Chapter 1: The Food Nipple

    Gibble was nervous. He was a new recruit just like the rest of the platoon of Grunts on the Electra, a Covenant Battle Cruiser; this was the first real star-ship they had ever been on (although rumours said that it wasn’t quite finished on the inside). It was a very strange place for a Grunt; even the Food Nipple brought little comfort in the strange environment- but Gibble was still looking forward to eating none-the-less.

  Gibble wore orange armour (the older style) like most of the other Grunts on board. There were a few who wore red armour- an indication of their ‘higher’ rank; although none of the other Grunts really treated them like their superiors; it was more of a case of Grunts who may be a possible leader in the future, if they are not dead within a year or two of joining.

  There were two distinct designs of environment suits the Grunts wore that could be distinguished: there was the older design where the methane tank stuck up and out from the back and a diaper-shaped breathing mask (imagine a nappy; if you made it more leg-hole and less diaper, then it would be an almost exact match- except the fact the masks are metal and have ear phones and a mouth piece). The newer model is a much more ‘flash’ version- the methane tank curls up as it empties (it looks like a prawn growing off the back of a Grunt); the mask, instead of having a band which went right over the skull, stops short about one third of the way and has eye-brow armour. The newer version is much more dynamic, but just as much of a burden as the older model and is just as likely to randomly explode.

  It was breakfast aboard the Electra and slop was flying everywhere (processed meat and condensed Ood  milk to be precise). Elites, Hunters, Jackles and Grunts all ate in the same Mess Hall- which was quite unusual for a battle cruiser. It was a recipe for disaster (excuse the pun [and the brackets in almost every sentence]) and generally the largest bitch-sessions in history could often be witnessed live if the conditions were just right (ranging from a chilly stare to hot temperaments and deathly gestures; sometimes even a few of the spectators get K.Od). But what could Grunts expect when VIP suits took up at least twenty percent of the ship’s space? (Thus far, this is only another rumour the disgruntled Grunts have heard).

  Gibble walked over to the Food Nipple with three of his closest comrades. There was Zepha, a male grunt (who is dense even for a Grunt) and once ate a fresh animal poop, thinking it was chocolate moose and commented that it “tasted like girl lip cream”.

This brings us to the feminist of the group, Nibs. She is the only one of the four who wears red armour (old-style), and is slightly more ‘in-tee-lec-tual’ than the average Grunt.

Waziz, who is stuck between being an idiot and being half-smart generally is thus called the smart ass of the group (according to the home made Grunt Scale of Intelligence)- he wore orange armour. (Although the lucky Hooji  managed to get himself the new flash model by bribing the recruiting officer with a small ‘token’; or in other words, a month’s pay he had pilfered from an unlucky Grunt’s belongings.)

  ‘H-hey Gibble, what do you think the Food Nipple’s gonna serve us today?’ Zepha asked excitedly, unconsciously flaying his tray around wildly and almost sconing Nibs.
  ‘Zepha!’ Nibs warned. ‘Watch what you’re doing poo brain!’
  Zepha looked at his tray, which was now almost in Nibs’ face, as though it was alien to him. ‘Oops, sorry...’ he apologized.
  Gibble looked over to the Food Nipple. He was too short to see the menu over the Elites, so he simply shrugged.
  ‘Uhunoh. Why you asking me?’ he babbled to Zepha.
  ‘Wait up!’ Waziz spoke. ‘I’ll go and ask that there Hunter; it’s bound to be able to see over those Elites!’

  None of the Grunts had really met a Hunter face to face before, but some had heard of what they were like; mean, and generally sadistic, malevolent, slightly thick beasts.

  Nibs looked at Waziz a little anxiously. ‘Uh, Waziz, I’m not sure…’
  Waziz tilted his head and looked at Nibs; he had no clue what she meant. Surely a Hunter could tell them what was on the menu?
  ‘What’s there to be not sure about Nibs? I’m sure he can see over those Elites.’

  Gibble looked at the Hunter, then at Waziz; then at the Hunter, and Back at Waziz again. He did this several times.
  ‘Maybe Nibs’ right,’ Gibble spoke.
  ‘See, even Gibble’s not so sure about your idea Waziz.’ Nibs said beginning to muster confidence.

