Chapter Eight
The next morning, 541588 woke up hungry as usual and only remembered halfway down the stairs about the lack of food. It was still curious as to what would be happening, so it continued down the steps into the dining room. The scene was serene and there seemed no difference from a normal day. 541588 strode up to the dispenser to investigate this oddity. Was there another storage that it was unaware of? Then, as it saw the dispensed food, it realised that the grain was indeed missing. The “food” that was dispensed was only vitamins and minerals mixed in water. Everyone would still starve. There would still have to be an intervention. Satisfied, it drank its fill and returned to its room, where it began to finalise its plans for the training of the others; the weapons to be used, the strategies they would employ and the techniques of fighting.
Training commenced the following day. 541588 led them to the storehouse, distributed the scythes, shovels and pitchforks around and then marched them to a field where it paired them up and ordered them to try to beat their opposite number down to the ground. There was a smattering of awkward movements among the group. They swung their implements slowly, in random directions that had no chance of hitting the targets intended by 541588. They clearly weren’t trying at all. It took a moment for 541588 to recollect its experience in trying to get one of them to hit another with a whip. It was difficult, but it could be done with the right encouragement. It picked up a scythe for itself, and demonstrated the task it wanted done on an unwitting victim, felling it with a swing that struck its torso. Then it issued an ultimatum. If within any pair there was no-one who had been defeated within 5 minutes, both would have a bout with 541588. The victim continued to thrash on the floor in pain. This was ample motivation, and the group was more focused in using their implements against their forced opponents. Still they were no fighters; instead their movements reflected the utility of the tools. Those with shovels, shovelled. Those with scythes, scythed. The result was a mess of activity with no positive result. They were practising their farming, not their fighting. 541588 wasn’t sure what to do. Even for itself, there was an unshakeable feeling of bizarreness when wielding and using the farming tools in a weapon-like way. It continued to watch the group staggering around, and noticed a trend. The shovelers were most effective. The motion of shovelling, a forward thrust, was the closest to actual fighting. The scything was easily dodged, and whatever they were doing with the pitchfork was useless.
The other weapons were confiscated. All of them were given shovels and now there were real contests. The practise fights began to produce winners and the losers learnt from their mistakes. Their motions grew more refined, their dodging improved, and bit and bit they turned into a passable fighting force. Within days, 541588 thought they were ready, and all that was left was the waiting.