by Chris Hechtl
“Gunnery Sergeant McClintock. I met Red and White some time ago.”
“And you came looking for them? Well, you can stand in line. You get seconds,” a small short furred black cat said, eying him.
“He paid for it. We need the creds, the damn old lady died,” Mugsy growled.
“And you'll what? Kill the kittens? Like you did with my last litter? Or the one before Red and White?” the female demanded, glaring at the squinting tomcat.
“You killed kittens?” Jethro demanded, looking at the male.
“Hey man, more mouths to feed. It was me or the human bastards. Or they would have led them right to us,” he growled.
“So that makes it, right?” Jethro growled, ears back, teeth fully bared.
“Gunny, what's going on?” he heard loudly behind him. Then he got a repeat inquiry through his implants.
“We've got a civilian situation,” he called back, looking over his shoulder. “I'm handling it.”
“You're handling it? You'll tear my little girl up!” the female said, eying him warily.
“Ma'am, I'm married. Secondly, I'm a Marine. I may be a cat, but I'm not a barbarian. I wouldn't take advantage of her, especially a kitten,” Jethro said, trying to soften his voice and get his fur down.
She eyed him for a long moment then sniffed. “So? Your word is supposed to mean something?” she demanded.
“It does to me,” Lil Red said, coming out behind her. She quivered as she got between Jethro's legs and looked up adoringly to him. “Thanks, Gunny,” she said with her high pitched voice, purring.
When she had come out, one of the males had made a move to pounce on her. Jethro could see she had a wet spot on the back of her shoulders and neck. That bothered him. He'd been trained to recognize rape cases, but normally he was supposed to hand it over to an MP. Normally. That was what the book said anyway. This was … different.
He couldn't trust the local cops; they'd most likely kill the kittens the moment his back was turned. So, now what genius? He thought to himself.
“Don't even think about it,” he growled, locking eyes on a blue cat who had moved. He reached out and flicked his ear making the cat wince and then back off.
“She's not the one we're after,” the black cat said.
“Nor are the other ladies. They are under my protection. Leave,” Jethro growled.
“You can't tell us ….” Jethro moved his hand to his sidearm.
“I think he can,” Toby said softly.
“Big cat with a gun.”
“Yeah. And if I didn't have it, I could still tear you all apart. Buzz off.”
One by one the tomcats slunk away. He could see their glaring eyes and heat signatures as they left.
“Thanks,” Red said softly, rubbing him again. She wrapped an arm and her tail around his leg. “Got any food?”
“Yeah. I left it outside though,” Jethro said quietly. He slowly hunkered down to as close to their level as he could get. “You can come out now, White,” he said softly.
“It's safe,” Red agreed. “He's different.”
“I'm a cat but not your type anyway,” Jethro said. “And I have honor.”
He was still coming to grips with the fact that the male had prostituted his own daughter. And that he had killed his own kittens. That bothered him. He wondered briefly how the two kittens had survived for so long. Most likely because they were female and their mother had hidden them, he thought.
“He won't protect you forever,” a voice hissed in the darkness. White shivered in her spot, quivering in fear. She yowled softly as her hormones gripped her but refused to come out. “He'll be gone soon little one. Then we'll have our time. And it'll be fun,” the voice promised.
“I hate that one,” Mamacita murmured, looking at the shadows where the voice came from.
Jethro could see from his HUD plot that the males hadn't gone far.
“You need to take them. Take them with you,” the mother said, turning expectantly to him.
“What? I can't! I'm a Marine!”
“We can't help her. You can.”
“Please?” Red asked.
“Red, get your sister out of there. The two of you go outside to the Marine out there. He's a human, but a good one.”
“Are you sure?” Red asked softly, looking up at him with those wide soulful eyes.
“Yes. Go,” Jethro said.
Slowly a sooty and matted white junior came out behind Red. She slunk off, tail firmly tucked between her legs. She darted around Jethro and then was gone the way he had come.