  Zepha stood and stared at the debate clueless- he just wanted to see what was on the menu; what was the big deal?
  Gibble finished off his sentence. ‘I don’t think that Hunter really can see over those Elites. I mean, it’s almost as tall as them in that armour.’
  Nibs banged her tray over Gibble’s head savagely.
  ‘Owowowow!’ Gibble cried out clutching his head and jumping about.
  Before Nibs could say anything more, Waziz was off in pursue on the Hunter who was slowly making its way closer to the Food Nipple, step by giant earth-quaking step.

  ‘He’s stupid.’ Nibs sighed.
  Zepha took defence of Waziz. ‘What are you talking about Nibs? Last time I checked you couldn’t count past twenty, and you’re calling Waziz stupid?’
  Nibs’ aggression began to vent.
  ‘There’s a difference between stupidity and dumbness Zepha!’ she began. ‘And I’m dumb; not stupid! There is a difference you know.’
  
  Waziz ambled towards the Hunter, almost running into several Elites on the way. As he got closer he began to call to the Hunter.
  ‘Hey, hey you there! In the gianormous armour!’ he shouted. ‘Wait up; I wanna ask you some thing!’
  The Hunter turned its head and looked over its shoulder.
  ‘Yeah, you with the small head and overlarge body!’ Waziz called. ‘Down here!’
  The hunter looked down and saw Waziz heading in a bee-line through the crowd towards him.
  The Hunter slowly turned its bulk around and stared at the little Grunt. Waziz tripped over and slammed into the Hunter’s shield face first but quickly got up.

  Waziz was a little nervous now that he was standing directly in front of the giant. He barely stood as tall as the Hunter’s knees, and even with its fuel rod gun detached from its arm the creature was fearsome.
  ‘Uh, sir, c-can you… Can I, uh, c-can, can I uh-’ Waziz’s babble was interrupted by a deep growl from the Hunter who was obviously not in the mood.

  Finally, Waziz composed himself. ‘Can you tell me what’s on today’s menu please…?’
  The Hunter stood and stared at Waziz, who was giving it a puppy face.
  ‘Well, can I climb on your head then?’ Waziz asked hopefully.
  The Hunter was stupefied.
  ‘Hurr, grr ghrrrrr.’ The hunter replied.
  ‘Say again!?’ Waziz asked scratching his head a little perplexed.
  In actual fact, the translation would have been ‘So you wanna see the menu?’ if Waziz had turned his translation mechanism on.
  Without another word the Hunter lumbered past Waziz who stood scratching his head, looking up at where the Hunter once stood a few seconds ago.

  The Hunter turned around, and before Waziz was aware that Hunter was standing right behind him, he was flying over the heads of the Elites towards the food menu. The Hunter had swatted him with its massive shield like he was playing grav-ball.
  ‘Eiiiiiiiyaaaaaaaaaahhhh-!’ Waziz screamed before he splattered face first into the menu.

  The Elites weren’t quite sure what had flown over their heads. They leaned over the counter to witness possibly the most impossibly possible (if that makes sense) posture they had ever seen a living grunt perform- once they realized the thing was a grunt that is.

  Waziz felt most uncomfortable. His head was pinned to the ground by his methane tank and his back bent over until his bottom rested on the wall and his legs spread across the wall while his arms crossed each other and poked out from the unique display
  ‘Wha-whab habbeneds?’ he managed to burble with his bitten tongue. He lost balance and tumbled sideways.
  ‘Iya feels like I hit as wall, mmmhhmm…’ Waziz spoke to himself, but loud enough for all to hear.
  Waziz could see fuzzy images of what he supposed were Elites pointing and laughing over a large counter. He looked around and saw a large, fuzzy blue image about three metres away from him.
  ‘That’s because you did hit a wall stupid…’
  Waziz looked around; his translation mechanism in his head set must have been turned on when he impacted.

