by Chris Hechtl
<(>~^~<(>
When they got out of the building, he found the kittens there, across the street watching. He leaned over to Chavez. “Give me your MREs,” he told the husky.
“What? Why?”
“You'll get more in base. Hand ‘em over,” he ordered.
“Sure,” the husky said grudgingly. “Mind telling me why?”
“To say thanks. And to build good will. See the kittens?” The husky glanced around then back to him so he wouldn't give his look away.
“Yeah?”
“They tipped us. There aren't that many Neos left. The cops helped round ‘em up and kill the others so they don't trust them. I want them to trust us. So, if you get a tip from them, help them out.”
“Okay, gotcha.”
“Tell the others,” Jethro ordered.
He cloaked and then went around the buildings. He came up behind them and decloaked. “Boo!” he said.
Both kittens nearly jumped out of their fur. White was all wide eyed as she stared at him in shock, eye pupils fully dilated in terror.
“Relax, it's me,” Jethro said, opening the helmet despite Bast's protests. He made sure to give the kittens the MREs he had borrowed from Chavez.
“That is so flipping cool!” White said, shaking her head in wonder. She reached out to touch the armor. He snorted. “Sorry.”
“Why?” Lil Red asked.
“Don't ask stupid questions. Just take ‘em and go, Red,” White scolded. She nodded her thanks to Jethro as she loaded up, tucking two each under an arm and then ran off.
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When they got back to base, he had a talk with the Major. “Ma'am, something has to be done. They are out there, on the street. Like I was, ma'am. They deserve a better life. Food, medical care. Not a life of crime and poverty, ma'am.”
She shook her head. “Look Gunny, I know you mean well, but you just can't save them all. I know you wish you could. I do too,” she said. He nodded. They had been trained to handle many situations but what to do with refugees wasn't well handled. “You've got to watch waifs like that; they are survivors but born con artists. And they will play you against the enemy if they can.”
He grimaced, ears back, tail flicking in agitation. “Lovely.”
“Yeah I know. And I know you meant well by passing it on to the other Marines to treat them well. That's a laudable goal but did you ever think of the consequences?”
“Ma'am? Oh, you mean bad intel?”
“Or deliberate misinformation. Or fabricated intel,” she replied. But I was also thinking of how it makes them a target.” He froze. “And it is a distraction to the Marines. It also gets them to lower their guard around the waifs. They can get killed if a kid comes up holding a hand grenade. The nice man told me to give you this ….”
Jethro's eyes widened in shock as he digested that idea. It was scary, sick, and very much in the playbook of the enemy. Slowly he nodded.
“And they can't trust the local authorities either, ma'am.”
“Oh I don't know ….”
“I do, ma'am. The locals are all humans.” She blinked at him then shrugged. “Many were appointed to their jobs on the Horathian's watch.” That got her attention. He slowly nodded. “And they helped round aliens and Neos up. Fed them to the ghettos and the slaughter, ma'am,” he said as her ears went flat.
“Damn it. We can't kill them all. I wish we could,” she said softly. “Damn I wish we could. But there would be chaos in the street.” It was her turn to have her ears back and her hackles raised. “You bring up a very good point, Gunny, and it explains why the enemy has been like ghosts, always clearing out before we could get a strike team in to hit them.”
“You can't think of everything, ma'am. And you and we can't be everywhere at once. But we're aware of it now. We need good people, decent people to watch out back and the civilians too. People who aren't corrupted.”
“True. I've got one idea in mind,” she said quietly. She'd heard of an Air Ranger working with the Wolf pack. She made a note on her HUD to give them and Arkangel a call. And give Arkangel a reaming out for not warning her about the corrupt cops.
“Ma'am, Sabu might be of some use. He is a Kathy's World Mountie after all.”
“True. Good point. I can tap him and any others who are here. They can start digging into the natives to do some housecleaning.”
Jethro felt a bit of relief over that news. “Yes, ma'am.”