“You've got two civilians coming your way, Dani. Give them food and water. They've been through hell.”
“They are already here. I know the red one,” Dani replied.
“Are you coming too, ma'am?”
The female looked at Jethro then towards where Mugsy had gone. “I can't.”
“Ma'am? You don't owe him anything. Not after …,” Jethro shrugged and gestured helplessly.
“No, I've got ties here. Gran Gran and the others. Take care … take care of them.”
“I will try, ma'am. But I can't bring them onto the base and well …,” Jethro shrugged helplessly.
“Maybe it would have been kinder to have let him kill them months ago,” the female muttered.
Jethro shook his head.
“Stay safe, ma'am,” he said. He pulled a couple credit coins out and dropped them between her and him. She eyed them, intensely interested. She waited though until he was in the passage before she darted in to take them and hide them.
<(>~^~<(>
“So, what do we do with these two?” Dani asked, looking expectantly at Jethro.
“We finish our patrol,” he said. He shook his head as they took the two tagalongs with them. White slunk from shadow to shadow, tail tucked, balefully glaring at any male that she saw, even if they were human. Sometimes especially if they were human.
“Now look, I know a woman who is running a crèche in the … camp near the bases. I can ask her to take you in. She'll be nice to you. Feed you and educate you a bit and stuff,” Jethro said lamely.
“You're talking about Zelma?” Dani asked.
“Zelma? She's alive?” Red asked, looking up at him.
“You know her?” Jethro asked.
“Yeah. A bit. Mom talked to her once when we were very small. I haven't seen her in months,” she said. She rubbed Jethro. “Can't we stay with you?”
“No, unfortunately not. The Major wouldn't allow it,” he said. She had gotten re-infested with parasites again. He shook his head.
They took a lunch break at an outdoor cantina. The girls sat warily among the tables and tried to copy the people around them, but it was obvious that they had little experience at table manners. Jethro made sure to pick out finger food for them to make the transition a little smoother.
When they got back to the slums, the Marines escorted the kittens inside. The kittens sniffed about. It wasn't as bad as it had been, regular health inspections and help from the Marines had seen to that. But it was still definitely the low rent district. Red followed behind, stopping now and then to look and listen or sniff, then trotting fast to catch up.
“Here,” Jethro said when he got to Zelma's crate. He knocked on the side.
“Who's there?” a crotchety voice asked. After a moment the curtain was moved and a small mutt looked out balefully at them. She was wearing a heavily patched and dirty dress that fit her frame. From the look of it, the garment had most likely once belonged to a human child.
“Zelma, this is Lil Red and Lil White. You've met them?”
Zelma eyed the kittens and then nodded. “Your dam's Mamacita, Gran Gran's great granddaughter.”
She sniffed at White who tucked herself up in a ball, fur up, ears back. “Easy kit, I'm a female remember?”
“She's proddy.”
“I don't blame her. Bet all the males were after you!”
“Yeah well, in fact yes. All the to
ms were lined up to take turns actually. I intervened.”
“Not soon enough,” Red whispered softly. She touched her own shoulders. “For her or me,” she murmured.
“Oh kit, I'm so sorry,” Zelma said, voice oozing with sympathy.
“Can you take care of them? Their mother asked me to get them out of there.”
“Mugsy sold us off. They bid on us like we were meat,” White hissed.
“Prostitution. And your father as a pimp. I'm not surprised,” Zelma sniffed, shaking her head. She eyed Jethro. “More mouths to feed,” she said, lifting her chin as she crossed her arms. A puppy came out and looked up at them.
“Oh how cute!” Red said, patting the tiny head.
“They are old enough to babysit if you teach them.”
Zelma studied the kittens. “They need learning. They're feral.”
“Pretty much my assessment, ma'am. Can you help?” Jethro pulled out his MREs and some pongee bait he kept stashed on his person for trade, then coins. “I'll help.”
