world equipped with a Galaxy Express Tunnel. They then just showed their authorisation, stepped into the huge tunnel of the GET and stepped out onto the exit at The Capital.

  Sergeant Timms was waiting for them in his full Personal Imperial Guard uniform complete with bright orange battledress and bright feathers won in battle on their homeworld. There was plenty of room around them as few wished to interfere with the Emperor’s own guards, especially considering the rumoured brutishness of all the PIG members.

  “Welcome to The Capital, Sir,” said Sergeant Timms to Harrick and a head shake in acknowledgement to Clinton.

  Harrick and Clinton smiled and gave an informal head shake of recognition. Imperial military forces did not salute in public. They left that for when they were amongst their own. This custom made it difficult for non military to know the appropriate style of salute appropriate to the rank and situation. The Imperial defence forces ensured that public Tri-D entertainment had imaginary methods of recognition. It helped weed out most imposters.

  “This way, Sirs,” gestured the Sergeant towards a nearby exit, “Our transport awaits.”

  It took about an hour for the transport vehicle to make its way through crowded thoroughfares to the PIG barracks. Clinton was happy to be back at The Capital again, the trip bringing back memories of his student days. However, when he was studying those years ago, he mainly kept to the Imperial and aristocratic sections of the city. This was the first time he had actually seen the more common areas. It was not as clean or organised as he had experienced previously. The transport’s PIG driver made fruitful use of the built in shield, powered by the generator securely stored in the rear of the vehicle. Anyone blocking their way was nudged aside by the invisible force. The PIG trooper drove slowly. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, he just wanted everyone to get out of his way.

  Not far from the PIG barracks, the Sergeant pointed out a large formidable building on their right. It had a fancy facade of colour and majesty, but Harrick could see hints of the reinforced building materials behind the facade and hidden gun ports.

  “That is the home of the High Chancellor,” said Sergeant Timms with a sneer, “The Chancellor’s Head Office Protectors are based there and conduct patrols along the streets to ‘keep the peace’. Try to keep clear of them if you see them in your travels.”

  “We won’t have much time for sightseeing,” said Harrick thoughtfully, “We will be spending most of our time with you and your Captain. Your upcoming assignment will have a number of ‘challenges’, I think.”

  “Challenges?” said Sergeant Timms, smiling, “The captain loves challenges.”

  “We’re almost there,” said the Sergeant, pointing to a huge, solid construction ahead, “Once we’re through the security shields, we’ll meet with the Captain straight away.”

  ****

  Captain Mapps sat back and ruffled the stubble on his head after hearing Harrick explain the background of Dirt, “Harrick, that is quite the challenge you have revealed.”

  Sergeant Timms grinned. He was happy to see the Captain get a challenge. He liked challenges.

  “May I connect to a data port?” asked Clinton, “I would like to show you some video and other footage we have taken of our retrievals and experiences.”

  Captain Mapps nodded, and Sergeant Timms showed Clinton to the data port attached to the officer’s desk systems. Clinton inserted his device to the Data port and uploaded the interactive video he had prepared. While Harrick explained, Clinton would use his communicator to advance each scene or image.

  Meanwhile, operating in the background, Clinton’s security Bot went to work. Harrick explained the extent of the challenges to the PIG officers, Clinton clicked when appropriate to move the presentation forward and carefully monitored his bot’s progress in a small side window.

  “Yes!” said Clinton triumphantly when the bot had retrieved some potentially useful data.

  “Did that excite you Clinton?” asked Harrick, hovering over the screen showing footage of Clinton’s first rescue of hunters on the shuttle just after he joined.

  Straightening up, Clinton hurriedly explained, “Yes, Sir. In that video, I had just rejoined your team less than an hour before this event and am still excited at how we were able to save some hunter’s lives. Sir.”

  Harrick gave Clinton a look that subtly reminded him to stay calm and said, “Yes. Indeed. Anyway, here we see the impact the Dirtlings have had on hunts,”

  Once the review was completed, Harrick nodded to Clinton. Clinton arose and extracted his data unit. His bot had done its work in the couple of hours the briefing had taken. He would get to examine the data later when they had some privacy.

  Captain Mapps pondered all they had seen and asked, “So. Based on what you have shown us, we need to maintain unit coherency. Mutual supporting fire and a mix of defensive and offensive operations.”

  “Much like hunting the Thonts,” said the Sergeant thoughtfully, “Except that, although these Dirtlings look weaker, they vary in capabilities widely.”

  “And there are a lot more of them,” added Harrick, “We try to set hunting parties down in more remote areas. They get their little hunt but rarely face a full onslaught of the better trained Dirtlings.”