“As far as the kittens are concern, combat is no place for a kitten. If you see them, shoo them away. For their own safety, Gunny.”
“Yes, ma'am. But tell that to the enemy too, ma'am. A bullet doesn't normally have an address on it. If they risk their necks to warn us, I'm not going to turn them away, ma'am. It could be the difference between life and death of the squad. And I know they won't work with the pirates.”
“True. Try to figure it out. Find a balance, Gunny.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Dismissed.”
Chapter 31
Lil Red returned to the family's current lair in good health, better than when she'd left it. It was one of several the family maintained in the city, all in Mugsy's territory of course. They had used many of the abandoned buildings for a while, living it up and enjoying the shelter until people had started to return. Slowly they'd been pushed back into the sewers or machinery places. Places humans didn't like to go.
There were elves in the area, but they didn't like to stick around the humans either. Nor did they like the Neos, since they were predators, so they kept to themselves. There were stories that during the dark times before the kittens had been born, a few of the Neos had been desperate enough to prey on each other and aliens.
They stashed the extra MREs in a couple of hiding spots only they or small hands could gain access to. Two of them were up high, along a line of rickety pipes their father would never trust to walk on. One other was under a steam pipe, they'd have to move that one or the food would be cooked within a day or so. The elves might find them, but they had to take that risk. If they brought them home, they'd only loose them to the adults. And if they tried to defend their stash, they'd only get beaten up for it.
Lil White was surprised that her runty sibling could keep up with her so easily. When she got back to the lair, she took note of her sister. Not once did she sneeze, and even her eyes were cleaned up. Before she'd looked a little like a cheetah with the dark crusty lines of crap on either side of her nose. Now it was all clean. “Where, how …”
“Mamma, mamma! Look, look!” Lil Red said, showing her one of the MREs. Her gray long furred mother took the rectangular pack and sniffed it warily. Her blue eyes turned on the kits.
“What is it, child?” she asked. Her latest pregnancy wasn't going well. The kittens inside felt like they were tearing her up, and she had terrible heartburn. Her so-called mate Mugsy was gone for days at a time, making her anxious. Now that these two were juniors, yearlings, it troubled her that they just roamed whenever and wherever they wanted. It was supposedly safer under the Marines, but she had deep doubts.
Red started to talk fast then noted the smell of another cat. It was a rare experience to smell at all, she thought as she looked about her, sniffing the air for the scent. Two, no, four more cats, she realized in wonder, turning in place as her ears swiveled about. She sniffed the air experimentally then locked in on Daddy Long Legs and Gran Gran. Powder Blue Toby was there too, off to one side … and … another. One she shrank away from when she realized who had that scent. He wasn't in the room, but near.
Daddy Long Legs was okay, a bit of a tough guy for an orange cat but nice to her. He was neutered and had the unfortunate look of an orange and white tabby cat crossed with a long legged Chihuahua. It was a face only a mother could love, maybe a blind mother. From the look of his bloody chin, he'd either killed recently or gotten into a scrap. Or both.
Gran Gran was one of the elders of the extended clan, a gray, long haired Persian who occas
ionally came by to gossip and complain with her mother. Technically she was mamma's mother's mother, or so they said. Or mother's mother, the kits still hadn't figured that part out yet. But she had the same blue eyes as Lil White and mamma, so she had to fit in to their bloodline somewhere.
“We've got enough for all,” Lil White said, extending her own prize.
“You did well, kits,” Gran Gran purred.
“Where did you get this?” Mamma asked suspiciously.
The two juniors took turns as they told Mamacita and the other cats as they shared some of their prize. Lil Red no longer snuffled, and White pointed that out to the others when they finished their story.
“It's true. I feel better. Good,” Red said, making a show of sniffing the air. “Stronger. My head doesn't hurt. My eyes are clear,” she said in wonder. Her fingers touched her eyes.
