by Chris Hechtl
Jethro nodded. “I'll be sorry to see you go though, ma'am.”
“I can't stay here forever. I'm the president still. There is only so much I can do through the ansible.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Don't forget that when you talk to Shanti and the kittens, young man,” she scolded, eying him with moderate severity.
“I won't, ma'am. When I'll be allowed to visit though …,” he shrugged. “Will unfortunately be out of my hands,” he finished lamely.
She nodded, still eying him. “I know. It's unfortunate, but it is the profession we are in. But do write. Often. Not just write, but record video messages for them. Keep them in your heart whenever you can.”
“I'll certainly do that, ma'am,” he said softly.
<)>^<)>/
After his talk with Moira, Jethro rounded on Bast in private as he returned to the admin complex. “You didn't know or didn't tell me?” he demanded.
Bast recognized he was angry based on his bio-readings. “Sorry,” she said as she pulled up one of her simulations. She pulled up her response and went with it. “I thought you'd like the surprise.”
Jethro paused, then nodded slowly. It seemed right he thought. “Next time, I'd like to know, to go if I can.”
Bast frowned. “It is a security risk.”
“Knowing? I might decide against going. I might have duties to attend to that I can't get out of. Let me make the decision there. Stop managing me like that. I know it is part of your job, but don't keep me in the dark.”
Her ears were flat out, and her eyes were wide and soulful, a classic endearing look of apology. “I'm sorry,” she said. He felt her phantom caress.
“Okay, you were looking out for me. Okay,” he said. He twisted as she fired the nerves on his sides and then behind his ear, tickling him and making his ear itch incredibly. “Okay,” he said louder, chuffing and scratching at his ear until she relented.
<)>^<)>/
“Maid service,” a male voice said with a knock on the door. Pete glanced around the door, but the occupant wasn't at home. He directed the little cleaning remote inside and then went to clean the bedding. He stripped it quickly as a professional should, then stepped aside as a female Neochimp came in pushing a cart behind him.
So much for doing much more he thought. Though he at least had gotten eyes on the interior of the room he thought quietly to himself.
“I got this,” Sheila said.
“Okay, just trying to lend you a hand,” he said. “You being preggers and all,” he said, nodding to her bulging tummy.
“I'm fine. Thanks though,” the Neochimp said as she went to work. He observed her for a moment, then went out to check on the next room.
After all, it wouldn't do to look like he had broken his routine for any one particular person after all.
<)>^<)>/
Jethro ran into Captain Mm'beki while crossing the quad after he knocked off for the evening. “Jethro!” the Neochimp said, alerting him. He turned to the officer and came to attention as Bast pinged the officer's implants. She put the result up on his HUD as the Neochimp came strolling over to him.
He started to salute, but the Neochimp beat him to it. “Captain Mm'beki,” he said. He was surprised to see that his former F Platoon friend was now an officer. “Well! Look at you!” he said in admiration as he struck his salute. “An officer no less!” he said with a grin.
Ted shook his head in mock humility. “Yeah, they must be desperate, right?” Jethro snorted. Ted shook his head. “I honestly never thought I'd go officer. I like it a lot better than a spear carrier; I get some say in how things are done. Not a lot sometimes, but it's better than point and shoot.”
“True,” Jethro replied with a nod. “And a captain no less? That's pretty impressive. You must have rocketed through the ranks.”
“The best rise to the top,” the Neochimp said preening a bit. “I believe the same could be said of you, Sergeant? Master Sergeant no less? Ever think of going mustang like I did? You did damn well in boot. I know you'd be able to handle my job. I heard they usually hang a commission on someone when they get the medal,” he said, eying Jethro.
“Perish the thought. I'm an operator, sir. It's in my blood. Noncom is where I want and need to be. I'd hate to be buried in paperwork like you are,” Jethro said with a shake of his head. “I'm getting enough as it is to last me a lifetime,” he growled.
“Yeah, that part of it does suck,” the Neochimp agreed. “So do the endless meetings. Both paperwork and shining your ass suck big time sometimes, especially when we've got an inspection coming up. Which, we do next month. So we're doing pre-inventory, exercises, and then …,” he shrugged helplessly. “The full enema, repeat, and then colonoscopy,” he said with a grimace of distaste.
“I getcha. I won't keep you then, sir,” Jethro said with a somber nod.
“Thanks. We'll have to catch up sometime,” Ted replied.
“I'm trying to get a barbeque going, but I don't know if we can coordinate everyone's schedules,” Jethro said slowly. He had a couple ideas on where to have it, including Valenko's division, but so far he hadn't had any luck getting a response from enough people to make it worth trying to do.
“Well, you could always have an entire weekend blast. We may not all get together at the same time, but we'll still see you I suppose,” the captain mused. He looked thoughtful then shrugged. “I dunno. I'll chip in. Let me know when and how much,” he said.
“Will do,” the Neocat said with a nod. He appreciated the offer; he really did. With a family to support, money was no longer something he casually blew through. Just the idea of the kittens’ college education was enough to make him want to run and hide.
“Carry on then,” the captain said as a parting shot as he took off.