Misani grunted. Jethro looked over to the Marine. He had his hand on his weapon and an eye on the area. He grunted again then fished out a couple more coins and tossed them. “You owe me, Gunny.”
“Yeah, and I pay my debts,” Jethro said.
“We can stay?”
“Yeah. I'll have a doc come around if I can and check on you.”
“That's okay. We've got some access to meds. I know a lady who makes a contraceptive pill. I'll give it to her. Them,” Zelma said, eying the patch on Red's back. She shook her head. “That one is just too young.”
“She's a runt,” White said.
“I was. Now I'm getting bigger,” Red said. She wrapped her tail around Jethro's leg. “Someday I'm going to grow big and strong like you, Gunny.”
“Not in your dreams kit,” Zelma sighed. She eyed Jethro. “Go. I'll handle ‘em.” She tucked the food and coins into pockets.
“You'll be safe here. Help Zelma anyway you can. Do what she needs you to do. And try to be patient. Learn.”
“School?” White asked.
“Yes. I run the school here,” Zelma said. “And the daycare,” she said, pushing a whimpering bulldog pup back into the crate. “You two just became my assistants. You need a bath though.”
“I'll come around and try to … try to help when I can,” Jethro said, feeling lame.
“Do what you can. I know you're busy. I'd rather you kill the pirate bastards,” Zelma said, ushering the kittens and puppies inside. Red had picked one up. The puppy looked at her with his ears back, yelped softly, then licked her. She turned away, giggling.
Jethro heard a soft chuckle behind him. When he turned to look, Misani was doing his best to cover his grin. He snorted and flicked his ears.
“Stay safe, ladies,” he murmured as the two Marines left.
<(>~^~<(>
“Got another one,” Moira said with a trace of satisfaction in her voice as she nodded to the newest militia designation on her plot. The McClure clan. She'd heard of them, but they'd kept to themselves. She had tried to make contact but had been rebuffed by someone named Jock. Now apparently their opinion had changed. They'd shown up at the gate to Alpha Base that morning and signed on.
“We're getting there, ma'am. One stubborn group at a time,” Chaing stated.
“That we are. It's even harder since half the human population considers themselves as Celtics. They certainly seem stubborn enough to fit the bill,” she said with an ear flick.
“Yes ma'am. And prickly,” the lieutenant said wryly.
“That they are,” Moira sighed. “Now, if we can get them to form a government ….”
“As you said before, one step at a time. And they like to drag their feet.”
“Don't remind me,” the major replied in disgust. She turned to a view screen and noted Moira McClure listening intently to the navy medic as they treated two of her people for fungal infections. The insistence that everyone get a checkup and treatment had surprised Kalin; she knew that much. The offer to supply and train their medics seemed to have sealed the deal with him.
“Now if we can kill Busche before the first battalion arrives, I'll be a happy lady.”
“If wishes were fishes, ma'am. But we'll do everything in our power to make it happen anyway,” Chaing replied with a dutiful nod.
“You'd better.”
<(>~^~<(>
“This is getting old,” Jethro said as a black and brown Neobear offered her sickly cub to him. “Ma'am … um …” he caught the cub who squalled when he touched him then quieted after a moment. Small black eyes looked at him curiously, then yawned. He could feel Bast doing something through him, a tingling in the skin contacting the infant cub. Or it was fleas he thought.
“He's been so sick …,” the sow gushed, practically frantic.
“Ma'am, did you try the clinics? I know the lines are long, but there is supposed to be a nurse doing triage,” Jethro said.
“Them. Nothing but quacks and such. Humans mostly,” the bear snuffled. Bast flicked her ears at him then glanced at the cub in his arms then nodded.
“All better I take it?” Jethro asked dryly. Bast nodded again.
“Okay, he's sleeping now.”
“Thank you! Oh thank you, blessed sir! The gods of space have smiled on you and him!” the sow took the cub then held him over her head. “He healed my son!” The slum rang with cheers. Jethro felt hands reach for him and fought the urge to snarl as some stroked or touched him. When a hand grabbed his rear end, he yelped.