“Could it be the food?” Gran Gran asked.
“Something. Even the parasites are gone,” White observed, bathing her shoulder.
Their mother wasn't happy by the news though. Appearing sickly was normally an invitation for a predator to attack. It was a death sentence in the wild. But with the Neocats it meant the humans with empathy gave them more food out of sympathy and pity. But then when the story was told over again she was amazed.
“So, he just touched you and you were healed?” Gran Gran asked, staring at her grandchild.
“Has that happened in your time, Gran?” Mama asked, eying her elder.
“No. I keep telling you kits, I'm not that old,” Gran replied, shaking her head.
Some of the other cat survivors in their hold-out listened and asked about the black cat. Toby and Daddy Long Legs seemed amused, playing along, but Gran was genuinely curious. “He's a savior. He took down the bad guys, the Empies in black armor. It was very cool,” White said making slashing motions and acting out a fight. Then he snuck up on me!” She seemed affronted. The adults flicked their ears at her. She liked to bend their ears with her stalking prowess.
As the tale was repeated, Gunny McClintock turned into a messiah, someone who could heal with a touch and would get them out of their wretched existence and back to where they belonged.
“Ah, so the legend of the black cat is true. You finally believe in us,” a familiar voice purred from the back. The other cats turned to see Midnight hunkered there. Watching them in amusement.
“I told you we aren't the bad luck everyone assumes we are,” he said indifferent to their gaze. “You wish to bow before him, well, as his agent you can bow to me,” he said, sitting up regally. “Especially you females,” he said, purring again as he eyed the kits. “You can give me your due now,” he said with a Cheshire grin.
Lil Red shrunk back and swiped at the air, hissing at Midnight as the black cat tried to approach her. Midnight, like some of the other toms, tended to sneak around when her father was away. Her father knew though; he could smell them and would track them down to rip them up if they pushed too far.
He tried to sniff her rear end and her sister's to see if they were in season, but they tucked their tails around their rears and hunkered down with their backs to a wall. Mama's face broke into a scowl, her ears went back. She too went back, one hand protecting her gravid belly.
“Oh you, I don't care about anymore. At least when you have a bun in the oven. One may be mine,” Midnight said, eying her.
“You wish. Someone should get you neutered,” Mamma hissed at him. “Come any closer and Mugsy might.”
“He can try,” Midnight said darkly. He heard a clatter at the back entrance and froze. “We'll talk again,” he growled, fading back into the shadows like a nightmare. They could still see him, especially his glittering green eyes. Then he was gone, up the shelves and through the bars covering the window and into the night. One by one the other cats disappeared too.
“Bastard,” Mamacita hissed as the kittens came over to her. She batted them away. “Go on with you.”
“Who was here?” Mugsy demanded, voice going from a deep growl to a rising yowl of anger.
“Midnight. You just chased him off,” Lil Red said, rubbing her father's shoulder and nuzzling him.
“Thank you,” Mamacita said grudgingly as he deposited a half-eaten rat between them.
“Rough day. And to have to deal with that free loader?” Mugsy growled.
“He didn't get any. He tried though,” Lil Blue eyes said, ears still back. He turned to squint at her. “Seriously. It wasn't like last time,” she said, tucking herself in tighter and shivering slightly.
“He gets what he pays for. You know the rules.”
“Yeah, well, you know what it does too,” Mama said, sounding disgusted.
“Well, it's your fault you got pregnant.”
“You didn't use a rubber, remember?” Mama said, fighting a snarl. Mugsy just picked at his paw, cleaning it with his teeth and pretended to ignore her complaint. “And don't give me that crap about stress or how you planned to pull out in time,” she said, thoroughly disgusted.
“Shut up and eat, lady. Or I'll do it,” Mugsy said, batting the rat.
“Fine, fine,” Mamacita said, slinking forward.
“And later you and I can talk about your attitude,” he said to her. She froze then slowly bent to pick up the rat.
