by Chris Hechtl
Bast flicked her ears on his HUD in mute reply.
Chapter 7
A week later he was given additional leave time due to a scheduling problem with the latest class. He decided to take the time to go north and deal with the message Hurranna had dumped on him. Hand-carrying the message from Deja to the village in the arctic North seemed excessive. The planet did have some sort of glacially slow postal service, and they did have radios, but …. He grumbled about spending a lot of his leave time doing transit for other people, not basking in a bar somewhere.
Bast just looked at him when he got a little too loud about it, as did the passengers in the shuttle he'd boarded. “Sorry,” he muttered, hunching down.
Bast closed her eyes, stretched, and then curled up in a nap. He got the message after a moment and did the same, dozing for the rest of the flight.
When the shuttle landed on the long airstrip, he found that the orbital hop was only step one in his journey. He grudgingly grabbed his bag and then went to the waiting area for the commuter flight. “If you're headed to Hudson Lake you'd better get a gift,” the stewardess said, behind the desk. He turned to the human female in confusion. “They are having a potlatch. A funeral one. Guests bring gifts. It's considered bad manners if you don't. Oh, and you'd better have some credits. Cash, not in the net. Where you are going there isn't much call for net cash. It's all barter and cash.”
“Thanks,” Jethro murmured as he shouldered his bag and headed to the gift shop.
A few minutes later the stewardess called out that the flight was boarding. He rushed to board the commuter flight to fly still further north.
One of the great things was he was wearing open toed boots however, not the steel toed ones he wore on base. He could flex his toes and feel them in the earth. He could even get his claws out for additional traction if he needed it. Picking mud and crap out from between his toes and pads was a pain though. He flexed his toes on the plane and played with his claws for a bit. He looked around the plane, using his implants to check his fellow passengers out. All were humans; all were bundled up pretty heavily. There was a lot of luggage and gear, apparently the plane served triple duty, not just as a passenger jet but also hauling mail and packages. They were crammed in pretty tightly. He wondered if the plane was overloaded with weight.
He was grateful when Bast dulled his sense of smell. A few of the commuters hadn't bathed in a while, and their scents were a bit too strong. And one guy liked his cologne a little too much for comfort in such confined quarters.
They flew over a glacier, an endless sea of white stretching below them. The glare was horrible to his sensitive eyes.
They did a pass over a small village near a lake and then to his surprise landed on the water, skipping like a stone as the props slowed. The craft puttered over to a dock where people were waiting.
Now he understood the need to fly; the village was isolated between a glacier and the water. Bast put a map up; the lake fed into a small creek that went to the sea. He had to fly in with the small bush plane to get there in a timely manner; taking a boat would have wasted weeks.
He was amused when he climbed out that a few of the people were shocked at his appearance. It was brisk, there was a light breeze, and it was rather cold but refreshing from the stifling confines of the aircraft. He wasn't looking forward to the flight back he thought glumly.
There were some Neos, most of them huskies or bears. There were even unmodified dogs in the area; he could see a few groups tethered to stakes near dog houses on the shore nearby. There was a big totem pole welcoming them to the village at the base of the docks. It was topped by a stylized bird of some sort. Other wooden totem poles were erected nearby; some weren't painted. Each had a different stack of animals on it. He could see a pair of humans working on carving another pole on a set of benches beyond the dogs.
Bast looked around on her HUD. She did a facial scan and blinked when she got a genotype match. The village's humans had some Inuit descendants in it. They made up nearly half the population. They were mixed with some Neos and aliens living in small homes on the outskirts.
As he walked along the dock, he picked his way along, avoiding some of the areas that the other passengers did. He didn't want a bath; the water looked cold. When he got to the shore, he noted that the Neos seemed almost feral. Most wore the bare minimum of clothes like a loin cloth. Some not even that. Most were bears or dogs. He wondered briefly if there were wolves in the woods. Quite possibly.
A very real danger of Neos was going feral. Of losing one's self to the wild side. It wasn't as big a danger now as it had been back in the early days of their various uplifts, but it was still a problem. He wondered how the ground siders had handled it during the dark time.
On the Anvil station, his people had been constantly reminded that they were spacers. Anyone who went primal was dealt with by the clans immediately. They had to police their own people harshly to keep the authorities from finding out or the public from becoming alarmed. Even a show of temper could be life threatening, or had been; now things were different.
There were a few bugs, but not many. He could understand that. Veraxins were almost as common as humans but even they had their limits. They could handle the cold a lot easier than a T'Clock but that didn't mean they had to like it. According to the census report he'd read most of their kind stuck to the warmer climates. Those that were in the village were either stubborn or here only during the warm periods.
“If you're new here, you have to see the elders,” a husky pup said, pointing to a large round building near the center of the village.
“The elders?” Jethro asked, hefting his bag and packages.
“Yeah. Custom and law,” the husky said sizing him up with a sniff and jaundice eye. “You won't last here long. Not come winter. Your coat is too short,” the husky said as he took off at a trot. A few of his pals were playing on the shoreline. He dropped to all fours and lopped to pick up his pace.
