“I'd think you'd be in an officer's club sir,” Anastasia growled. “More your speed isn't it Sir?”
“I have to do PT just like you Corporal. Well, even more than you since I'm in rehabilitation still,” he answered. He was annoyed that all the downtime had made him so soft. A week or two off was all it took to lose muscle tone sometimes.
“You are?” the Private asked suddenly concerned. He touched his face and eye.
“Oh yeah, that's right. Couldn't duck?” the Corporal asked acidly.
“Plasma burn. We didn't know it was coming until it tore Private Chirby apart. The second shot got my ruck. Corona got my face and back,” he said as he pumped iron. He listened to the clank of metal on metal as he moved the weights. Somehow the sound was soothing on his jangled nerves.
Both daughters shuddered at that tid bit of information, and for good reason. Every Marine hated plasma fire if they were on the receiving end. It was far worse than an old fashioned flame thrower, facing the heat of a sun contained in a packet of mail no one wanted to receive. For once wonder of wonders they were on the same page. A fragile truce existed. He knew it wouldn't last. He finished his last rep and sat up panting slightly.
“Look, off the record,” he mimed taking his officer insignia and putting them down. “From father to daughters. Let it be.” He spread his hands apart imploringly. “I am not the enemy. I'm not your mother's enemy. I am most definitely not your enemy. I've loved you girls and still love you despite the attitude you inherited from your mother. I still love her very much despite what she has done and what she has said about me to you and to others.”
“She? What did she do?” the Private asked as her sister opened her mouth to hotly protest. She shot her sister a shut up look.
“I don't like what she did. I can't change it. I tried to... hell,” he sighed shaking his head and closed his eyes in all too familiar pain. After a moment he opened his eyes and met theirs. There was sadness there, a sadness both of them hadn't expected. “Girls, your mom and I were in a difficult situation. I tried to get us out of it, but we ran out of time and the bastards wouldn't give us more. Your mother chose Tolkien. It's in the past, it's over with. It's done.” He scowled blackly. “We can't bring him back. Nothing can change that.”
“Tolkien?” the Private asked, eyes searching.
“Your brother,” he replied softly.
Both of his daughters reared back as if they had been struck, eyes wide, slack jawed. Apparently she'd never told them the truth, Valenko thought. Well, it was about time someone did. “What about... wait, him? We had a brother?” the Corporal asked, thoroughly confused but equally wary of where this was leading. She felt like they were jumping off a cliff and falling.
“We... I tried to protect the three of you when you were born. But word got out and so I tried to broker a deal to transfer you on the next flight out of the system. But the port admiral ordered one of you put to death. Your mother chose Tolkien,” he said, jaw clenched.
“You lie!” the Corporal said, eyes wide as she reared back. “Mother said it...”
“What that I cheated on her?” he asked shaking his head. “I'm a Neo grizzly remember? Not many on the station. One other to be exact. Her.” He spread his hands apart. She was a brilliant tech, which had required her to stay on the station under the technical Retention Law one of the various Port admirals had implemented three centuries prior.
“Um...” the Corporal looked torn.
Her sister searched his face, looking at him, seeming to peer into his tormented soul. “You're not lying,” she said softly, eyes anguished. He ducked away and rumbled a sigh.
“No I'm not. Check the records. You'll find it all there. Ask Smithy, he'll confirm it. So will doctor Thornby if you ask her. Your mother never forgave me for what happened. She's hated me to this day. I don't blame her. A husband is supposed to be able to protect his family. I failed in that,” he said bitterly, the last coming out at a near whisper. He closed his eyes tightly in pain for a moment.
“We didn't know,” the Private said softly, shaken. She glanced at her sister who was struggling with her own emotions and trying to put the entire thing into perspective. She didn't look like she was handling it well.
Valenko's eyes met her's once more. “Check the records,” he urged. “Talk to your mother and your mother's friends. I kept paying the child support so they wouldn't kill you as well. That should be in the records. I tried.” He looked at both of them in anguish. “I tried. I did. Honestly I tried to do what I could.”
