Multiverse 2

by Chris Hechtl

  Lewis read the report and then glanced at Padre. “Is he getting his own menagerie?” he asked.

  The tired sergeant snorted. “Hell, if it keeps him and his cohort out of trouble, I'm all for it. It's about time the two of them grew up a bit.”

  “I think tangling with the pirates is enough of a wakeup call. Doing it with two civilian tagalongs?” Xe said, shaking his head.

  “We need all the help we can get, sir. I've seen Hadji's footage; the girl is a natural shot. The neodog …,” Padre shrugged. “He's a pup. He's coming along. Both are volunteers, and both are gung ho to sign up, so I'm all for it. Besides, we're going to need all the manpower we can get once you leave, sir,” the sergeant said to Ensign Xe. Xe nodded. Padre's squad and the lieutenant's headquarters squad were going to remain on the planet along with a fresh consignment of mechs and drones, a parting gift from Bounty and the ships in orbit. Padre, however, had to ship out. It sucked, but the major wanted him back to help deal with the recruits on the ship. Padre wasn't happy about leaving the job unfinished, but he understood the importance of following orders.

  “If either of those civvies are hurt or killed, Quest’s, no Hadji's, ass will be in a sling,” Xe warned.

  “It's the price they are willing to pay, sir, if it liberates their countrymen,” Padre replied. Xe just grunted and let the matter drop.

  >*…*<>*…*<

  Miss Clarke and some of her volunteers organized a food and supply drive to send along to the fleet. “They must be tired of eating mush all the time,” she said, grateful that Captain McGuyver had signed off on using the ship's replicators to help her planet's limited industry recover while the ship was in orbit. They had sent up as much fuel and material as possible as compensation. That was where she got the idea really; one of the petty officers had traded some survival blankets for a basket of fresh fruit.

  Her gratitude was picked up by her volunteers as well as the small media left on the planet. That got brooded about by people as word spread across their world. People poured in supplies, at first a trickle, then a torrent. Cart loads were picked up and carried to the capital. They stuffed the marine and navy occupied warehouses with everything from blankets to handmade food goods in precious cans and jars. Some of it was perishable.

  “People are so thankful!” Hanna said, nearly in tears as she did an inventory. She held a hand over her mouth, fighting sobs of joy over her people's selfless act. Lewis fought off the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. It was difficult, especially when a woman cried. He felt at a loss, like he had to do something to help her.

  “But … but they need it themselves!” Lewis protested, shaking his head. He had no intention of sending the cornucopia up to the ships, not with the long hard winter approaching. They didn't need hand-stitched blankets. But he also knew pride was on the line as well as gratitude. He didn't want to appear ungrateful.

  Hanna stiffened. “They'll make do. They want to say thank you. This is their way. Don't knock it,” Hanna insisted, rounding on him. She glared at him.

  “I … all right.” He held his hands up in surrender. He knew better than to go up against her stubborn pride.

  When the food drive grew out of Hanna's control, the leaders of the planet stepped in to help her better organize and keep track of the bounty. They gave her access to more facilities as well as official support. That and a couple tablet computers Lewis slipped her allowed her and her volunteers to become more organized. Captain McGuyver put out a thankful message to the media. He quietly informed Hanna what they could take on, and in what amount. Each of the ships would be stuffed. They needed the material, but they both knew that some of the material would be better suited to help people on the planet more.

  Some of the excess material was quietly siphoned off to help those displaced or who had little for the winter. Their own pride warred with the charity, but eventually, the sight of their own children let them accept it grudgingly.

  Hanna also brokered a deal for Bounty to take ownership of the yacht. When Captain McGuyver had hinted about his interest in the ship, she'd been bewildered. She, like a lot of people, hadn't even known it was a ship. She'd thought, well actually, she'd never really thought about it, she mused. She had assumed it was a satellite platform of some sort.