  The voice was dangerously calm, and it sounded like an Elite; but all of them were laughing. He looked around towards the fuzzy blue thing again. He rubbed his eyes until his vision was clear, and saw an Elite with an apron wrapped around its waist, starring down at him venomously.
  ‘Me… Your friend?’ Waziz asked in an attempt to not get another beating.
  The Elite bared its teeth and crossed its arms holding a cooking instrument tightly in its fist.
  ‘Uh, maybe I should leave now…’ Waziz got up slowly but instead of heading for the exit he ran into the wall.
  ‘Wort wort wort!’ was the last words he heard before he felt an iron grip lift him right off his stomach. His translation mechanism was malfunctioning, so he hit his head set several times until it was working again.
  ‘Out of my kitchen Grunt before I make Food Nipple supplements out of your carcass! Only waitresses and chefs are allowed behind the counter!’ The Elite growled.
  Waziz remarked, ‘You look more like a male to me.’
  The Elite hurled Waziz over the counter and away from the Food Nipple, over the other Elites, and almost all the way across the Mess.
  Gibble, Nibs and Zepha rolled their heads in unison as they saw Waziz fly across the mess again, only this time in the opposite direction.

  ‘Thank God the medical is free,’ Zepha commented. ‘Or he’d need a home loan by the time he’s done.’
  Gibble stood and stared at the area where Waziz landed.
  ‘Let’s go and see if he found out what’s on the menu; surely he saw it at some point- he was thrown into it after all.’
  Nibs’ eye brow twitched. She was hungry, yes, but she was dumb; not stupid- she knew Waziz may have seen what was on the menu if he had kept his eyes open on impact, but she also knew the chances were more or less slim.

  ‘Only if he’s fit to talk.’ she replied. ‘If not, then too bad.’
  The three made their way over to Waziz’s landing point; it was quite visible, as he had skidded over a vacant bench covered with used dishes which were now scattered left right and centre.  

  Waziz lay on his stomach covered in mush from the left overs. He would have licked the white goo from himself, but they had to eat with a special ‘straw’ like attachment which connected to their masks or else they had to eat in a methane environment with out their masks on. And besides, he felt as though some one had hit him with an anvil.

  ‘Hey Waziz!’ Zepha called out and headed over to inspect.
  Gibble and Nibs followed up and they stood around Waziz.
  ‘So what’s on the menu?’ Zepha asked.
  ‘I think that Elite was a female; explains the temper.’ Gibble commented, as he looked almost painfully at Waziz’s injuries.
  Nibs gave Gibble the death-stare. ‘I dare you to say that again Gibble!’
  Gibble looked dumb-founded at Nibs. ‘What did I say? It’s only the truth.’
  Nibs narrowed her eyes, and raised her tray, aiming for Gibble’s head.
  ‘No! Don’t hit me!’ Gibble quaked and waved his arms in protest, although it did him no good.
  ‘You’ll be worse than Waziz when I’m finished with you Gibble!’ She fumed and swung her tray.
  Zepha jumped back a little to avoid being accidentally being back-handed by Nibs, and covered his face. Gibble barely avoided her swing, and ran towards a pack of Elites eating at a bench.
  ‘Get back here you insulting little bastard!’ Nibs yelled angrily after Gibble.

  Zepha uncovered his face and prodded Waziz.
  ‘I’m amazed you aint dead.’ He said.
  Waziz tried to lift himself up, but the combination of a methane tank attached to his back and feelings he assumed only dead people felt had prevented him doing so.
  ‘Help me up Zepha,’ he asked. ‘And stop prodding me; I aint no animal; I’m a civil being.’
  Zepha grabbed Waziz’s arm and yanked.
  ‘Ouch! You stupid dummy, watch what you’re doing!’
  Zepha ignored Waziz and continued to pull him up, until he was on his feet.
  ‘Stop moaning; it’s the only way you were gonna get up.’ He replied.
  Waziz’s face scrunched up in pain, and he slowly began to walk stiffly towards the Food Nipple.
  ‘What are you doing?’ Zepha asked half amazed at his comrade. ‘The hospital wing is the other way.’
  Waziz looked at Zepha. ‘There food tastes like crap there,’ he said ‘so I’m getting breakfast now. I don’t care what it is as long as it comes from the Food Nipple.’