“Okay, mind the hands, lady!” he said turning. He blanched when he realized it was a male. “Um …” the male winked and then moved on. Some in the crowd were snickering. Jethro shook his head. “Okay folks, go about your business so I can go about mine. I don't want the pirates to home in on us and do something nasty,” he warned.
That got a few people who were already nervous about the gathering to disperse. Others slowly followed, some disappointed, others amused. Jethro stepped over a cub daintily and then kept going about his business.
“You did that. Again. Why?” Jethro asked softly, under his breath. Bast's ears flicked at him. “Don't give me that innocent look. Why? You know nanites are a major concern for people. What gives? You're drawing attention to me.”
Bast sighed then put an article up. Apparently she'd prepared a response for his question. He scanned it slowly as he walked, trying to keep one eye on the area around him. He hated being distracted, having his attention span elsewhere. Fortunately Bast was acting as his guardian angel, keeping an eye on everyone around him.
According to her reasoning, she was performing some sort of psychological and social engineering. He didn't quite follow the logic. What it came down to was her effort to not only engineer good will for Marines in general and him in particular but also make people less inclined to do him harm.
“Okay, you realize this is not going to work. It didn't help other famous people in the past. They were still a target, and when they forgot that, they let their guard down and something bad happened to them or others around them,” he cautioned. “And with people milling around me I'm hemmed in, I can't do my job effectively.”
Bast flicked her ears and then nodded slightly. But she seemed unrepentant.
“I … we can die in combat, Bast. You know that. A sniper, a bomb, on a ship being shot out from around us … the god of death stalks everyone indiscriminately, Bast. He catches up eventually, it is only a matter of time.”
Bast shrugged.
Jethro studied her for a moment then sighed. “I know you mean well. I get that. I even agree with it a little. I just wish I wasn't the one stuck in the middle. It's not easy to deal with, this … adoration.”
Bast flicked her ears at him. He snorted. “Okay, moving on …,” he motioned to keep going since she wasn't interested in his whining or arguments anyway.
Whenever he could Jethro and eventually Sabu dropped by the slums. They took the time to
try to help the locals like many of the other Marines and now the militia. Sometimes it was something as simple as remaking a roof or building. Shifting a pile of crates together or even getting them to move into a nearby empty building. Or helping to dig a ditch or move someone to get medical care.
He knew that he and the other Marine Neos were popular with the surviving Neo and alien native population. Jethro had become something of a legend to his chagrin. With more of the Neos in the militia groups, they were gaining more and more respect daily from that avenue. So he could now count on them for some support. People like the McCloud clan did their best to take a Neo or alien on.
Recently the Major had rammed through a reparation through the city’s business and industrial leaders to return the seized property to any surviving Neo or alien. It hadn't been popular with those who had benefited with such seizures or with the real estate people who thought they'd squeeze some credits out of the process, but it was finally happening.
Many surviving formerly affluent Neos and aliens had lost everything during the Horathian invasion and occupation. Their holdings and possessions had been seized right along with their businesses. If they hadn't fled for their lives, they would have lost them too. Many of their friends and family members had died, either in the Ghetto or at the hands of the Horathians or their boot licking quislings.
Now they were trying to quietly rebuild their livelihoods. The local humans were trying to shut them out, but with the Major in their corner and hundreds of countrymen to draw on for support, they were going to get what had been taken from them. Even if Jethro had to do a little night stalking to help the process along he thought darkly. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.
Red made it a habit to seek him out each time he came into the slums. If he didn't show at least once a day, she would hunker down near the gate to the base until he did come out. After the third time, the Marine on guard reported it to the Major.
“Got yourself a friend, Gunny?” the Neowolf asked mildly.
“She's latched onto me pretty tight, ma'am,” Jethro observed wryly. “I'm fond of her, I have to admit that. I wish I could help her and the others more.”