Waking in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 2)

by D Patrick Wagner

  “This old girl’s had five colts and four foals. But, being a little long in the tooth, her breeding years are behind her.”

  Unlatching the gate, he led his horse out of the stall, Buffy’s metal horse shoes clattering on the brick cobblestone floor. Harriet kept a little distance, staying to the side, away from any kicking hooves.

  Reaching the walking pen, Ranhe led Buffy onto the grounds and began quick-walking her around the parameter. Harriet stood at the gate, in the shade, and watched. Not being used to wearing a hat, and certainly not a cowgirl hat, she took it off and held it, not sure what to do with it.

  After one complete circle, arriving at Harriet, Randy stated, “Your turn. Just walk her. Stay to the left side of her head. If you get in front, she will nudge you. It’s a horseplay thing.”

  “If this is your idea of a date, you’ve got a lot to learn, cowboy.”

  “Wrangler. It’s wrangler. Just trying to be friendly, is all, City. Here.” While teasing her with a nickname, he held out the reins and said nothing.

  “Wait until I get you on my turf, Wrangler.” She emphasized the label as she put her hat back on and grabbed the reins in mock anger.

  Harriet proceeded to accurately mimic Randy’s walk around the yard. At the same, brisk pace, she gave Buffy a leisurely trot. Unknowingly, she impressed Randy with her learning quickness. Three-quarters of the way around, Harriet lost her place beside Buffy and ended up a step ahead. Buffy immediately placed her muzzle in the middle of Harriet’s back and lifted her head. The force thrust Harriet forward, causing her to stagger and catch herself from nose planting the dusty ground. Having let go of the reins, she turned and pointed a finger at Buffy.

  “That’s one, girl. You don’t get two.”

  Buffy bobbed her head as though she was laughing.

  Grabbing the reins, Harriet gave Buffy one more glare then they finished their trot.

  “Not bad. Shall I throw a saddle on her?”

  “Yeah, why not. You’ve dragged me this far. We might as well finish it.”

  “We’ll get Buffy saddled up then I’ll get Schatten.”

  Randy left Harriet holding Buffy’s reins as he retrieved a saddle, pad and blanket from the stable’s storage. He surreptitiously watched Harriet reach up, rub Buffy’s forehead and scratch her ears.

  Returning, he stated, “This is my sister’s saddle. It’s called a ‘western saddle’. I don’t know why. Probably has to do with something on Old Earth.”

  After placing the pad on Buffy’s back, he tossed the blanket on top and smoothed it out. Next, he hoisted and positioned the saddle. Walking around, he checked the other side, grabbed the horn and gave it a shake, allowing the saddle pad to settle evenly. After belting the front and rear girth straps, Randy patted Buffy’s rump and scratched her ears.

  All this time, Harriet stood, continuing to hold the reins.

  “Good girl.” Cocking his head at Harriet, he beckoned her to come around to Buffy’s left side.

  “Just stand here. Hold the reins and pet Buffy. Let her get used to your smell, your movements. And you get to get used to her. Back in a flash with Schatten.”

  Randy returned, leading a spirited, coal-black stallion. The horse constantly shook his head, pawed at the ground and flicked its tail. As the two males approached, Buffy pulled around to face Schatten head on. The sudden move startled Harriet and caused her to dance around, trying to maintain her position at Buffy’s left.

  “Sorry about that. These two have a past. Buffy dropped two colts and a foal from Schatten. When he gets around her, he gets frisky. She, being the matronly type, puts him in his place.”

  “They’re not going to do anything, are they? you know, get frisky?”

  “Nope, they’re not going to get frisky,” Randy responded as he tied the black stallion to a stanchion. “Saddle time, big guy.” Randy slapped him on the rump and headed towards the same storage as before.

  Just as he returned with Schatten’s livery, a motorized cart pulled up and a teenaged girl hopped out.

  “Hi, Janet. Let me introduce you to my friend.”

  Janet skipped over and beside Randy. Randy set down the livery and formally introduced Harriet.