  DC99134S1E was a mouthful but practically useless to their people. They had no interest in manning the ship and using it as a station. Its hardware was old and in dire need of refurbishment or replacement.

  In exchange for the ship, Captain McGuyver had offered to make a replacement platform and leave the network of satellites Deinara had deployed in orbit. He also offered to leave a watchdog platform near the star system's single jump point to relay news of a ship's arrival. The government had gratefully accepted the offer.

  Less than an hour after they had radioed their formal acceptance, a prize crew had boarded the ship once more and then began tearing into her. From what Hanna had overheard, the solar panels and excess gear were going to be repurposed for the replacement platforms. Getting all new hardware was the thing she liked however.

  Bounty had also been surprised to pick up a half a dozen selkie volunteers. They were the last of their kind on the planet, young Neo sea lion pups eager to explore and ready to get away from the planet and the sad memories of their colony's demise on the beach near Capital. An element of revenge was also there. Everyone knew it, but the captain was apparently very grateful to see them anyway.

  Once they were full and the courier had been secured, Bounty and the three other ships left with six hundred volunteers and several delegates. The delegation was riding along to talk with the admiral and to represent the planet in any reformation of a central government.

  Each of the ships were stuffed to the brim with goods and food. Even the courier was packed with goods. The compartments in some areas were so tight a person had to turn sideways to get through them. They also carried thank you gifts to navy personnel along with thousands of thank you letters to the admiral and fleet.

  >*…*<>*…*<

  A week after Bounty and her consorts left the system, the fighting kicked up again. Apparently the Horathians had been lying low waiting for the opportunity to strike. They may have thought that the marines had left the system. Either way, it didn't matter to their victims. The pirates were tracked when they raided a farm.

  The drone that spotted the smoke from the fires stayed high and managed to keep tabs on the retreating pirates all the way to their lair. Lewis was dismayed by what he found. The enemy was dug into a network of caves that had dozens of entrances and exits scattered over a series of mountains. It was a maze, a dark maze of tunnels; some too small for him to bring armored marines in to dig them out.

  Lewis judged it would be a cold, bitter winter; one that would be hell to dig the bastards out. The entire mountain chain was pockmarked by the caves; there was no way they could monitor them all, let alone seal them. Going in after them was out; they'd just pop up like a rabbit after bleeding his people white. They could even wait until his people were pulling out to hit them or booby trap the caves. That was a bleak thought, he thought. He didn't like the idea of someone dropping a mountainside on him.

  No, to get the bastards he had to draw them out, draw them into the open. The enemy was scattered in small squad-sized groups, cut off from mutual support, or so he hoped. But they would eventually begin to raid small farms again in the area for food and material he realized. All he had was the two reduced squads and the partisans. And this group of Horathians were most likely not the only ones left on the planet. He couldn't tie all his people up into one area.

  He convinced the authorities to evacuate the area and for the refugees to take everything not nailed down with them. “When we were coming here, I did a bit of reading on military ground campaigns. Scorched Earth was mentioned a lot as well as denying your enemy anything they could pick up and use against you. Apparently they are one in the same idea; I had for the longest time t
hought they were referring to Earth's destruction in the Xeno war,” he said, shaking his head. “I never knew that until now,” he said, feeling the burning heat from a farm the owners had torched in spite. He shook his head, turning away from the light of the fire. They'd gone to the extreme here, but he wasn't sure he could blame them. They only had a handful of people left to man the large farm, not enough apparently. Distant neighbors and family were taking them in apparently.

  “What about the Horathians. Wont this push them to go further and further afield for supplies?” Hanna asked. She looked from the fire to the lieutenant. The farmers were going to relocate to another farm in the spring, this one abandoned but in much better shape.

  Lewis nodded. He wuffled a sigh then shrugged. “We'll pass along a warning to them. We may even set up a patrol and a trap or two,” he said with a wolfish smile. She grunted. She caught him looking up and then frowned. When her eyes tracked to the small gray dot, she realized what he meant; a drone flying over the area high enough would pick them out. Slowly she nodded again.