  Zepha contemplated this for a few seconds.
  ‘What about Nibs and Gibble?’ he asked.
  ‘Let them get kicked up the arse by Elites; I’m not fishing them out.’ Waziz said and made a steady progress towards the Food Nipple.
  Zepha took another few seconds to let the statement sink in. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Screw ‘em- I don’t wanna end up like you.’
  Zepha and Waziz headed slowly to the Food Nipple while Gibble still ran for his life with Nibs in hot pursuit.

  ‘Feet don’t fail me now!’ Gibble panted. He knew he would be safe-he hoped- once he was near the Elites. He didn’t actually come across the thought that Nibs would not try to attack Gibble around the Elites in case she accidentally hit them. He was thinking more along the lines that he could hide between their legs and hope Nibs wouldn’t see him, and run past.
  The Elites were too busy chatting and doing what Elites do at breakfast time to notice Gibble crawl under their table; he almost got stuck, but managed to squeeze through even with the methane tank on his back- the benches were high enough even for Hunters to sit at, and the seat heights were adjustable.

  Nibs saw where Gibble hid; she also knew how stupid it was. She needed a projectile, and somewhere to hide from the Elites. She had devised a plan; not a good one, but none the less a plan any Grunt would be proud of.
  She grabbed her food tube and looked around. There. She spotted a half-eaten bowl of what ever it was that the Food Nipple was processing today. She hunkered over and scrambled onto the seat, and grabbed the bowl; and tasted the contents.
  ‘So that’s what’s on the menu today.’ She said to herself, pleased with the flavour.

  She placed the bowl onto the seat beside her, almost spilling the sloppy contents. She attempted to climb down, but her methane tank unbalanced her and she toppled off. Once on her feet again, she groped for the bowl of mush and grabbed it. Carefully she made her way over to a bench adjacent to the Elite’s table that Gibble was hiding under.

  Meanwhile, Gibble was busy dodging Elite Feet. Most kept still, but he didn’t want to touch them; he’d be Jackle bait if he was discovered. Slowly he crept forward; then out of the blue he heard a roar of laughter and all the feet moved; one narrowly missing his face and another almost came into contact with his bum.

  He stayed still until all the Elites were calm, or what was considered calm for  an Elite, and sighed with relief when it was moderately safe. Feeling a little sticky-beakish, he turned on his translation device and the Elite speak became clear as bells… He heard one say how he had shoved a Jackle into the Fusion Reactors and charred its hair off, and another was talking about how fat his aunty was. Then something interesting came up. He heard one of them mention how they were going to ‘blow the-“translation invalid”-out of the human forces and invade Planet Reach.

  ‘Stupid crappy software,’ he muttered to himself. ‘“Invalid translation” my arse; I need to up-DATE! JESUS!’
  He jumped and slammed his head into the bottom of the bench. Something wet and slimy had hit his bum. He suddenly realised how silent the Elites were…

  He held his breath, and covered his mouth. He slowly looked over his shoulder, and saw Nibs peeking out from behind a bench. She waved to him with a mischievous look on her face, and he returned her the finger. When he turned around again, he saw at least eight Elite heads looking at him. They weren’t smiling. They were annoyed- and even Gibble knew that was an understatement.

  In unity he heard eight Elites growl and bare their teeth. Their breath wasn’t fresh; they definitely hadn’t brushed their teeth since the day before.
  ‘Uh…’ Gibble managed to squeak. He turned to face them and tapped his fingers together. ‘Hi…?’

Splat!

  ‘Damn you!’ he yelled rubbing the back of his head. He meant that for Nibs, but he realised with sudden fear that the Elites thought he was talking to them. The closer ones reached under as far as they could and looked as though they were trying to claw his eye balls. The others ran around to the sides to block Gibble.

  He heard Nibs’ distinct giggles. ‘I’ll kill you Nibs!’ he yelled, and dove under the writhing hands of the Elites just in time; one of them attempted to crawl in after Gibble but he/she/(it?) got stuck because of their wide chest plates. Gibble crawled forward and looked behind him. Bad idea; the Elite snapped it’s mandibles at Gibble and most of the speech came up as “invalid translation”.

  Gibble scrambled forward as the Elite tried to grab his leg. Just as he was about to exit, the head of another Elite poked in- centimetres away from Gibble’s face; its’ mandibles were gapping wide open, making evil noises and spluttering saliva over Gibble. He had only one option.