  “Harriet, I would like you to meet Janet Williams. She is the daughter of our lead chef, Marcie, and brew master, John. Janet here makes a mean peach cobbler. I don’t eat anyone else’s.”

  Harriet held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Janet.” The young girl took Harriet’s hand and gave it a good, single shake.

  “With that kind of introduction, I really need to try your cobbler.”

  “You’ll have a chance, ma’am. Knowing how much Mister Roth likes it, I put some in the basket.”

  “Janice, I know you are tapped into the Roth rumor mill. So you know about the town that is being built out at the base of the mountains.”

  “Yes, Mr. Roth.”

  “Well, the man putting it all together is Mr. Gregor, an interstellar businessman. This is Harriet Gregor, his daughter.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Gregor.” Janet almost curtsied.

  “The pleasure is mine, Janet.”

  “You’ll need to wait a bit. I haven’t saddled Schatten, yet.”

  “That’s ok. My chores are done until mid-day. I’m just studying. I brought my books.”

  “You’re in school?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We have our own school house. Our parents teach us what we need to know. And, those of us who have work, we study out of the class rooms.”

  “What are you studying?”

  That led to a conversation which lasted until Randy completed his saddling of Schatten. When he finished retrieving the double picnic baskets and mounted them behind his saddle, he approached the two women.

  “Off you go, Janet. I’m going to check with your mom, make sure you’re keeping your grades up.”

  “I am, Mister Roth. Tops in math. Biology, too.”

  “Good girl. Now, get on back before your mom wants a piece of my hide.”

  Janet piled into her cart and motored around the buildings, back to the master kitchen.

  “No more putting it off, tenderfoot. Mount up. I’ll show you.”

  Randy approached Buffy, held the reins in one hand, grabbed the saddle horn with the other. Sticking his boot in the stirrup, he pulled on the horn, pushed with his raised leg and pulled himself up. Throwing the other leg over, he dropped into the saddle, the same as he had done a million times before. After dismounting, he handed the reins to Harriet and backed up.

  “Ok, this is what I did.”

  “I got it.”

  “You’re sure.”

  Harriet just gave him the Harriet stare, took a breath to calm herself and mimicked Randy. Sitting astride Buffy, she smirked, “See? Easy.”

  “Damn, girl. You learn quick.”

  Randy needed to throw his leg further out and higher to clear the two lunch baskets sitting like saddlebags on the haunches of Schatten. Once astride, he twisted his upper body towards Harriet.

  “Have you ever ridden a two-wheeler?”

  “Yes, when I was a teen.”

  “Buffy is like that two-wheeler. She’s leg-trained. If you lean to the right, she goes right. Same for left. You don’t really need to pull on the reins. Just a soft tug. You see, in the vids, where the cowboy digs his heels in, slaps the reins down and yells ‘giddyap!’ Buffy doesn’t need any of that. Just a soft squeeze of both heels on her flanks.”

  Taking another slow breath, Harriet replied, “Got it.”

  “Sit straight but lose. Think of plumb bobs hanging from your ears. They should touch your shoulders, hips and ankle bones. One line. Try to roll with Buffy’s gait. It’s very smooth.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Ready?”

  “Lead on, oh intrepid leader”

  Randy pulled ahead. Using her heels, Harriet softly squeezed both flanks. Buffy broke into a walk. Like all beginners, Harriet kept her
legs stiff and bounced on the saddle like a ball on a table.

  Heading north, Randy followed a trail just inland from the river. Looking back, appraising Harriet’s carriage, Randy instructed her, “Use your legs like shock absorbers. Stay relaxed. Feel when Buffy reaches. At a walk you should remain in the saddle, keeping your line straight. I’ll show you more as we go.”

  The noon prairie wind blew warm, bordering on hot. Sweat collected on Harriet’s neck and shoulders, filtering down her spine, damping her barrowed shirt. Clumsily holding the reins, pulling off the hat on her head and the handkerchief on her neck, she wiped the runnels of sweat from her face. Replacing the hat and stuffing the damp cloth in her pocket, she returned to focusing on the simple act of riding a walking horse.