“I believe you,” the Private said, hand paw reaching out. She gently stroked his own. “Daddy I do.” She hugged him suddenly. He rumbled a sigh, closing his eyes and nuzzling her fur.
Her sister however left without a word. He closed his eyes, savoring the small victory he had for what it was.
...*...*...*...*...
Valenko was still on medical leave for another week, but that didn't stop him from dropping in on the squad. The veteran survivors of Agnosta greeted him with back slaps despite his exalted officer rank. He wasn't just an Ensign after all, he was a squad mate and a member of F platoon, the boot platoon from hell.
“So you're back?” Sergei demanded.
“No, just visiting. I figured Gunny is keeping you out of trouble, but just in case he's too busy I thought I'd drop in on you.”
The others chuckled, looking at Gunny Schultz. The Gunny snorted. The Doberman flicked his ears briefly.
“We've got a new addition. Paperwork came through this morning sir,” Schultz said, looking at the bear.
“Oh?” Valenko asked, raising an eyebrow. They'd been expecting new replacements. They squad had been reluctant to allow it, but it was time.
“Private Fonzarelli. New recruit fresh out of the abbreviated boot program. Human male,” Schultz reported, sending a dossier file to the Ensign's in-box with his implants. Valenko grunted, opening it. He could get the basic stats from the kid's IFF, but the dossier had a more in-depth file. A human male stared at him on his HUD. He had piercing eyes and black stubble for hair. “A rifleman. Three months experience in basic infantry. He went through the accelerated boot program,” Schultz said, making a distasteful taste. “He comes recommended by Lieutenant Silverman.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Replacement for Miles,” Schultz informed them. The bear nodded slowly. He'd expected it. He'd hoped to pick someone up from F platoon, but that just wasn't in the cards. F platoon was scattered all over the system, they were all making names for themselves, and rising through the ranks to noncom or even commissioned positions. Still, it was a bit short for a general infantry man with only a few months on his ticket and a less than stellar training record to get a recon posting. “Another shooter is in the pipeline, a Veraxin female. We'll be seeing her a bit later.” That sobered their meeting.
...*...*...*...*...
After the bear had left, the squad headed to the mess deck. The galley was full as usual, so they patiently took their turn standing in line, shuffling along until it was their turn. Once they had their trays full they took the seats in the Marine section and wolfed down the food quickly so the next grunts in line could sit.
“What was that slop?” Hurranna asked. She wrinkled her pert feline nose and twitched her whiskers in annoyance. Whatever it was it obviously didn't agree with her tender feline sense of what was and wasn't edible.
Jethro wrinkled his nose and poked at the remains on his tray. “What in the mess? I'm not sure if it was soybean surprise or some spam substitute.” There was even a line to get rid of the trays. Once they dumped the wreckage into the recycler and stacked the empty trays they headed back to Marine country.
“You can tell we're becoming institutionalized if they start screwing the mess up like that!” Hurranna said shaking her head mournfully.
“It's just because they're low on protein. At least it's not nana Matriarch's bug soup,” Jethro replied. He was curious about how low on protein
Firefly really was. It wasn't like they couldn't recycle a lot of the protein. Like Hurranna just pointed out they could grow protein in the form of soy or other beans if they do not have any real meat available to vat clone and grow, but it was a poor substitute for Neos. They flopped down on their racks and got comfortable. Sergei immediately closed his eyes, one arm used as a pillow. From his flicking tail they could tell he was still annoyed. Jethro glanced at Hurranna, but she was looking at herself in the mirror on the inside of her locker door. He turned back to the liger.
Sergei was also looking a bit dyspeptic. He groaned. Jethro flicked a glance his way. The liger opened his eyes and glared. “Do you have any idea how many of those damn things I had to eat?” he demanded.
Jethro chuckled shaking his head. He picked at his slop as he reminisced. Bug sandwiches and stew were a not quite fond dinner memory from their childhood. When protein sources would get low the pride would cut back on rations and the kits were the first hit. Kits were expendable, they could always make more after all. It was the law of nature with their kind. Or at least it was. The matriarch would try to make up for it with any source of protein. Any. She knew the importance of keeping their generations going. She admitted once that she'd gotten the idea from a very old anthro cartoon about a lion cub who befriended a warthog and a rat thing. Some sort of dog... he shook the thought off.
