#flawless teamwork

The Idiothele begins to shrug before shaking his limbs. “I believe you are.” 

There’s silence, not unlike in previous cases when they have this kind of discussion, and they’re almost always having this kind of discussion. Because no matter how many times Laswell warns him about the risks of working with humans, completely undocumented humans who should have never been in space in the first place with absolutely no sensitivity training whatsoever, he only gives a hollow acknowledgement before blatantly ignoring everything she said. 

“You are about to go on a mission, correct?” 

Price’s stilts shift at the sudden turn in the conversation. “We were just about to disembark when I called to give an update.” 

“I want to be in the active coms.” 

“No,” is his immediate answer as anger rises up in him. “Active coms are for my squad only.” 

“Price,” Laswell murmurs, humming as she attempts to soothe his protective rage. “If I wanted to report you, I would have done it already. It will be on one of the frequencies that will be cut after the mission is complete. I won’t be recording anything. I just want to hear what you hear, breathe what you breathe.” 

See his team how he sees them. Three beings that, despite being strong enough to kill him within seconds before he even realized what was happening, they follow each and every one of his orders, watching his back like they do for each other in a way that’s as natural as breathing. 

“I’m trusting you, Laswell.” 

“And Great Mother knows I will never break that trust,” his friend murmurs. “Not when I hold your friendship several branches higher than my loyalty to the federation.” 

Price feels like he’s being tied up inside his own web, but there’s nothing he can do if he wants to keep Laswell at his side. She certainly has been patient with him. 

“Alright,” comes out harsher than he meant, but his mind is in several different places, most of them centered around keeping his humans safe and by his side. 

No matter what happens, even if Laswell determines this ‘experiment’ has gone on long enough, he will simply disappear as if he never existed, along with his three slings. 

“Give me a moment to brief them. I’ll contact you with a severable link once we’re on the ground.” 

“Talk to you soon, Price.” 

The Idiothele chitters to himself as he cuts the coms, gathering the last of his things before stalking out of the room to greet his squad all ready to go. 

Immediately Ghost narrows his eyes. “Something we should know about, captain?” 

Price hisses. “We will have a guest on our coms during our op. You will be on your best behavior, or I’m wrapping you up to hang from the ceiling, do I make myself clear?” 

All three humans nod once, customary from every other time they’ve agreed without any attempts to add stipulations. Soap’s expression is attentive as Gaz seems more somber than usual. 

“Is it Laswell, sir?” the lowest ranked asks. The first human he had met. The one who was in the room when Laswell had reported the potential of lethal beasts from a deathworld wondering around the galaxy. 

Price gives his own jerky nod. “It is. She wants to hear how well this team works together.” 

Ghost straightens up as he rolls his shoulders. “Let’s give a good show, then.” 

With all three in agreement, Price switched their frequency as a stilt hits the button to open the bay doors. Ghost immediately takes point as the Idiothele finalizes their technology, Soap and Gaz quickly following the second in command as Price covers their backs. 

“Coms are successfully linked. Laswell, do you copy?” 

“Copy, captain,” her familiar voice greets. 

“You’re coming through clearly on our end. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, copy.” 

“Loud and clear,” Ghost grunts. 

“Copy, captain,” Soap confirms. 

“Loud and clear, sir,” Gaz agrees. 

“Let’s make this a clean one, slings.” 

“That’s why they call me Soap, sir.” 

“I thought it was to remind you to take a thab every so often.” 

Price softly chitters a reprimand to not have so much banter right at the beginning of an operation. The coms quickly become silent, save for a faint huff from Soap jamming his elbow into Gaz’s ribs for payback from the comment. 

They make good time trekking through the foliage of a planet plentiful with water, leaves taller than even Ghost acting as perfect cover as well as a significant hinderance to their own sight and passage. It’s not terrible with quiet comments of watching where you step, warning Price of a shadow several yards away, a stern but gentle snap not to step on any foliage as a branch snaps under heavy footsteps. 

“What does ‘Soap’ mean?” 

Price can’t help an amused chitter at Laswell’s question. “It’s his callsign. Named after something used to clean things.” 

“What about the others?” 

“Ghost is named after what humans call images of their dead coming back to haunt the living. Gaz is a nickname.” 

“A nickname because Price can’t say my full name,” Gaz softly chimes in. 

“Really?” 

“You should’ve seen it, he was getting so frustrated.” 

Price’s stilts twitch as the conversation continues without Laswell’s input. “Did I answer your question, Laswell?” 

“You did,” she muses. “The callsigns are rather…” 

“Badass?” Soap grins. 

“Stupid?” Ghost offers. 

“Unique,” she settles on. 

Gaz snorts. “That’s one way to put it. Is she a polciianit?” 

“She works for the veromnteng, of course she is.” 

“We worked for the government.” 

“There’s a difference between being in the field and sitting at a shitty desk in a shitty office.” 

“I don’t believe they approve of my position,” Laswell comments. She tries to sound nonchalant, but Price hears rustling in the background. 

“I don’t like anyone who sits at a desk except you.” 

