by Doug Hoffman
Billy Ray's eyes narrowed.
“I got no idea what yer talkin' about, slats.”
“I'll have you know some of your Company thugs just beat up a squad of shore patrol Marines down by the shipyard docks. All six Marines had to go to hospital!”
“Fleet SP has no jurisdiction over Company personnel. Sounds like they stuck their noses in where they didn't belong.” Billy Ray squinted at the other man. “I recognize you Perlmutter. Yer that tin-plated asshat that tried to block our alter-space transit by running a ship across our exit trajectory.”
Capt. Perlmutter turned even paler than he was naturally.
“You Fleet jackasses keep yer bully boys away from my people or some of them might end up worse than in sick bay. And if you try sailing a ship across my path again I'm apt to claim right of way and endangerment and blow the scow out of the aether, do you understand me?”
Billy Ray folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the Fleet officer. Perlmutter's face went from ashen to bright red. Realizing that Billy Ray and party were not going to give way, he walked around them in a huff, trailed by his aide. As the Ensign hustled after his superior he gawked at the OATC officers with fear written on his face.
Watching them go, Billy Ray shook his head. “That boy ain't the sharpest tool in the drawer.”
“No,” his wife agreed. “But he is certainly still a tool.”
“We have gone from seeing the best of the Fleet to the worse in just a few minutes,” Mizuki observed. “Why do they let people like him in the Navy in the first place?”
Bobby smirked. “I just hope the crinkleneck suckmonkey goes to the Admiral about this. Gretchen will rip him a new asshole.”
“My, he does seem to bring out the best in you two boys.”
“Regardless, honey bunch, we need to get back to the ship and find out who's playing rough with the shore patrol.”
Goat Locker, Peggy Sue II
“So you shoes actually wiped the deck with those SP dorks?” said Phil Kowalski, one of the SEALs.
“I am not a shoe, polar bear bait, I'm a Marine.”
“Evidently an AWOL Marine,” said Chief Morgan, who found the fact that Rosey was wanted by the Fleet rather humorous.
“Pretty nice quarters you have here,” said Bud Jones, trying to change the subject. “All us lowly petty officers are overcome with envy.”
“Speak for yourself, snake eater,” Steve Hitch retorted. “Matt and I are now bonafide chiefs ourselves.”
“Boot Chiefs you mean,” groused Chief Zackly, using the informal term for newly promoted chiefs still in their first year.
“Yes, we know,” Matt Jacobs added, “and you are the Brigadier Chief.”
“And don't yous forget it or I'll bust ya back to deck apes in a heartbeat.”
“All this memory lane stuff is great but when are we going to get down to brass tacks?” asked Chief Morgan.
“Rick, I heard from a little bird that yous SEAL types were back on shore and at loose ends. So the Gunny and I thought it might be worth having a chat.”
“You mean about us maybe shipping out on the Peggy Sue?”
“Sue Two,” corrected Hitch, drawing an annoyed glance from the Chief.
GySgt Acuna picked up the conversation. “As you can see, Sue Two is much bigger than the old Peggy Sue. Like the Chief said, we have billets for six chiefs, forty two sailors, and twenty six Marines.”
“We are not Marines,” Chief Morgan said flatly. “That's part of the reason why we parted company with the Navy. They wanted us to either become jarheads or regular squids.”
“Trust me, Rick, we all know the difference, and so does the Captain.”
“Vincent? Wasn't he one of the guys you sent to recruit us the first time, him and that greeny beanie? We never served under him as captain. You sure he knows what SEALs are good for?”
“Trust me, he appreciates the difference between Marines and you special operator types. And he has a pretty realistic take on what type of shit we are apt to step in out there in the inky black. It was him and the XO who insisted on more than doubling the number of Marines on board.”
“You're saying the Old Man is a straight shooter?”
“He's a lot like Captain Sutton.”
“Yeah,” Hitch chimed in, “a poetry quoting Texan who kicks ass and takes names.”
The head SEAL nodded. “What about the other officers?”