“What's he talking about?” Asazi asked, pointing the end of her fork at Sergei and looking from one Neo to the other.
“Trust me you don't want to know,” Hurranna said, laying back with her hands over her stomach. She closed her eyes. “Crunchy tacos with twitching legs sticking out... Yup, them's were the days. Made going through survival training in boot a snap after that.”
“Huh?” the heavyworlder asked, looking to Jethro. The panther flicked an ear her way.
“You don't want to know. Seriously don't,” Sergei said, not opening an eye.
“Um...”
“Protein is protein. Going through that got me through Gunny's version easily,” Jethro said with a snort. “At least nana used seasoning,” he teased.
“Oh god.”
“Um... will someone clue me in?” Asazi asked, starting to look annoyed.
“You. Don't. Want. To. Know.” Sergei growled, eyes still closed. His claws flexed in and out a few times.
“It's well, back when we were kits protein was scarce,” Jethro explained uncomfortably when Asazi didn't look like she was about to quit.
“Oh.” She blinked for a moment. “Oh!” her eyes widened as she finally put the pieces together.
“And the light dawns,” Jethro teased, ears forward in what passed for a smile in his kind.
Hurranna's scut tail lashed back in forth. Her ears were flat, a clear sign of irritation. “Will someone shut him up?” she growled. “Honestly, some memories are best left forgotten.”
“What about plants? You're saying you can't eat plants?” Asazi asked. She wrinkled her nose. “You drink beer, you eat bread!” She turned an accusing glare on each of them.
Jethro nodded. “We can process some, but it's not easy. The genetic engineering changed a few things, but not all. Teeth for instance. We're built as carnivores so we need meat,” Jethro explained.
“Ah. I seem to remember something about that. Scuttlebutt about bread and water nearly killing you?” Asazi asked. Hurranna shuddered, her tail thrashing even more now. She seemed to be wiggling in her seat.
“Yeah, it was bad,” Jethro admitted, suddenly sober. Hurranna shuddered. Only sheer will power had kept Jethro sane.
“We can't eat most fruit and veggies but it makes great bait for insects and rodents on the station,” Hurranna said. She seemed to be settling down as she noticed Sergei was still uncomfortable with the idea.
“Oh.”
“Do you have any idea how much of that protein crap I had to eat?” Sergei growled again, one hand going to his stomach while the other covered his mouth. “God. Nasty stuff. Nana used to stand over me with a wooden spoon to make sure I did too.”
The others chuckled at that. “Least you got them to make a protein shake with it over time.”
“Yeah, like that was any better,” Sergei growled. He pushed his plate away.
“Better than having them wriggling in your mouth and down your throat...” Jethro said maliciously.
Asazi started to turn green, one hand going to her belly while the other covered her mouth. “Okay, god, um... let's change the subject shall we?”
“Sure, why not,” Hurranna said. “I vote if Jethro brings up this subject again we drop kick his black ass out the nearest airlock. Who's with me?” She raised one hand paw.
The others looked at each other then they shot their hands up. Jethro snorted.
“The aye's have it,” Sergei said growling.
“So noted,” Jethro purr chuckled, shaking his head. He couldn't help laughing though.
...*...*...*...*...
Right after mess, as the squad entered the locker room they stopped at the sight of a new human standing there. The human was tall, just under two meters, but thin, completely unlike the broad shouldered, heavily muscled Miles. Still he did have some muscles, and from the look, less than an ounce of fat on his frame. He had a clean face, narrow, with a typical Marine buzz cut. They sized him up. The young man looked at the predators in his midst and apparently didn't flinch. That surprised them.
The Gunny rounded a row of lockers and nodded to the group as they came to attention. “Introductions are in order here. Arturo 'the Fonz' Fonzarelli, Marine Private. MOS says Infantry. First class marksman. Good in hand to hand. Private, welcome to Valenko's squad. You can get to know the others by name later,” the Gunny said. “I don't have a lot of time to pussy foot around here, I've got shit to do.”