Jethro watched him go and turned as Bast put up a map of the village on his HUD and plotted out where each person was according to his sensors and senses. She had them color coded as well, with blue for humans and various shades of green and brown for the Neos. He was glad his vision had been improved to allow him to distinguish the shades.
He met the village elders on the steps of the round building. A green grinning creature had been painted on one wall. Its show of teeth and eyes had his fur on edge until he rounded the corner and gratefully moved out of its sight.
There were six elders, four humans and two Neos. There was a brown Neo bear, a male grizzly who was almost as gray as he was brown. The Husky was a male as well, also old from the gray and white around his muzzle and the stiff way he moved.
Two of the humans were male, big husky humans. The females were also big, both had black and gray hair braided and were almost as round as they were tall. One female had one heck of a set of knockers on her. She seemed to enjoy swinging them about.
As he got closer Bast put up his enhanced hearing and picked out a few words for him to contemplate. Apparently they were organizing a potlatch for a dead village elder. He frowned at that; it must be some sort of memorial or something. People were coming and going from the round building, bringing in supplies or talking. All of them eyed him curiously as he made his way up the steps.
The elders continued their discussion as he approached, seemingly oblivious of him. He knew otherwise; when the wind had shifted, he'd seen the husky and bear take in his scent.
“What are we going to do? You know the traditions ….”
“We need our hunters, and they aren't here. Esmay is sick you know that. Songhunter is in jail after his last fight with his wife, and most of our able bodied are either out on the logging crews or have taken off to join the military or to work in the city.”
“I can't believe it has come to this. We have a limited time for the good weather. I would go …,” the bear shrugged.
“Yo
u can't shoot worth a damn. You can barely see your hand in front of your face,” a male human said with a sniff.
“No, but someone else could. I can watch them.”
“Watch he says. And watch the butchering. I know you don't have the stomach for that either. Not with that rotgut you put away.”
“I can help,” Jethro said, holding up a hand paw.
When no one responded, he dropped the hand sheepishly. He felt seriously out of place as suddenly hostile eyes from people around him turned his way. Bast shook her head on his HUD.
“Look, I'm new to the village, just passing through. My name is Gunnery Sergeant McClintock.”
“We don't need another recruiter here. Go away,” the bear growled.
“I'm not here to recruit. I'm here to deliver a message for a friend. Look, I'll be out of your hair in a day or so. But while I'm here I can help.”
“I suppose they taught you to shoot,” the husky said, finally turning to size him up. “Just basic though? We don't need a machine gunner.”
“Sniper. I taught the sniper course too.”
“He'll move like an ox in the bush,” one of the females said with a disdainful sniff.
“I sincerely doubt that considering he's a cat. Not after hearing how quietly he approached us,” the female with the double braids said. She turned to Jethro. She had a gravelly voice and wise eyes. “Stranger, why do you wish to help?”
“Because it is the right thing to do,” Jethro said, leaving out the part about the standing order to help the communities to build goodwill.
“Have you been in the bush before?”
“Forest? Yes. Not here, on the main continent.”
“Hmm …”
“I've trained the recon teams. And I've trained virtually for thousands of hours. I hunted elk by tooth and claw a week ago.” When that didn't impress him, he flicked his ears. “My squad was among the first Marines on your planet.”
“Great, so you led them here? You're not helping your case, son,” the bear said with a disgusted shake of his massive head.
“Wait, you were in the first group. The one that saved the girl?”
“Yes,” Jethro replied. That got their attention. “The pirates had crashed and were raiding the farms in the area. When we found out, we tracked them down and killed most of them.”
“Prove it.”
“I don't know how. I didn't take pictures,” Jethro said, shaking his head. “I have a video from my implants but …,” he looked around.
“We could access it,” one of the females said.
“I don't want him to jack into our equipment. I don't know where he's been. There is no telling what viruses and other crap he's got in him. You know the soldiers; they are into porn all the time.”
“Um …,” Jethro frowned, ears going back. Bast put the video up in a window on his HUD and then started to pick out names. He ignored the people he knew. “Seth Kessel told us to look into the situation,” he said, picking that name out. “Sheriff Jessup met us at camp and told us about the latest farm that was hit.” He frowned. “The girl's name was Sharon. She was, is the niece of the sheriff. Her brother survived too.”
“You're pulling that from the net, aren't you?”
“Hey, rumor had it that there was a black cat with the Marines,” the bear said. “The female black bear who led you, she still around?”
“Valenko. He's a grizzly like you, and he's now a captain in Pyrax.” Jethro replied.
“They said most of the group who saved Sharon were Neos,” the husky murmured, looking at the others. His ears twitched to each of them.
“Miles was human. A heavy worlder. He died on the assault up the hilltop. So did Chirby, a bug,” Jethro said tightly, ears flat.
“Okay, I believe you. Relax,” the bear said waving a paw. “Thanks for saving the girl. Wish you would have let Jessup take the prisoners though.”
Jethro flicked his ears. “Military intelligence wanted their turn with them.”
The woman with the single braid sniffed. “I hope they didn't enjoy it.” She eyed him severely for a moment.