  >*…*<>*…*<

  The tempo of combat slowed down vastly once the marines and partisans had secured all the population centers. Each was cleared building to building in sweeps. Once things were considered safe, life started to return to normal. Shops and the streets were cleaned and reopened. Trade resumed, at first on a barter basis. Hanna toured the hospital. She picked up on a counseling session one of the medics had started. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her so she went to find out what it was about.

  She'd had nightmares and trouble for a while. She knew she was irritable; she knew she was far from fine. She just didn't know what talking about it would do. Not any good she assumed; it would just make her bring it all back, relive what she wanted badly to forget. She wanted to move on. To live, but how could she … how could she trust someone, a male, after that?

  She slowed her clicking feet as she heard soft cries and murmurs of sympathy and support from the room she was headed to. As she approached she caught sight of a woman supporting another as she talked about her loss. Instinctively Hanna's arms wrapped around herself, drawing her sweater tighter around her frame.

  She was drawn in to the conversation as the medic talked. She offered no judgments and didn't force anyone to talk who wasn't willing to do so. Everyone supported those who did speak with sympathy and kindness. It burned; it felt … odd.

  When they filed out, many smiled at her and kept going. She went in slowly, watching the nurse and a couple of volunteers picking up materials scattered about. “Yes? Oh, um, Miss Clarke? Is there something we can do for you?”

  “I didn't know I was so famous,” Hanna replied, feeling a bit dismayed. She didn't want everyone to know her business. She rubbed her arm, turning about.

  “Famous or infamous take your pick. I heard you did a bang-up job putting Miss Yuzle in place when we were trying to get more resources here. Thanks,” the woman replied with a soft smile.

  “Oh, that,” Hanna replied, blushing. “She had her priorities screwed up.”

  “From what I understand, that's normal for such as her,” one of the volunteers said. Another snorted in amused agreement. “We're done. We'll put this in the office,” the first said, holding binders to her chest. The offworlder nodded and murmured a thanks for the help. Both volunteers waved off the thanks and left quietly.

  “What's on your mind?” the woman asked, sitting on the edge of a counter. Hanna looked around the room. It was a classroom of some sort, most likely used to train medical students.

  “I'm not sure. I'm still having ….”

  “Problems?” the woman asked softly. Hanna jerked out a nod. “I see.”

  “I don't know how to get rid of them. I thought in time, but …,” Hanna waved a hand.

  “It comes and goes?” the woman asked. “And you're having trouble being near Lieutenant Lewis? Other males?”

  Hanna nodded.

  “I see. Well, we can discuss treatment options,” the medic said.

  “What made you start this? I mean does talking about … does it help?” Hanna asked waving a helpless hand.

  The woman eyed her and then nodded slowly. “It did with me. It took time though. Time and a lot of patience,” she said with a smile as Hanna's eyes jerked to hers. Her eyes searched the medic's, finding the answers that she needed there. “Those of us the admiral saved in B100 omega and the others in B101a1 were slaves. So yes, I had a taste of what they could do. What lows men could sink to, men and women,” she said looking away.

  “Oh,” Hanna said softly.

  “Some men are great. They can be knights in shining armor, the lieutenant for instance,” Velma said. She shrugged at Hanna's closed expression. “So, you want to talk about it?”

  “I … I don't know. I still don't see the need.”

  “We learned a bit when we had the time about how people need to socialize, to decompress, share the pain. Talking it out, making others see it, and making yourself realize that not everyone is like that is important. You can't bottle it up forever. Everyone needs an escape valve.”

  “What about Lewis?”

  “Craig?” the medic laughed. “Marines have their own outlets. It usually involves beer and throwing punches though. I don't think you are into that though.”

  “Definitely not,” Hanna replied pertly.

  “Then let's see what you are up for,” the woman replied with an inviting smile. Hanna nodded simply.