<(>~^~<(>
Jethro checked the news in his rack. The Marines were making progress as were the squids topside. But he wasn't happy about some of the injuries. Several of the people that had come with him were in the infirmary or worse. A few had ended up in stasis, shipped back to Antigua for repair, but three had ended up in the morgue. That sucked. He sucked in a breath and the let it out slowly. That well and truly sucked.
They were making some headway though. Some, not a lot. But one thing did bother him; it was the reaction of the humans. They were stiff and formal at best with the Major. And from what he had heard, stiff and most of the time rebuffing of Admiral White. The Neokittens were right, the humans didn't like Neos. He shook his head. There wasn't much they could do about it either, it was well above his pay grade.
The humans he had worked with in the militia had been a bit standoffish at first, but they had finally started to come around to see his professionalism. To see he wasn't fooling around. That yes, he was different from them, but he could and would still do his duty, his job. And he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon so they better learn to put up and shut up. His ears flicked in humor at that thought.
That was one way bridges were built among a population. It was one of the ways old fashioned racism had been conquered on Earth. To build empathy, to understand someone, to see their flaws and all. To learn to care. Perhaps that was their problem, they had insulated themselves from the caring, from feeling anything when the Horathians had started their conquest and plans for extermination. Bottled their empathy, locked it away since they had thought they couldn't do anything about the situation.
But some had. Some for their own reasons sure, some were just plain ornery. But others, others had honor. Hopefully, they would help get it through to those that served with and under them.
He didn't envy the major. She definitely had her work cut out for her. And so did Admiral White. The “Bitch” wasn't helping either. General Busche was still a thorn in their side as was the lack of ships in orbit. But once the Navy and Marines did get their act together in the star system, then maybe people would realize they were here to stay.
He flipped to read the report of other star systems. There wasn't a lot there; the ansible link in the star system was highly limited. Most of its bandwidth was monopolized by the Navy for their regular reports. But some things had slipped through, and apparently someone topside had thought to put the pieces together and release a sort of news update to the Marines as well as the local media.
He could read through the lines, like the note that most of the senior staff in Pyrax had been fired or quit. His ears went alert over that bit. Thornby too, he realized in astonishment. Captain
Logan had been promoted to senior grade and given more keys; he was pretty sure of that. But he'd been reduced to a member of the staff, no longer the commanding officer. That must have hurt.
This Rear Admiral Subert seemed to be a pain in the ass. He wondered if the people on Protodon would have taken to him if the admirals had been swapped. He pulled up Subert's file but there was little in the system. A bio from the fleet files, he had been a captain, then commodore on Lemnos, then promoted by Admiral Irons along with the other flag officers. He was human too.
Was he getting the same problem the locals had? Thinking in species instead of … he shook his head, ears flat. He didn't have the problem. But if he stayed on the damn planet too much longer he just might.
His thoughts changed to the chain of command. Irons had bumped the flag officers as well as just about every officer and enlisted sleeper on Lemnos. Were they going to do that with everyone across the board? Give them a bump up in rank since the military was growing explosively now? Was he going to be a Gunny for much longer? He flicked his tail. He checked Bast, about to ask her about her thoughts but realized she was handling things for the Major. He exhaled noisily and turned over.
Thirteen star systems had officially joined the Federation; three more, Airea 3, Nightingale, and Halced 6, were still holding out for better terms. Representatives from three other star systems were enroute to Antigua to negotiate as well. They had yet to form a senate or congress though, it was apparently too low a number to call for a quorum. Curious, he did a check in the Encyclopedia Galactica. When he saw the numbers needed, he whistled softly. They had quite a ways to go. Not only did they need representatives and elected senators from every star system, but they had to have them from multiple sectors as well. One hundred planets minimum. The original Federation had been founded with that number. That meant they definitely had a ways to go. Admiral Irons was stuck with the presidency until then. And possibly even afterward he mused.