“Yes sir,” Fonz said with a curt nod and slight smile.
“Don't call me Sir, I work for a living,” the Gunny growled. The Fonz's eyes widened and he came to attention instinctively.
“Is he for real?” Hurranna asked softly, sizing the new meat up as if she was stalking it.
“As you were,” the Gunny growled, glancing her way briefly.
“I can hang,” Fonz said, spreading his hands. “Just give me a chance.”
“Oh you'll get your chance,” Sergei replied with a snort.
“Don't expect everyone to fall all over you kid. You've got some mighty big shoes to fill and a lot of catching up to do here,” Letanga said.
“I'll be fine. First in my class,” Fonz said, pretending to blow on his nails and then shine them on his shirt.
“Really,” Jethro said, eying him. “Sims? Any real combat?”
“No, but I'm eager,” Fonz replied. They could see from the light in his eyes he really was.
“Eager he says,” Sergei chuffed a laugh.
“Did he really say eager?” Asazi asked, looking at her fellow human in amusement and pity. “He won't last a minute in combat with that attitude,” she said, shaking her head mournfully.
“I can measure up just fine,” Fonz replied, pride stung. He settled down almost instantly into a calm, professional demeanor.
“You go with Corporal Jethro. Stick to him like glue. His shadow,” Schultz said, eying the panther.
“A shadow of a black cat. Great,” Fonz snorted at the joke.
“Got a problem Private?”
“No si.. I mean Gunny. No, just not keeping a lid on my big mouth,” Fonz said wryly.
“Right. Work on that,” Schultz growled, eying the human. Fonz nodded.
“Why me?” Jethro muttered.
“Show him the ropes, how we get things done around here. Check him out on skinsuits, make sure he can hang. Check his training. And see if Riley has a suit he can use.”
“Definitely not Mile's suit,” Jethro replied, sizing the skinny human up.
Fonz just looked back with mild amusement. “And why not? Was he a human like me?” he asked pointing to himself.
“Yeah, but well, don't take this the wrong way, but you won't fill his shoes,” Jethro replied quietly.
“Not going to even try.”
“That too, but he meant the suit's a bit big for you. And something tells me you're done growing rookie,” Sergei replied with a chuckle. The Private glanced at the liger. “Miles was a heavyworlder,” Sergei finally said.
“Ohhh,” the Private replied, catching on. “I see.” He nodded. He'd heard of what had happened on Agnosta. By now the events had made the rounds in the bars and had been picked apart until everyone had been tired of the subject and let it drop.
“So, we'll see what you can do. At best, you might get a used suit, or have to share one. At worst,” Jethro shrugged. “Riley might be able to rig something up or you'll be in a combat skinsuit when the rest of us play in our armor.”
“Great. The kid in the group,” Fonz grumbled.
“Kid indeed,” Schultz replied as the group left the locker bay. “He has a lot to learn,” he said to the others. Hurranna nodded. “Try to cut him a little slack until he's on his feet. Remember, he didn't have the education you did.”
“He's not a boot?” Asazi asked. The Gunny shook his head. “Damn. What are they thinking?”
“Desperate times, desperate measures. Fonz took the abbreviated course, sims, and sleep teaching. Right now that's all they can do.”
“Why not get the boot camp going again Gunny?”
“Anvil said no.”
She made a face, twisting her whiskers. “So? Don't we have stations of our own now? Can't we oh, I dunno, rearrange a station? Like one of them depots? All empty space?” Hurranna demanded.
Schultz eyed her for a long moment. She was right damn it, why hadn't someone with rank come up with that? That was why they were building San Diego after all! Sure it wasn't ready, but what about one of the depots? He'd heard they were just sitting there, collecting dust. He flicked his ears and then sighed. “You know, you keep talking sense you're not going to be a Marine for much longer. They'll insist you are too smart for us. Or worse, they'll insist you become an officer,” he said wryly.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 8