  >*…*<>*…*<

  Once the ships had left, the lieutenant did his best with what he had. He promoted PFC Quest to Lance Corporal and took on a small group of volunteers from the militia as officers and enlisted. Until he had them cleared by higher, they would be privates for the enlisted and midshipmen for the officers. He'd thought he'd have Captain Herschel around to help out and liaison, but the older man had decided to not retire to his homeworld as he'd originally intended. Too many memories or so he'd said. Instead, with the modern medical care of the fleet, he'd decided to remain with his ship. It had seemed like a new lease on life for him, a purpose. He was doing his part to help out, and the marine officer wished him the best of luck.

  He had left behind a couple of harried techs, however. They'd wanted to help rebuild the spaceport, but with winter hammering the northern continent, it was a no go. Instead he kept them busy servicing his shuttles and working on various projects.

  A marine long-range drone flight doing a survey through the mountains in the middle of the main continent stumbled onto a Horathian shuttle out in the wild. “The thing is huge, sir; now that we know what to look for, it's obvious,” Corporal Quest said, showing him a bird's eye view and then another from a drone that had gotten in at a lower level. From the look of the screen grabs, Johnny had sent the thing in at night to minimize it's danger of detection. That was wise.

  “What the hell is it?” Midshipman Slike asked, looking at the image. “It's huge!”

  “It is massive. A converted civilian shuttle liner I believe. Wide, with foldable wings. Split V tail, massive engines, and black masked cockpit. It was a Brown class, gray with black markings highlighting it. It had faded blue stripes midship that formed a vertical band around the fuselage. Behind the cockpit was a double row of blacked-out oval shaped portholes. Someone had tried to paint the ship with something brown at some point but had failed miserably.

  “I believe they used the shuttle to ferry their storm troopers around the back of beyond. She's got limited short range takeoff and landing ability according to her specs and pretty good fuel mileage despite her size. Those massive intakes may have something to do with it,” Johnny said. The Ensign grunted impatiently. Johnny shrugged. “I think once the shit hit the fan they had gone to ground. We missed them.”

  “How the hell did we miss something that big?” the recruit officer demanded, glaring at the corporal.

  “It's been under that rock overhang, and they've been smart about not using it. We were lucky to f
ind it at all. I spoke with one of the locals; he said that area has a lot of moonshiners there. From the look of the camouflage netting, they must have … acquired some of it,” Johnny said. He shook his head. “It's what actually drew our attention; it didn't match the changing colors of the trees since it's autumn. It's also set for pine and the area around isn't.”

  “So, what now, sir?” Slike asked, turning to the lieutenant.

  “What else?” Lewis smiled wolfishly. “We take it away from them.”

  >*…*<>*…*<

  The marines hit the shuttle site hard during a snow storm the following evening using the snow as cover. They managed to kill two people on site, most likely guards. They captured the shuttle, but it was shot up slightly in the process. “Now what?”

  “What do I look like, a squid? They fly shit like this; I shoot things,” a marine said, shaking his head. “Get someone who knows how to fly and more importantly how to fix this thing to go over it. Not Ozzie and his crew, we need them where they are keeping our mechs in fighting trim. Get with higher and have them send a team down if we have to. I'd be careful of traps and shit. I don't even know if it's got fuel.”

  “Hell yeah. And hell if I'm going to fly back in it, not without someone checking it thoroughly,” Lewis said. “For now, just secure the perimeter and check the interior. Catalog the contents of every compartment. Watch for any booby traps,” he warned.

  “Aye aye, sir,” Johnny nodded, knowing better than to salute him in the field. “We'll get right on it.”

  “Find out who was on it and when they left her. A timeline plus where they went if possible.”

  “Hard to go there, sir; the fresh snow covered any tracks. The drones didn't pick any up either,” the New Texan replied with a nod to their tracks in. The lieutenant checked the area frowning then shook his head.