“The XO, Beth Melaku, is the Captain's wife. Former Navy corvette squadron commander and tougher than nails. You know the Sailing Master Bobby Danner and his wife Mizuki Ogawa from your time on the M'tak Ka'fek.”
“Dr. Ogawa? The little Japanese chick that got her legs burned off on Ring Station?”
“She was a total samurai war machine with that sword of hers,” added Bud, admiration in his voice. “Doc had to grow her a new pair of legs after that little furball.”
“That's the one. She still has the sword.”
“So you aren't sailing with any lightweights or armchair swabbies, what's the mission?”
Matt Jacobs jumped in, being better versed in the astronomical details. “We are headed for an open star cluster called the Pleiades. It's about 440 light-years from Earth and full of hot young stars. We have intel that says there were T'aafhal present in that system less than a million years ago.”
“Yeah, we're hot on their trail,” quipped Hitch, earning him a hard look from the Chief and a cuff from Jacobs.
“Cmdr. Danner says we will make it in three hops, all involving massive stars so the transit times will be short. In order, we go to Aldebaran, Eudora, and Alcyone. It should take us less than a month total, assuming we don't spend a lot of time traversing the intermediate systems in 3-space.”
“Do we know what to expect on the way?”
“Nope,” the Chief said succinctly.
“And you want us to sign on?”
“Yep,” said the Gunny. “I like the idea of having some extra warfighters to back up my Marines if needed, plus we may run into a situation that calls for your special talents.”
Chief Morgan looked at his two brother SEALs. Bud nodded and Phil shrugged. “It ain't like we got dick-all going on around here.”
Rick turned back to the Chief. “OK, we're in. It's gotta be more fun than what we have been doing.”
Chief Zackly cracked a rare smile. “Welcome aboard gentlemen! I can't promise it will be fun, but it won't be boring.”
Chapter 3
Polar Bear Habitat, Farside
Most of the surviving talking polar bears, Ursus sapiens, lived in the large habitat constructed for them by Ludmilla Sutton during her tenure as Farside base administrator. Inside the large domed space conditions mimicking those of Earth's Arctic region were maintained, with freezing temperatures, floors of ice, and open pools of frigid salt water. Mounds of ice, simulating pack ice pressure ridges, added variety to the terrain. Overhead the holographically projected sky reflected current conditions at Earth's North Pole.
Though humans were not barred from visiting the habitat few did. Going inside meant donning heavy insulated clothing including boots and parkas. Otherwise a visitor risked frostbite and eventually death from exposure. The bears mostly ignored humans who chose to enter their world. At one time human school children were brought to interact with the young bears, to help accustom both species with each other. That happened less frequently these days.
For their part, many bears studied at the University, usually attending class via avatar—normal conditions in the human portions of the base were uncomfortably warm for creatures evolved to spend most of their lives wandering the Arctic pack ice. Some put in a tour with the Navy or Marines, learning skills that they hoped to eventually put to use when they found a planet they could claim as their own.
It was winter in the arctic, which meant that the sky was dark all of the time, the Sun never rising above the horizon. Wisps of snow ran in rivulets across the simulated pack ice. Thro
ugh the frozen gloom trudged two humans in white, fur trimmed parkas—a man and a woman. A few of the residents raised their heads and looked at the two legged intruders.
“You two lost?” asked one of the females, when the couple drew close enough to be heard over the moaning wind.
“We're looking for Ahnah or Umky,” said the man.
“Ahnah is denning, waiting to give birth,” said the she-bear, “but Umky is around here somewhere.”
Rambling over a nearby ridge, a large male bear appeared through the blowing snow. As he drew closer he grinned.
“I thought I smelled some familiar humans.” The bear sat down in front of the two humans, putting his head at about the same level as Billy Ray's and Beth's. “What brings you to the scenic Arctic?”
“Hello Umky,” Beth said, glad the search for their former shipmate ended up a short one. “When is Ahnah due?”