  Again, Harriet impressed Randy with her quickness of learning. Over the next twenty minutes, Randy explained how to sit during a trot. Harriet accomplished a modicum of efficiency in that.

  Pulling back and alongside Harriet, “Let’s drop back to a walk. Just slightly pull back on the reins.”

  Harriet followed Randy’s instruction and Buffy backed down to a walk.

  “Ok. Scary part. Time for an easy gallop.”

  Looking at Randy, she saw he wasn’t sweating or in any way effected by the warm day and dry wind. “Of course not. This is what he does.

  “You mean, Buffy running?”

  “Yup. Buffy running,” Randy laughed.

  “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  “A slow gallop. Think of it more like horse jogging. It’s called a canter. It’s the same as what you are doing now. Stay straight, keep the same bounce rhythm you established in the trot. Keep your legs a little stiffer and the reins looser so that Buffy can reach with her head.”

  “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  “Of course you are. Even for a tenderfoot, you’ve come along nicely. Give it a try. Oh, one more thing. You can hold on. Simply hold the reins in one hand and grab the horn with the other. This will help you stay centered.

  “Tenderfoot.”

  “Yup, tenderfoot. Better than city slicker. Ready?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Bring buffy to a trot, get comfortable then, using the same heel press, bring her to a canter.”

  Over the course of the next half hour Randy worked with Harriet, variously escalating to a cantor, back to a walk and doing it again. By this time they reached the spot that Randy had picked out.

  “We’re here.”

  Harriet looked around. She saw the sleepy cove, filled with Lange Fluss water. The copse of trees and bushes surrounded the secluded lagoon, blocking the wind and shading the sandy beach. Watching Randy pull on the reins as he stopped and dismounted, Harriet copied his moves. Standing, placing both hands in the small of her back, she bowed back and groaned.

  “You do this all day? I haven’t had my hips stretched out like that for that long. Ever.”

  Fighting to not comment or look, Randy said nothing. He took Buffy’s reins and led both horses to a tree and tied them off.

  Horrified at what she just said, Harriet cast about for something to else say.

  “Nice. Good choice. Is this where you bring all your girls?”

  After pulling off the saddle baskets, Randy began to set up the picnic. “Nope. This is my bolt hole. I come here to get away from everything. Everyone.”

  “Well, I am honored that you let me come here.”

  Now it was Randy’s time for embarrassment. “Yeah, well. I thought you might like it.”

  “I do. What can I do to help?”

  “Find some rocks, anchor the blanket. I’ve got the rest.”

  Finally unloaded, anchored and organized, the two sat down for lunch, Harriet’s movements stiff and slightly painful.

  “You’ll get used to it. How do you like riding?”

  “I think I’ll like it a whole lot better when I know what I’m doing.”

  “You did fine. You already ride better than most people after a week or two. I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah, well. Whatever. Do you think we can stop the aliens from attacking?”

  “That’s a good way to throw cold water on a good day. Just kidding. I think that that thought belongs to your and my fathers. Along with the board. That’s their job. Ours is to keep things running smoothly down here. Maybe set up defensive plans if the aliens make landfall.”

  “How would we do that? Everyone here is either a farmer, miner or rancher.”

  “You’d be surprised. We’ve got three generations of people that have hunted all their lives. And, a lot of us are ex-military. We’ve been in battles. Nothing like this, but battles, just the same.”

  “You were in the military. Did you get the military enhancements?”

  “Yup. Skeletal, musculature, joints and tendons, all reinforced. The computer managing the chemical phials that enhance strength, awareness and thought clarity is bricked. So I don’t have those abilities anymore. Besides, the phials in my body are empty.

  “What would you say if we could reactivate your computer and get those chemicals.?

  “I’d say ‘yeah, baby’. Along with about a hundred thousand more of us ex-ers.”

  “That many?”

  “At least.”

  “I’ll talk to Father. Get it set up.”

  “Really? You can do that?

  “We’ve done it before. On an ex-fighter jockey. Krag Marston.”

  “Heard about him. He was here a few months back. Never met him. You got his gear running again?”

  “Yes. All of it. You met Patricia Grey? She activated Marston’s computer. I’ll have to do some research about the chemicals, though.