Laswell doesn’t respond other than the rustling settling down. 

“Hey Laswell,” Soap begins. “How long have you and Price been working together?” 

There’s a long moment of silence save for leaves being pushed aside as Soap and Gaz help keep a particularly big one from slamming into Price as he works to keep up with his squad. 

It goes so long he begins to grow concerned Soap accidentally scared Laswell off. And then he hears rustling even as they walk through a clearing. “Several rotations.” 

“Years,” Gaz softly translates for Soap’s confused look. 

The youngest flashes a smile. “That means you’ve got some embarrassing stories then, aye?” 

“Nothing that would be as embarrassing as any of yours, gantsree.” 

“Oi! It’s shan ta be tryin’ a paint a red neck on me, LT!” 

“English, gantsree.” 

“Fuck, you,” Soap slowly responds. 

“Remember the time he-“ 

“What’s their native language called?” Laswell softly asks, only semi-aware of the chaos unfolding. She can only hear the cursing and yelps, Price is watching in real time Soap trying to punch Gaz in the stomach as the other keeps out of range. 

He does nothing to reprimand the two, not when Ghost is more amused than annoyed at the severe lack of professionalism. “They call it English, but there’s been times when Soap seems to use an entirely different dialect with how often Ghost asks for a translation, and sometimes Gaz does the same thing for Ghost.” 

“They don’t have a universal dialect?” Laswell asks, bewildered. 

Price’s stilts shift. “From what I’ve come to understand, no.” 

“That sounds-“ 

“In English, the word is imipritive,” Ghost suddenly cuts in. “Our planet and its creatures seem beneath you. A planet at war is a planet not worth its salt. Yet despite all of that, we’ve been running flawless ops with Price at the mleh.” 

The coms are silent, including the quiet argument between Soap and Gaz. It’s almost as if a web of melancholy has wrapped itself around everyone. 

Then Ghost gives a huff of a laugh. “If we haven’t booted Soap out of the airlock yet, you don’t have to worry about us going guero.” 

“You know you love me, LT.” 

A fist being held up has everyone going completely silent, the difference almost eerie with just how quiet such large beings can become. Price obediently crouches as the rest do, quickly moving to Ghost’s side as Gaz and Soap move to his other as the two drop to their stomachs. 

Ghost already has his gun set up on the ridge they find themselves on, scope searching the buildings below. 

“I’m on tcherwaov. There’s too many ileossth, and I don’t see too many obstacles. Gaz, Soap, stick with Price and follow his lead, I’ll advise if needed.” 

“Leaving it to you, LT.” 

“On you, Price.” 

“Alright,” the Idiothele chitters as he carefully moves around Ghost to meet up with the other two, stilts nudging them to prompt them to follow as he attaches a web to their backs. “Let’s go.” 

“One time,” Laswell cuts in carefully. Her voice doesn’t make any of their footsteps falter, completely focused on the mission at hand. “Price was on a mission on a water planet, and it took him two days just to grab a single file that wasn’t even locked in a safe.” 

Soap softly cackles somewhere behind him. Price tugs on his web, but if it almost made the youngest trip, no one could tell. “You’re scared of water that much!” 

“Can’t swim, mate,” Price huffs as he flattens himself against a wall, his humans copying without hesitation. 

“Well next time you send him to a water planet, we’ll be there to keep him from falling in,” Gaz smiles. 

“And we’ll definitely have to have a nickech fight.” 

“No go on a nickech fight,” Ghost joins in. “I don’t want to see Johnny in a suitmiws.” 

“Bet I’d look better in one than you, LT.” 

“In your dreams, gantsree.” There’s a soft click over the coms. “Enemy approaching your current position, take a right to stay out of sight.” 

The three of them disappear into the shadows as they weave through the buildings. Stop when they find the only one with a flat roof. Gaz doesn’t say a word as Price immediately scoops him under an arm as he stands tall on his stilts. 

“Soap, signal if someone’s coming, Gaz and I are going through the roof.” 

“Copy, go pull a ‘isoiMn soibsleImp’ Gaz.” 

That’s when the sling he picked due to being the least likely to get himself tangled in a web finally seems to realize Price’s plan, squawking as the Idiothele scales up the building with him in tow. “You’re lowering me down from the ceiling?!” 

“That’s the plan,” Price chirps. “Have any better ideas?” 

Gaz goes completely limp, sighing as he’s gently lowered onto the roof. “Other than letting Ghost take a shot at me?” 

“Just say the word, gantsree.” 

“Jesus Christ, Ghost, not while you’re on tcherwaov.” 

“Cut his pocket open, LT!” 

“Slings,” Price berates as he tightens the last web around Gaz’s waist. “Ghost, keep an eye on the door. Soap, he’s blind to the back I need you aware.” 

“Aye.” 

“Soap’s done this plenty of times, Gaz,” Price offers with an encouraging chitter. “You’ll do great, lad.” 

Gaz sighs, but he obediently kicks open the rooftop access. “Next time Ghost drops from the ceiling.”