“Any day now, at least that is what the other females tell me. She-bears don't much care for daddy bears hanging around when they are giving birth.”
“I'm sure that will change once your cubs are borne,” Billy Ray added encouragingly, “Your daddy was around for Isbjørn's last litter.”
“Yeah, it's becoming a family tradition. But I don't think you came for the birthing.”
“Actually, we're lookin' for some bears who are willing to ship out with a bunch of humans for an extended voyage.”
“Really? How long a voyage?”
“We expect it to take at least a year,” Beth answered.
“How many?”
“We were thinking four.”
“There's not enough space in the Peggy Sue's polar bear quarters. Not for that many on a long voyage.”
“New ship,” Billy Ray responded. “Much larger quarters for the ursine crew.”
“Hmm,” the bear said. “If I was free I'd be tempted, but I'm sort of spoken for.” The she-bear that had greeted the humans was still near by and she snorted at Umky's remark.
“We have openings on the science team, weapons crews, and the Marines.”
“I'll ask around. How soon are you looking to weigh anchor?”
“A week to ten days,” the Captain answered. “We're starting to load provisions now. If you find some interested bears have them give us a call on the Peggy Sue II.”
“Sure thing. It was nice of you to come by in person.”
“When you see Ahnah give her our best, won't you?” said Beth, sensing that the conversation was over. “I'm sure your cubs will be darling.”
The he-bear smiled a tight lipped, bearish smile. “Will do. Have a safe voyage.”
With that the bear rose up off his haunches and padded silently away across the frozen landscape. Beth and Billy Ray also turned and began the cold walk back to the entrance of the habitat.
Cargo Hold, Peggy Sue II
While Beth and Billy Ray went polar bear recruiting, Mizuki and Bobby returned to the ship, entering through the portside cargo hold door. Sitting in the construction dock, the curved sliding door was open and a wide ramp extended from threshold to the surrounding scaffolding. Even though the door was made from selectively permeable hull metal it could still be opened physically, just in case there was a power failure that prevented its normal operation.
The open space of the hold was a bit bigger than the old ship's. It was used more to store expendable supplies—like satellite probes and messenger drones—than to store the bounty gleaned from strange alien worlds. The economics of star travel made all but the rarest items unprofitable as freight. The profits for the mission would come from two primary sources: discovery of new habitable planets, and gaining information about other races and their technology.
Even filled with equipment for the coming voyage there were clear areas at the forward end and around the edges of the hold. These were used by the crew and Marines for combat instruction and PT—physical training. Entering the well lit space, the officers could see a group of a dozen or more men and women, standing in three ragged ranks. Facing them stood the Gunny.
“Officer on deck!” someone shouted.
“As you were,” replied Bobby reflexively. While this wasn't the Navy there was a certain level of discipline maintained among the crew as necessary to good order and efficiency. “New recruits, Gunny?”
“Aye, Sir. Candidate Marines,” she replied.
“Have you seen the Chief?”
“He's forward, Commander, in the goat locker with a couple of recruits of his own.”
Bobby nodded. “Carry on.”
Bobby and Mizuki headed forward through an internal airlock door, headed for the goat locker, the senior enlisted quarters. As the door slid shut a male voice from the ranks was heard: “Nice ass on that little science officer.”
This was followed by a few chuckles and some shuffling around. The Gunny turned back to the recruits, her face a mask frozen in anger.
“ATTENTION!”
The recruits came somewhat sloppily to attention.
“I do not know what you maggots think this is, but I can assure you that the Company is not a bunch of Chablis sipping, candy ass, ne’er do wells playing like they're in the fuckin' Navy!”
The recruits drew themselves to more rigid poses, realizing that the Gunnery Sergeant, who had obviously been a real Marine, was pissed off.
“I don't know which of you pus-nutted, pencil-dicked assholes made that remark about Science Officer Ogawa and I don't care. That officer has fought on more planets and killed more aliens than the bunch of you pussy-ass can't cunts and no-loads put together. You are lucky that neither she nor her husband, Sailing Master Danner, heard the shit flowing from that sucking face wound you call a mouth, or those of you left alive would be cleaning blood and entrails off the deck! DO YOU READ ME!”