  ‘Bbbbuuuuuuuurrppp.’

  He belched as hard as he could into the open mouth of the Elite, pushing up every last bubble and chunk he could muster, which came out the vents of his mask.

  ‘Yuaaargh!’ The Elite yelped in surprise and banged its head on the bench and backed out faster than plasma rifle shot energy. It clutched its throat, bent double coughing and spluttering; its eyes were bulging.

  Gibble took the chance to run. He bolted out and past most of the Elites who were starring fixedly at their comrade whom looked like he was dieing or choking; they couldn’t decide. One, how ever, gave an angry growl. He ploughed ahead of Gibble and stood shaking his fists and snapping his mandibles. However, Gibble merely ran straight through his legs at full speed. There was a loud clunk and Gibble looked around. He had felt his methane tank hit something.
  The Elite let off a cry almost like he was dieing, and kneeled down clutching his crutch.

  ‘Eiyiy!’ Gibble managed in a panicked squeal. He had hit the Elite right between his legs- its shield wasn’t turned on because they were not in combat mode, and Gibble had felt that impact shudder his armour; god only knew how painful that would have been.

  Gibble kept running, and hid around the corner of a sliding door. He spied the Elites who were in a fury, but quickly popped his head back around the corner in fright as an Elite looked about.
  The Elites that Gibble had crippled were recovering slowly. Everyone searched the Mess quickly. Not wanting to bother about Gibble, they left in a huff through the door on the opposite side of the Mess.

Gibble reappeared from his hiding spot, and saw Nibs sitting at a bench with Zepha and Waziz eating breakfast.
  ‘Females,’ he muttered angrily to himself. ‘They’re so… Annoying!’ he finally said after thinking for a minute.
  He wanted his own back, and he intended to make it good. Maybe not now, perhaps later…

  Gibble was hungry. He walked over to the Food Nipple, having grabbed a new tray. He picked up a bowl and went to pull the lever of the Food Nipple. Nothing more than a few drips came out.

  ‘W-what!?’ he stuttered. ‘The Food Nipple is empty?’
  This was impossible. The Food Nipple had never been empty before. Ever.
  ‘No-hoho-hooooooo!’ he wailed. ‘The Food Nipple is empty! H-how will I survive!’

  An unfamiliar face leaned over the counter and looked at Gibble. The Grunt was sitting weeping on the floor and had the bowl covering his head mournfully with his tray laid beside him.
  ‘What the hell!?’ the female Elite said, glaring at Gibble.
  She looked a little bit closer at the sobbing grunt. She was relieved it wasn’t the same Grunt as before.

  ‘Plug it!’ she said irritated. ‘Stop your confounded blubbering. I’m about to refill the Food Nipple.’

  Gibble stopped his wailing almost instantaneously. He lifted the bowl off his head and looked up. He jumped and yelped in surprise.
  ‘It’s the Bogie Elite! Don’t eat me!’ Gibble cowered and put the back bowl over his quivering head.
  The Elite tilted her head and looked at the pathetic Grunt. She shook her head at the sight.

  She disappeared behind the counter again and reappeared within half a minute. Gibble heard a dull thud and looked out from under his bowl to see what the Elite was about to do to him. Amazed, he was looking at a bowl of fresh mush.
  ‘I just wet myself!’ Gibble said merrily.
  The Elite looked disgusted, and spoke in its language. ‘Get your food and nick off before I change my mind and plough it up your behind.’
  Gibble strode forward gleefully; but the bench was too high.
  ‘Can you pass it to me? I’m a shorty; this Mess wasn’t made for little people.’
  The Elite, trying to hold back her frustration, calmly as possible passed down the bowl. Doing this would make the Grunt leave her alone she supposed.

  ‘Thanks!’ Gibble chirped up with anticipation to eat.
  The Elite turned back to her job of re-filling the Food Nipple when Gibble’s Grunty voice spoke up again.
  ‘Uh,’ he said ‘What’s for lunch?’
  The Elite leaned out from behind the Food Nipple and narrowed her eyes and snapped her mandibles.
  ‘Okay, okay.’ Gibble replied when he saw her frosty look. ‘I’ll go and eat Food Nipple mush.’