Jethro watched him go and then went back to his path to the rib joint he had selected for his evening meal. If they had halfway decent food, he might book them for the barbeque he thought.
<)>^<)>/
When he got back to the temporary barracks, he felt like he could hardly walk. He rubbed his tummy. “Too much food,” he groaned, shaking his head. He'd disdained the ribs for the briquette. The ribs were nice, but he wasn't a dog to gnaw on a bone. When he wanted meat, he wanted meat.
It was a pity they were booked for the next six weekends. If they'd had an opening, he would have booked them. Ah well he thought as he wandered the corridors. He had the number of their supplier, a meat packing place on the mainland. He took the stairs as some self-penance for over eating; he might as well get some exercise work in early to try to burn the food off. Not that Bast wouldn't find a way to burn it off anyway.
He was probably going to be gassy for a day or so. But it had been worth it he thought with a grimace. If he couldn't have the barbeque at the restaurant, could he order a couple briquettes he wondered? Or hell, a whole cow? A Neobuffalo? Knowing Valenko and how that bear chowed down … he shook his head as he opened the door to his level but felt a bump on the other side so paused.
“Oh, sorry,” a male voice said. He glanced around the door to see a janitor turning away.
“My bad. I didn't notice you,” Jethro said. Bast looked at him severely on the HUD. He raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head.
“No harm done,” the janitor muttered as he bent over to get back to work. Jethro slipped through the door and was around the corner before the man looked up.
“You need to work on your situational awareness,” Bast said eying him.
“Next time put him up on my HUD and I will,” Jethro retorted.
“You are full and not paying attention. That is a distraction and a good way to get killed,” Bast said.
“Enough. Lesson learned,” Jethro said as he keyed his door and entered his quarters. He turned back to the janitor to catch the guy looking at him before he went in.
It was odd; the guy had a closed expression on his face. He shrugged the thought off mentally as he closed the
door. “I'm going to need to workout tomorrow. More stairs. Any of the gyms not too busy?”
“A jog would be better,” Bast replied. “The gyms can be busy from just before daybreak to second call,” she warned. “If you want to get into a gym, you'll have to do it at 0300 or sooner,” she stated.
Jethro groaned as he started to peel off his clothes. “Pass. Jog it is I guess. I'm going to need to do laundry too,” he said as he checked the front of his BDUs. He'd gotten a little sloppy despite the napkin, so sloppy the waitress had teasingly tied a bib around his neck. “Stain remover …,” he shook his head and dropped the BDU into his laundry pile. “Frack.” He groaned again and then yawned.
“Get some rest, Sergeant,” Bast said with a sniff as she winked out on his HUD.
“Thank you, I think I just might,” he said.
<)>^<)>/
Pete Danvers scowled but then banished the betraying expression from his face. So close, yet … yet he'd hesitated. He grimaced and then dictated a quick and dirty report off and then dropped it into his assigned email drop box.
He was eager to prove himself. He'd done well on his first duo ops, which was why he had been assigned to a series of solo ops, mainly to gather information, which had been fine but boring. Being a set of eyes and ears tended to take the fun out of his side job.
Not that he had any intention of talking about his real job. He didn't do it for the money; he did it out of family tradition … and to get back at the bastards who never paid him any attention. Who left him in a menial job and treated him as if he wasn't there … or like he was a damn organic robot.
He tended to savor the few kills he'd been in on for that reason. It was a pity he wasn't allowed to record them or collect trophies. The powers that be were rather strict about such things he knew. His parents had also drilled into him to follow the code to the letter. Or else was a thing best left unsaid but forever in mind.
He passed the time until his shift ended considering his options. He had confirmed a high value, high risk target in his area of operation. He didn't have any backup on the base, and there wouldn't be anyone since the base was hard enough to get onto as it was.
He frowned thoughtfully as he serviced a cleaning remote. He dumped its bin, cleaned out a lot of the fur it had gathered up and wound around the upper stage of its vacuum tank, then cleaned the filters before he buttoned it back up.
Poison was tempting but a hit or miss weapon. Besides, it lacked the proper … mark it would make on the subject. His death had to serve as a warning to others who talked, he knew.
Poison was also out since he had no idea how the cat's implants would react to it. So, he had to think of something else.
A direct confrontation was risky. Satisfying in some ways, but highly risky, and he wasn't about taking undue risks. That wasn't what he'd been trained to do after all. Quick, clean, in and out—the best kill was one where the target never knew it was happening, sometimes at all.
But that was another problem; this one was a punishment, so … he frowned thoughtfully as he rose from his crouch. He'd have to figure something else out. Something potentially out of his comfort zone if required.
He wondered if he'd get the go-ahead to make the kill. He'd better be ready when it did come through he thought. He paused as a new idea struck him. He might, just might consider doing it on his own. He nodded slowly. It would be his own initiative, which was a two-edged sword. Technically, it would be major exposure to himself he knew, but it would enhance his reputation if he pulled it off and wasn't exposed in the process.
He scratched at his chin. To do that though he'd have to be hands-off, something he didn't like. There was always the potential for something to go wrong there. But, it would insure that he was clean if he handled it right. There were a few ways to make that work he knew.