  Captain Mapps looked at Sergeant Timms, “I don’t think we’ll have that luxury. The Lord High Chancellor will be working with the Emperor and what the Emperor wants,”

  “He gets,” finished the Sergeant ruefully.

  Looking down at his communicator, Captain Mapps said, “I think it’s time we had a break. There’s a good place just down the road we often support.”

  The Sergeant looked at Harrick and Clinton as they stood up, “You will have to leave your weapons here. No one can carry weapons while in The Capital.”

  “What about those?” asked Clinton, looking at the long baton at the sides of the Captain and the Sergeant.

  “Ah, right,” said Sergeant Timms, reaching over to a rack on the wall, and grinned, “Take one of these batons. They are meant to be ceremonial, but we strengthened ours. To make the ceremony more meaningful if they are needed.”

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  Harrick and Clinton attached the batons to their belts using the universal fasteners and followed their hosts’ lead.

  As they passed the sentries on duty, one of the guards mentioned to the captain, “CHOPs are about, Sir.”

  The Captain shook his head in agreement and they proceeded towards their meal.

  Like all food preparation areas in The Capital, the menu choices at this foodary were very extensive. With so much variety amongst the citizens of the Federation, most food was fabricated on demand. Special food, however, was available to regulars, and the ‘Fluffy Thont’ was run by an ex PIG who liked The Capital and had done well with his foodary. Regular business from the PIG Barracks helped cover the overheads and all the other guests contributed to the profit.

  Clinton sat back after finishing his plate and said to the waiter clearing the table, “This is excellent. I am surprised the place isn’t as busy as it should be. The food quality compares with some of the fancier places I remember from my youth here.”

  The waiter, a fellow Shoat, looked at Captain Mapps who shook his head in silent confirmation that his guest could be trusted. Leaning in, the waiter said, “We are normally busier, especially this time of day, but the CHOPs are patrolling a bit more energetically than usual lately. We suspect that the Lord High Chancellor is upset and his protectors are feeling the stress. Ah, here they are.”

  The doors swooshed open quietly. Clinton had the odd thought that Dirtling doors would have swung open with a bang, making a more dramatic entrance, but the gentle swoosh seemed a little anti-climactic compared to the jeering expressions of the Chancellor’s Protectors.

  The eight CHOPs were rat like humanoid creatures, the same as Harrick and Clinton, dressed in bright red finery, holding long poles the same height as themselves. Seeing the PIGs with some guests they made their way towards their table, shoving aside patrons that were nearby.

  “Well, well, well,” said Kluny, the CHOP Captain, with a sneer, “Enjoying your trough are we?”

  Harrick went to stand up to defend his hosts from members of his own race, but Captain Mapps placed a gentle touch on Harrick’s arm.

  Mapps said, “Kluny, my good friend and fellow servant of the Emperor. It is excellent to see you patronising this most excellent establishment.”

  Kluny scoffed, and his associates laughed, “Here? The Fluffy Thont is on our banned list. We leave it for the commoners. Like yourself.”

  Captain Mapps laughed out loud with a booming voice, “That’s great news! Waiter, another drink. Sadly, I won’t be able to include our good friend Kluny as he told us he’s going.”

  Kluny kicked the table which barely moved. It was built to handle boisterous Shoats, who, as large boar like creatures, had a lot of bulk. With a contemptuous move of his head, three of his associates reached for the table edge and with a grunt lifted it a few inches before it fell back with a thud. Looking up they saw Sergeant Timms with his hand on the table.

  Staring back, the Sergeant said calmly, “We’re having a drink.”

  The other four CHOPs rushed to the table and lifted with the other three. Clinton and Harrick stood up as Captain Mapps and Sergeant Timms held the table down. With a great heave, the seven CHOPs strained and pulled, just as the PIGs let go and stepped back. The CHOPs flew forward and they fell in a heap amongst the overturned table legs, with the ‘Fluffy Thont” guests laughing at the commotion.

  Kluny lifted his pole threatening to start a fight, when Captain Mapps held his arms out and said, “Kluny, my good friend. Let’s take this outside. Someone might get hurt if we try to exercise in this fine foodary.”

  Grinning maliciously, Kluny directed his troops outside. “Ready when you are.”

  Captain Mapps bowed with a flourish and said, “It is always a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Thanks, Mapps,” said Minto, the Shoat that owned the foodary.

  Clasping his arm around Minto’s shoulder, Captain Mapps said, “Not a problem, Minto. No need to get this place messed up. It’s time for some exercise.”

  Clinton said privately to Harrick, “The Captain drops in to the same friendly manner of speaking as you do with your enemies, Sir.”