  The Elite went back to her task after making sure Gibble did go away.
  Gibble made his way over to the bench where Nibs, Zepha and Waziz were sitting. Everyone had finished their mush and sat talking. Nibs spotted Gibble.

  ‘Hey Gibble, what took you so long? On a date with an Elite were we?’ she half giggled half snorted. Zepha and Waziz cacked themselves and gasped for air as they hooted with laughter.
  ‘That wasn’t funny,’ Gibble growled. ‘I almost got killed by a pack of savages thanks to Nibs.’
  ‘Serve’s you right Gibble. You made me angry.’ Nibs raised an eye brow.
  Gibble lowered a seat next to Zepha and hoped on, then made it lift until he was able to eat comfortably at the table.
  ‘You gotta admit though,’ Zepha said almost admirably. ‘He didn’t end up like a pulp like Waziz.’
  ‘What!?’ Waziz protested. ‘I’m still walking aint I?’
  ‘I’m smart.’ Gibble puffed out his little chest proudly. ‘I knew how to beat those Elites.’
  ‘What a load of Jackle crap!’ Zepha said replied. ‘You just got lucky numb brains.’

  Gibble remembered how the female Elite had given him a cold stare and tried to mimic it.
  ‘I am brave, too!’ he added.
  ‘Brave?’ Nibs sputtered and let out a weird Grunty howl of laughter. ‘I don’t call burping in an Elite’s face and accidentally hitting one in the nuts brave while running for your life like a little sissy.’
  ‘I bet I do better burps than you any day of the week Nibs.’ Gibble said challengingly.
  ‘Is that so? Well, we’ll see about that. Waziz, fetch me another bowl of mush from the Food Nipple.’
  ‘Yes your majesty.’ Waziz said sarcastically.
  ‘Shove that back chat where the sun don’t shine. On the double, mush! Mush!’

  Waziz hopped off his seat and wiggled his bum up at Nibs from a safe distance.
  ‘Say Sir, you’re speaking to the Rear Admiral!’ Waziz yelled out cheekily, and dodged an empty bowl that Nibs hurled at him.
  Nibs turned to Gibble. ‘We’re gonna have a belching contest; the one to lose has to be the other’s slave and do exactly as they say for a week. Deal?’
  ‘Deal.’ Gibble agreed. ‘But none of us can be the judge; we need some one neutral.’
  Nibs looked at Gibble. ‘Alright then.’

  Gibble hopped off his seat and headed for the Food Nipple. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I know just the person.’
  He passed Waziz on the way, and gave him the details. ‘I’m gonna ask the girl Elite to be the judge.’ He said.

  In a mad panic, similar to an asthma attack, Waziz almost dropped the bowl and slopped some of the contents over the side.
  ‘You’re mad!’ he cried. ‘You’ll be eaten alive and shoved in the Food Nipple!’
  ‘I got an idea- well, I’m not sure if it’ll work though, so just be ready to save me.’ Gibble said.
  Waziz stared at him. ‘You’re on your own.’ He said bluntly and walked away.

  Gibble pondered this then headed for the Food Nipple. On arrival, he yelled over the counter.
  ‘Ma'am!’ he called in a screechy voice comparable to a chalk board. ‘Are you there?’
  Gibble heard her foot steps and then saw her lean over the counter.
  She gave him another frosty glare.
  ‘We was wondering if you could be our judge for our contest.’ He asked.
  ‘No.’ she said.
  ‘But you don’t even know what the contest is!’ Gibble protested.
  ‘no.’ she said again, and turned to walk off.
  ‘Wait!’ Gibble spoke, begging to panic. He calmed him self down and then spoke what he guessed was probably a suicidal remark.
  ‘I’ll never leave you alone again unless you do it. And if I die, I’ll haunt you!’

  Gibble heard the Elite’s foot stops halt, and slowly walk back. Her face appeared over the counter again- but her face was quite a relief to Gibble.
  ‘You want to die?’ she asked.
  Gibble realised that looks can be overly deceiving.
  ‘No, not really.’ Gibble replied. ‘But I keep my word- if you don’t judge; I’m going to annoy you-’
  ‘Get out of here before I do kill you!’ she snapped.
  ‘Be the judge!’ Gibble urged. ‘Please!’