He'd have to look into his toolbox when he got off shift to see what he had available he thought before he submerged himself back into his job.
<)>^<)>/
As if he didn't have enough headaches to deal with, someone in their infinite wisdom had dumped one more into his lap, Neochimp Lieutenant Khadat Whitman thought as he looked over the latest report. He had a couple of people monitoring the subject using remote surveillance. It didn't allow for direct intervention, but if he put someone close, the subject would be tipped off. That would also tip off anyone watching him.
And apparently, his bosses further up the food chain had been right he thought. He noted with a growing sense of alarm that someone was indeed looking into Jethro. Anonymous message traffic had picked up in the admin sector of his base. Decrypt had confirmed it was from someone monitoring a subject, and it damn sure wasn't his people doing the talking!
He rubbed his brow and tried to take a step back from the problem and force himself to think it through. He knew that some of the inquiries were natural in nature and in no way dangerous. At least not on the face of them. They were from friends of the sergeant, people whom he had served with at one or another point in his life. Others were from people who knew of the sergeant by reputation or heard talk of him and were naturally curious.
Therein was a problem all in itself; it elevated interest in the sergeant and therefore increased his exposure. People had a natural inclination to talk, and where someone of interest was came with that inclination. There were also a few were inquiries about some sort of party the master sergeant was trying to organize.
“Frackity frack,” he muttered as he scrubbed his face with his hands and looked at the problem. The last anonymous message was right after the sergeant had entered his barracks. That meant someone else had him under surveillance. Someone close enough to have eyes on him since they didn't have access to his security implants nor did his people detect any illicit Wi-Fi signals that would betray a secondary off-the-books network.
So, it was a problem. Someone knew where the sergeant was sleeping, so they could get up to mischief. He was tempted to let it slide, to wait, watch, and use the sergeant as bait. Wait until a hit came in, then bag a group and sweat them.
But what if he missed them? Missed a lone wolf? It'd be his ass … not to mention other parts of his anatomy he was particularly fond of and didn't want to go missing.
He blew out a raspberry and then put in a call. Either way he played it, he would have to face the music one time or another. He might as well get it over with soon. And maybe, just maybe he could convince the brass to get the sergeant out of his area and into someone else's fur for a while.
Chapter 4
“So, you are saying we need to move him? You realize it will draw attention to him from the community?” General Forth said as he knitted his fingers together and stared at the nondescript ONI spook. Whitman was good but seemed a bit exasperated by the workload he was laboring under he knew.
That was tough. But he had a point about the sergeant's exposure. He didn't like the idea of something happening to him on his watch right under his nose and damn it, especially on his base. The very idea bothered the hell out of him.
“We realize that is a possibility, sir. It might actually be for the good if the Guild's activities were brought to light.”
“Somehow I doubt the idea that some of their fellow soldiers are willing to turn on them would be conductive to morale,” the general said dryly. He frowned as he checked the mission list. One mission immediately got his attention. Captain Smearof had one on the mainland and had requested anyone who could help his people get their foot in the door. If memory served, Jethro would fit that bill. In fact, he might be one of a very few number who could, the general mused.
“Okay, I think I can disrupt their plans for the moment,” he said after a long thoughtful moment. He nodded once.
Khadat blinked in confusion. “Sir?”
“A bit of get the hell out of Dodge for the master sergeant that is right up his alley,” the general said absently as his fingers flicked on a virtual keyboard as he typed out the orders. “He undoubtedly wo
n't like it, but we'll find a way to get him to sign off on it without making waves,” he said.
“Sir?”
“Just watch as you usually do, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir, if you say so. I'm just going to be happy when he's gone,” the lieutenant said ruefully. The general looked up sharply at the Neoape. “I like the master sergeant, but as you said, sir, I too don't like the idea of my fellows turning on a brother. And he's making a lot of work for us with his visits to his friends and attempts to get together to have a party,” the lieutenant said with a shake of his Simian head.
“Well, we'll see about that,” the general said. “Dismissed,” he said as he returned his attention to the orders he was writing.
<)>^<)>/
Later that afternoon Jethro received orders to take a team of recruiting “advisers” to visit the selkie clans since he had been there before. He was also supposed to deliver some mail from Deja to his girlfriend.
Initially he refused the assignment, but General Forth called and asked him to take it as a personal favor to him. Backed into a corner, the Neopanther marine reluctantly agreed.
“I'm having the chips delivered to you,” General Forth stated. “They should serve as an additional cover since you delivered mail from Deja before,” the general explained. “This mission is more important than you can believe. Otherwise, I wouldn't dump it on you.”
“Yes, sir. What are the mission parameters?”
“Observe and report. Diplomacy obviously, we need them. The Navy needs them to be more precise. Unfortunately, the selkies haven't been signing up in the numbers the squids would like to see. So, they asked us to see what we could do to change that,” General Forth stated, “which means it now falls on you. This is a fact-finding mission with a bit of diplomacy and introductions so the recruiters can return on their own in the future.”
“Yes, sir. I'm not certain how receptive the selkies will be. If the recruiters become too overt, it might turn the community off,” Jethro warned.