Jethro drew himself up tall. “No, I seriously doubt they did, ma'am.”
The bear nodded, eying the others. “Good. I suppose that's all we can ask for.” The other elders nodded as well.
“He has manners, I'll give him that,” the woman said softly.
“I brought this for you,” Jethro said feeling a bit lame as he held out the kit. He'd picked out a tool kit out of the gift shop under the guidance of the helpful clerk there. “It has a multitool with a sharpening stone. And this,” he said, holding out a hatchet and then a tablet, palm sized solar panel, and small cooker. The items were accepted by a broad shouldered human male elder. He examined each of them with an amused look on his face, “Got them in the gift shop, right?” he finally asked, face crinkling in a small smile. “Met Tabitha?”
Jethro's ears flicked as he bobbed a nod. “The girl in the gift shop? Yes. I didn't know one was required or what to get.”
The elder nodded sagely. “It is the thought that counts.” The elder turned to the others. “He is welcome in our village,” he announced. There was a bit of grumbling, but most of those who had protested nodded grudgingly or turned away.
<(>~^~<(>
One of the women took his bag and then left as the men gathered around. Two had hunting rifles. “Ever shoot one of these?”
“Something a lot more advanced,” Jethro admitted, taking the rifle. It didn't even have a scope, just a set of iron sights. That was fine; his vision could be enhanced as needed. “Bolt action?”
“It is,” the husky said with dignity.
“I'm not saying anything bad, just commenting on the design,” the panther said, checking out the action carefully. “It's been cleaned recently,” he murmured, checking it out. The action was smooth, well oiled. He checked to make certain the clip and breach were empty and then turned the rifle in his hands, examining it. Someone had carved Native American symbols into the wooden stock. It also had a crack in it. There were small scratches all over the rifle and one large gouge on the right side. “Antler?” Jethro asked softly.
“Sometimes they go down and stay down. Sometimes they don't,” the husky murmured. He flicked his ears as Jethro checked out the sites and then looked down them. The rear sight was adjustable; there were nobs on either side to adjust it left or right and up and down. “I've seen this in the history classes but I didn't actually handle one,” Jethro murmured.
“Think you can handle it? She's got a kick to her,” the husky said, holding out some large rounds. Jethro took one of the brass rounds. It was a 50 caliber round, roughly 1.4 centimeters long including the case. The brass casing had been reused many times based on the scratches and bluing. It reeked of homemade gunpowder.
“How good is the range and stopping power?” he asked as he checked the round out. It had a primer cap in the back fortunately.
“Almost stock. The best we can do. Gunpowder doesn't grow on trees, young one.”
“I'm not knocking it, just asking.”
“Okay. We can't afford the fancy rounds.”
“Not a problem,” Jethro said. “This should work. I'll need at least four rounds though.”
“Four?”
“You said two moose right? They are bigger than elk?”
“Yes. A mammoth would work, but they are not in the area,” the bear said. He had his own rifle, but it was some sort of shotgun. “You lead.”
“All right,” Jethro drawled, shouldering the rifle. He took the rounds and put them in his pants pockets. “Direction?”
“Our hunting grounds are north of here,” the bear said, pointing. “Once we have a kill, we'll call in reinforcements and then go for another if we have time and light.”
“We'll see,” the husky said skeptically.
Fortune was with them; they found a yearling moose five kilometers away. It was on an opposite hillside though, a steep one
peppered by bushes. Jethro shot it before the bear could catch up to stop him. The bark of the rifle was loud, echoing throughout the foothills and forests.
“Damn,” Jethro said, rubbing his shoulder. Bast sent pain blockers to the sight, and then worked on the bruise with her nanites.
“Now you've done it,” the bear moaned.
“What?” Jethro asked turning to him. “I got it,” he said, pointing to where the moose had dropped. He'd gotten it right behind the shoulder, right through the big animal's heart according to his implants.
“Not that! You had to kill it on a hillside. Do you have any idea how much of a bitch it is going to be to dress it and get it back?”
“Couldn't you have waited until it was on the trail?” the husky asked. “Not that I'm complaining, but ….”
Jethro surveyed the group. “Sorry,” he muttered looking away.
“Not now, but you will be once we get there. If the wolves don't beat us there first,” the bear said, brushing past him. “Come on, daylight's wasting,” he said gruffly as he started the climb down their hill.
“Save your brass. We reuse it,” the husky said. He lifted his muzzle and howled.
“Um, are you calling the wolves in?”
“No, backup,” the husky replied after a moment. He listened for a moment. Jethro heard a distant freight train-like howl back, then a series of barks. “Okay, they are coming. And they know where so they won't bother bringing the carts.”
“Um …”
“Save it kid. Let's go.”
“You coming?” the bear demanded from the bottom of the hill. “Or am I going to have to do this all by my lonesome?” he growled, hand paws spread in annoyance.
“We're coming, we're coming,” the husky sighed, following after him. “Don't slip.”
“Okay,” Jethro replied, pulling the hot brass casing out. He juggled it to cool it then slipped it in his calf pocket.
“Don't put the round in with the live rounds. You could set them off.”