“We read you, Sir!” most replied.
“Do not 'Sir' me, I work for a living! You will address me as Gunnery Sergeant, the officers you will call 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'. Now drop and give me 40.”
The recruits dropped to the deck and began doing pushups.
“When you get done with that we are all going to run laps around the hold until the last one of you shit-for-brains dicksucks falls over or pukes his guts out.”
As the prospective Marines all pumped out pushups, off to one side a group of sailors observed the scene with interest.
“Looks like the recruits just found out that this is for real,” crewman Tamara Wilson observed.
“If she does run them until they puke, do we have to clean it up, Chief?” asked Kashi Ademola, also a veteran crewman.
“The proto-jarheads can clean up their own mess,” answered Chief Matt Jacobs.
“Why is the Gunny punishing them all and not just the wise ass who made the crack about Dr. Ogawa?”
“Two reasons, Tam. First is to impress upon each of them that discipline on board is just as strict as on a Navy ship, maybe more so. Second, to let 'em all know that they are expected to act as a team. If one screws up they all take the heat.”
Kashi shook his head. “I'm glad I'm not a Marine.”
“So am I, Kashi, but it's often good to have some around. Now let's get over to the starboard particle cannon mount and get things squared away before Master Chief Zackly has us out there with 'em.”
“Aye, aye, Chief.”
One by one the three climbed up the companionway to second deck, headed for the starboard side main battery. As with so many systems on the Sue Two, there was still rigging and fitting to do.
Sick Bay
Dr. Belinda White, known to her friends as Betty, was checking out her new medical section. Betty had been the Navy Medical Corpsman attached to a squad of Marines on the first voyage of the Peggy Sue. She had stayed with the crew ever since, only taking a break to earn a medical degree from Lunar University. With the possible exception of Ludmilla Tropsha, the first ship's doctor, she knew more about T'aafhal medical technology than any living human. This was not always a plus, given that the Pegg
y Sue's medical equipment, as good as it was, was not nearly as capable as the healing chambers onboard the M'tak Ka'fek.
While medical nanites and tissue regenerators greatly advanced the medical arts, Betty could not regrow whole limbs with the speed that the T'aafhal could. A new arm could take her several weeks, on the M'tak Ka'fek it took a day. Fortunately, such drastic reconstruction had not been needed, so far.
Her staff consisted of a nurse, a doctor's assistant, and a new doctor versed in veterinary medicine. The new Vet-cum-MD was a nod to the expanded polar bear presence on board. Strangely, they had never been called on to heal an alien, despite the trail of dead critters the Earthlings seemed to leave behind them.
“Doctor White?” a man's voice said.
Well speak of the devil, Betty thought, looking up. “Yes, I'm Dr. White. You must be Dr. de Bruin. Welcome aboard.”
Betty extended her hand and the tall, fair-skinned doctor shook it.
“Please, call me Johan.” The 'J' was pronounced like a 'Y'. Johannes de Bruin, DVM, was from South Africa. An enclave of people managed to survive the alien bombardment in a sheltered mountain valley above the Cape. Due to location and geography, it was mostly spared by the asteroid induced tidal waves that ravaged the lowlands. The valley, known as the Groot Drakenstein, lay in the shadow of mountains of the same name. The approach to the valley was breathtaking, hemmed in on three sides by the Groot Drakenstein, Franschhoek and Simonsberg mountains. Heavily settled by French Huguenots, the one time elephant breeding ground was the heart of South African wine country.
“Please call me Betty, Johan.” The contrast between the tall, blond, pale skinned Afrikaner and the medium height, dark haired, mocha skinned African-American was pronounced. “Have you gotten situated in your quarters?”
“Yes, thank you, I have.” The tall man smiled, his pale blue eyes taking in the surrounding sick bay. “I must say that this ship is equipped much better than the last ship I served on.”