  Please wasn’t a word used very often by Grunts; generally they used it to lick up to the higher ranks, or get something.

  ‘Get bent.’ The female Elite finally said. ‘I’m not doing what a Grunt tells me. If you leave now, I’ll let you live. If I was a male Elite, you would have been dead the last time I encountered you.’
  ‘If you don’t judge…’ Gibble started.
  ‘What you gonna do? Spank me? Please. Spare me the crap.’
  ‘No,’ Gibble replied casually. He moved closer and stood on his toes and whispered to the female Elite.
‘Worse… I’ll tell the Commander in the black armour over there you like him.’
  ‘He’s not going to believe a Grunt.’ She snorted. ‘And besides, that’s a load of waffle.’
  ‘He doesn’t know that. You might find yourself in an awkward position.’ Gibble spoke even softer.
  ‘You little ass; that’s blackmail! I’ll skin you alive for this!’
  ‘Exactly,’ Gibble replied; he was winning and he knew it.

  The Elite stiffened up. She looked over to the Elite in the black armour, then down where Gibble was supposed to be. She quickly looked up again, and the little grunt was running off toward the Commander.

Shit, she thought. Grunts are too stupid for their own good-that little puke.
  She leapt over the counter and caught up with Gibble and grabbed him by the collar of the metal armour from behind and double timed it to his bench, and slammed him into a seat.

  ‘Get this straight,’ she said with a much more menacing note that made everyone flinch. ‘You piss me off just once more and I will kill the lot of you- it’ll be nothing compared to those other Elites, they were just doing that for fun. Now tell me the details so I can get this over with.’
  Gibble was not so sure now if he had done the right thing. He felt frightened, but spluttered the message out.
  ‘B-belching contest thingy… Me, Nibs.’ He pointed towards Nibs, and the female Elite looked at her with her peripheral vision. Nibs felt the Elite’s eyes on her.
  ‘Make it clear,’ the Elite said with a deadly calm, ‘I didn’t do this to stop you telling the Commander what you said you were going to say, I did it to save the cleaners the job of mopping up your remains.’
  Gibble nodded and gulped.

  The Mess was relatively empty now; the main rush had gone. But the few that were left were intrigued to know what an Elite was doing talking to a pack of Grunts; usually they only talked to them to give orders or more commonly abuse them.

  ‘Get on with your stupid belching contest and be done with it,’ the Elite spoke. ‘Everyone is starring at us.’
  Three near-by Elites over heard her. They got out of their seats and approached the Grunts and the female Elite. They were Gold Elites.
“Invalid translation” crackled a whisper from the Grunt’s ear phones inserted in their armour. Gibble wondered what the female Elite had muttered that the software didn’t understand.
  ‘Hey, Zara, What are you doing talking to those dim-witted Grunts?’
  The Gold Elites stood around her.
  ‘So your name is Zara?’ Gibble asked; his reply was a wallop on his head from a spatula she was holding.
  The second gold Elite spoke up.
  ‘Yeah, what’s a chick like you doing here with these little pip squeaks?’ He asked.

  The third was standing half behind her, and went to put his hand around her waist. Zara turned around and lobbed a fist into his face. ‘Don’t lay a “invalid translation” finger on me you “invalid translation” bastard!’
  Everyone who was left in the Mess snapped their heads towards the Zara and the Gold Elites- including the Commander.

  Everyone starred in silence. Then it erupted like a volcano- thanks to the Grunts.
  ‘Get him!’ Gibble shouted and jumped onto the bench. ‘Paedophile!’
  Gibble flung his bowl of mush at the Gold Elite. The mush splattered over his helmet and into his eyes.

  Waziz was the next to follow suite, and flung the bowl of mush he had at the Gold Elite. The other two Gold Elites snapped their attention to the Grunts and snarled.

  ‘What’s going on!’ a firm and flawless voice thundered. It was the Commander.
  ‘Elites, what the hell happened here?’ He snapped and glared at the grunts.
  ‘I want some good answers or I’ll be dishing everyone up to the Jackles as offal!’ authority propelled his voice like a megaton explosion.