  Harrick replied, “Same school of ‘How to annoy your enemy’ I think.”

  Pulling out his baton, he gestured to Clinton to do likewise and said to his hosts, “Shall we?”

  Clinton took out his baton and asked Harrick as they followed their hosts, “We’ll be outnumbered won’t we?”

  “Of course,” said Harrick, “But these CHOPs fight like hunting parties. As individuals used to overpowering their enemies. We’ll be fine. Good practice for you.”

  Surprised, Clinton asked just before they reached the door, “How do you know that?”

  Harrick grinned as they exited onto the well lit road outside the ‘Furry Thont’.

  Kluny stood facing the Foodary backed by a double squad of fifteen CHOPs.

  Captain Mapps and Sergeant Timms grinned. Harrick smiled as he looked at the nervous Clinton. “Just follow our lead, Clinton. The PIGs will use their bulk and fleetness and we’ll follow up and cause a little mayhem. Just stay inside their swing or out of their reach. Easy! Remember your training with Hendon.”

  Clinton winced, remembering his training. “The bruises will help you become a natural,” Hendon had said. “Thanks Hendon. I don’t want to be an all natural memory.”

  Then looking at the others, he saw that no-one was concerned.

  Then all chaos broke loose.

  With a laughing roar, echoing in unison, the PIGs dropped their heads and charged straight at Kluny and biggest pack of the CHOPs. “Let’s go!” encouraged Harrick as he followed with a smile.

  Kluny reacted too late and was pushed head over heels into half of his men, knocking them over. “Just like Dirtling bowling,” thought Clinton, then chastised himself for watching too many Dirtling documentaries during his down time.

  Harrick intercepted some half hearted retaliatory blows from CHOP troops on either side and Clinton followed, stepping aside to avoid a strike and stepping in to land his own blow with his baton as the swing passed. “Out and in,” thought Clinton, “It works. I’ll have to tell Hendon, Ow!”

  It wasn’t all one way but in a few moments, the four compatriots were through the pack and looking back. Kluny stood back up and his troops returned to duty, although many were noticeably limping. Kluny was about to give an order when Harrick put up his hand, “Excuse me, my good fellow.”

  Kluny stopped and stared at Harrick.

  “We’re just visiting here and enjoying the lovely sights and tastes of The Capital,” Harrick said graciously, smiling all the while, “As fellow Rodentia, do we really need to engage in such unpleasantries?”

  Kluny sneered, “If you hang around with PIGs, you get treated like them. Are you an ignorant brute too?”

  “Now, now,” said Harrick, “That’s a bit rude to your fellow servants of the Emperor. They have an important mission for the Emperor and need their beauty sleep. How about we bid our fond farewells and wish you all the best?”

  Kluny said, “You shall be delayed,” and he turned to his troops.

  “Home’s that way!” said the Sergeant and the two PIGs dropped their shoulders and charged straight back through the pack. This time they spread their arms wide and knocked almost all of them to the ground, causing a few injuries as they ran over the fallen bodies. Clinton avoided the disorganised retaliatory blows and made a few strikes with his baton and continued to follow his quickly moving companions.

  A short time later they sauntered into the Barracks, as if nothing had occurred. The guards saw the slightly out of place uniforms but wisely did not comment. They often had encounters with the Lord High Chancellor’s Protectors. Results varied, but the Sergeant always said it was excellent practice for close combat fighting.

  As they relaxed in Captain Mapps’ quarters, Clinton couldn’t contain himself any longer, “Captain, why did the Protectors want to fight you?”

  Sergeant Timms sighed happily and gave a smile, “I think it is professional jealousy. You are both Rodentia, and as you know, your race has a bit of a stranglehold on security throughout the Federation. They have always been upset that we are the Emperor’s Personal Guards. Any excuse will do to show us as somehow inferior. It’s all pretty normal. Good training for the troops.”

  Harrick commented, “It seemed a bit more than that. We were with you and there should have been some accommodation of the fact we are also pretty famous now.”

  Captain Mapps said, “I agree. This ‘challenge’ we have been given with the Emperor’s hunt may be more than it seems. If we fail, our home is on the line and the High Chancellor gets the chance to bid for us to be replaced.”

  “We’ll do our best to assist,” said Harrick, “Tomorrow we will take part in your training and we’ll see if we can apply some of our experience to your troops.”

  Sergeant Timms rubbed his hands, “Excellent. Focussed training for everyone!”

  Looking at the Captain he added, “Including you, Sir. You’ll be down there with us.”

  Captain Mapps agreed and said dryly, “Yes. Excellent. I do love a ‘challenge’.”