  Conversation turned to the things that men and women talk about on first dates. Food and beer made the both of them drowsy. After the large meal, soreness from riding and physically fatigued from the effort to learn to ride, Harriet lay back on the blanket, stared at the leaves shifting in the wind and fell asleep. Randy walked down to the water’s edge, threw rocks and thought about getting his artificial abilities back. And he thought about Harriet.

  Sasania Sniper Team

  After losing a brother-in-arms, witnessing the human food pens and seeing the alien breeding domes, six hard-hearted soldiers determinedly marched down the spine of the mountain ridge, intent on discovering more of the alien destruction to their home world. Stealthily sneaking through the brush and under the forest canopy, the now team of six made their way towards their next destination.

  Since the death of Lance Corporal Ghali, the squad’s second-best tracker took point. Lance Corporal Latif blazed the trail, hurting at knowing that his friend and teammate of many years lay dead in an alien camp, unrecoverable, unable to be properly buried. If Latif had been deeply religious, he would have mourned Ghali, for without the proper burial, his soul would be doomed to hover around its corpse, never being accepted into Barzakh.

  First Sergeant Boulos followed, swinging his hip-mounted Gatling gun side to side, sweeping his assigned territory. He also kept an eye on his sniper, watching to see of Latif wilted under the heart-felt pain of his fallen comrade. Radioman Mahdi and Corpsman Faheem came next with the two remaining sharpshooters, Wadji and Jabour guarding the flanks and rear.

  For two nights the squad marched. The intervening day they slept and recovered. The sunrise of the second night found the committed and angry team squatting behind tree trunks and peering down at the abomination carved into their home world.

  A huge open pit hundreds of feet deep and a thousand feet across had been dug by thousands of human slaves, driven hard by the alien monsters. The forlorn looks, scrawny bodies and tattered clothes bespoke of the abuse and torment the alien overlords inflicted on their human captives.

  Watching these tortured souls run human heavy equipment, digging with pick and shovel or hauling back-breaking bags of soil only made the six already hard-hearted men even harder.

  “So much for protecting the enviro
nment and terra-forming Sasania into a paradise.” The joker of the group, Wadji, tried to lighten the mood. No one laughed.

  “We need some serious bug squashing,” Jabour responded.

  “Yes. But not yet,” First Sergeant Boulos stated. “First Intel. Then prep. Then squash. Move back into the trees. Deep. We set up camp here. Today, tonight, tomorrow, on site. Get the Intel. Send it. Then it’s back to base. Move, people!“ somehow, even in a whisper, First Sergeant Boulos projected a shout.

  Once again deeply concealed in the mountain forest, the Sasania sniper team, one man short, crashed for the day. With two hours and two shifts each, the two person sentries guarded their sleeping brethren. At dusk everyone roused, ate, performed their toiletries and prepared for a night of stealthy observation and information collection.

  Leaving Jabour to guard the encampment, First Sergeant Boulos led his remaining five back to their hide which overlooked the mining operations. Radioman Faheem, now tasked as spotter, assembled and planted the observation/recording gear. He took the first hour. Through the night and the next day, each man took his hour, returned to camp for four hours of downtime and returned.

  Every six hours, Faheem prepared a compressed data file and radioed a burst back to headquarters. There, lieutenant Kassis, the on-site communications specialist, bundled this packet with others and transmitted them to the still-concealed and undiscovered communications satellite buried on Sasania’s moon.

  At random times, the lurking, stealthy, unmanned ship popped out of the Nye-Nippon gate, collected the data from the moon satellite and popped back through the gate, hiding in the light-swallowing blackness of the wormhole.

  This continued all through the night and the following day. This time, First Sergeant Boulos did not allow any forays or sorties away from the fixed observation location and rigid operations parameters – observe, collect, transmit and escape.

  Sunset of day two saw a minorly disturbed forest floor where a military reconnaissance camp had previously existed. Only the best tracker would have been able to follow the trail of the six Sasanian marines ghosting through the forest, intent on reaching headquarters and completing the mission.