  ‘Commander, Sir,’ Zara spoke up and snapped to attention; the grunts tried to oppress their giggles- She looked funny in an apron when standing at attention.
  ‘Speak up, Zara.’ The Commander spoke briskly, and snarled menacingly at the Grunts to shut them up.
‘Sir, this ass tried to put his hand around my waist, sir. I did not give him permission so I flogged him one.’
  Zara did not drag it on. She just told the Commander the story straight and simple.
  ‘And the Grunts? Well, you had better ask them the rest, sir.’ She finished.

  The Commander took his eyes away from Zara and walked around to the Grunts, who clumsily made their way to the ground and stood at attention as best they could- they shook like leaves.
  ‘I’m making it plain and simple for you little maggots. Lie and you die. Although… that will probably happen anyway.’ The Commander looked irritably down at the four Grunts.

  Anyone who hadn’t fled the room when the Commander waltzed over kept their distance.
  Gibble spoke up. ‘Sir, we, uh, well… um, you see… I’m confused.’
  The Commander was visibly not up to Grunt crap. He leaned close to Gibble and breathed over his face. ‘Tell me why you threw food at the Gold Elite before I snap your neck in half Grunt. They are well above your rank; they should receive your respect.’
  Gibble tried to control himself but it all flowed out like he had taken laxatives.
  ‘Sir weum splacrapon ‘litecozee feeldup Zarasir!’

  The Commander kept breathing on Gibble’s face. ‘Repeat that slowly. ’ He said with pure malice.
  Gibble took a breath and tried again. ‘Sir, we um splattered crap on Elite because he feeled up Zara, sir!’

  The Commander, to Gibble's relief, stood straight and stopped breathing on him. The Commander turned and looked at the Elites, then at the Grunts and finally he eyed Zara. He turned and addressed her.

  ‘Zara,’ he said with firmness but no sign of malice.
  ‘Yes sir?’ she replied calmly.
  ‘What were you doing here anyway, why were you with these Grunts? Explain.’
  Zara stayed at attention and blurted it out. ‘Sir, I was black-mailed sir, to be a judge of their bizarre belching competition, Sir.’

  The Commander looked suspiciously at the Grunts, and then questioned Zara again. ‘How did they blackmail you, Zara?’ His voice was tight.
  Zara turned red under her helmet. She avoided eye contact with the Commander for a moment in hesitation, until she had composed herself so she could just let it flow nicely.
‘Sir,’ she began. ‘One of them said if I did not judge their competition that they would annoy me for as long as I lived and when they died they would haunt me-’
  ‘Harharhar! You took that blackmail seriously?’ One of the Gold Elites laughed.
  ‘Shut the hell up Elite!’ The Commander snapped. ‘Zara, continue.’
  ‘Sir. As I was going to say, I ignored the lot until they said something else, sir.’

  The Commander soaked up the info. ‘And what was it ‘they’ said, Zara?’
  ‘Sir, I don’t think I want to say it with-’
  ‘Tell me now, Zara.’ The Commander’s patience was getting thin. Zara had no choice- dignity involved or not.
  ‘Sir, one of the Grunts said they’d tell you I liked you in a more than “friendly” way- which I enforce was a load of nonsense-  and ran over in your direction, so I grabbed him and said I’d judge- mostly so he wasn’t killed, sir.’

  The Commander did not expect this for an answer. He put his hands behind his back and cleared his throat and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He was partly proud that he had such a reputation, but he was also torn between embarrassment and amusement.

  ‘Grunts,’ he finally said; his voice holding on the border of a calm manner but they could clearly see he was mad as a bull, ‘Clean up this whole Mess Hall before Lunch, then after lunch, and then again, after the last meal. Then get the hell out of here; no ‘Nibbles’ either- not even at break time.’

  He turned to Zara. ‘Normal routine, Zara, but go and clean yourself up and I want to see in my Command Station before you start preparing lunch.’
  He then turned to the three Gold Elites. ‘Go and get cleaned up, too.’ He then singled out the Gold Elite who tried to put his hand around Zara. ‘Gold and bold. Typical. Get cleaned, and get back to your station ASAP.’
  ‘Get to it people!’ he snapped.
  Everyone tore to their assigned destinations, and the Grunts got to work.