Greener Green II: The Balls Brigade

by Peter Sowatskey

  I picked up my device and left. In my mind I could see a contest coming between them about proper training procedure.

  In the Control Room, Carol was going through a series of tests, whirling her chair around like she'd done it all her life. Prestrillo had progressed to the NAV position and was explaining that to Julia Shane. Everybody was either pushing buttons or reading manuals. They acknowledged my presence, but nothing else. I concluded they had a flow going, smiled and nodded, more for preserving my image in my own eyes and backed out of the room. I wanted to see how the introduction process had evolved. The reception was the same. They were doing fine without me.

  So I needed a retreat to do something in. I got to the best suite in the whole place and commandeered it for myself. It had the same uneven walls of all ball ships. The floor was toward inward so the walls weren't square either. The strange dimensions hadn't bothered me back then, either. The dining room was huge, with couches around the walls. I remembered the custom on Phaeton, when I was there, was to get food and wander around, find a place to sit, converse, eat, and then get more food. If you sat in the same chair twice you didn't get invited to many parties. It hadn't been a bad system. I was going to use it here. The sooner we divorced ourselves from our prior mind sets the better. There was a hot tub, of sorts, made more for stretching out rather than sitting up, which had its advantages. Also, there were three bedrooms, one, with mirrors all over the walls and ceiling. I plopped onto its bed, water squirmed. Damn this wasn't going to be so bad a cruise after all. I developed a motion and thought back to the Phaeton oceans, crystal clear, everywhere. It was all a damned unexplained mystery why something hadn't been done to rescue the planet. The Regs were making their dying planet work for them.

  I must have dozed off and been far away, because I had trouble coming back when my name was called.

  "Admiral, Admiral, wake up." I recognized the voice, Carol's. Why was she here?

  I sat up and put my feet on the floor and the motion stopped. I was back, from wherever. "What is it Carol?"

  "There is a message from Thelma through Paula, says routine re-supply in four days."

  "Oh, shit. That's wrong, terribly wrong. Where's Prestrillo?"

  She spoke into the device, "I found him in the Captains suite."

  Prestrillo's voice said, "Stay there. I'll be five minutes."

  "I'll be here." I said further to Carol, "Do you realize how wrong this is?"

  "Yes, we were to be totally isolated with no contact but through the Essences and then only under the most dire circumstances."

  "Exactly. We'll handle the suppositions later. Can you have twenty Control Room crews ready in four days?"

  "Yes. I have the Captains position down pat. If necessary the Captain's chair leaves you navigate and control drives by itself. We're far beyond that necessity."

  "Good to know. Report to Paula. Have her lift what you've learned already. That way the rest of us can be put together with that knowledge. Make sure the rest of the positions are handled that way. Don't worry, no matter if Admiral Nelson himself turns up, you're my Captain, and don't give me this, good for the force bullshit, you're it. Now go. We have four days to scatter."

  Prestrillo came in shortly after she departed and went straight to the 'medicine cabinet' and got out something I was sure contained alcohol. I went to my juice dispenser and got another pitcher. He tossed one back and poured another and sat it on the table.

  "We were supposed to be on our own. The crews who installed the Universal Drive didn't know what they were working on. They were to be wiped of all mission memories once they were reborn here. We don't need anything. If we need something we get it from the 'parking lot'. By the way, I found what you were looking for, intra atmosphere Aircraft Carriers. I passed them over because from the outside they look like space going luxury liners. There are twenty five of them with fifty craft apiece. Two man fighters with the latest Artificial Intelligences. I ordered them pulled out and made ready for pickup. But I don't know now."

  I asked, "What's the timeframe on their readiness?"

  "A week--minimum."

  "Let them be for the moment. I can only think to get up to operational on as many balls as we can. Then put skeleton crews on the rest so they can scatter. We can't move this ship. We're the reference point. What do you think?"

  He considered, and then said, "You're going along with my thinking. I can't get over what's evidently happened. We planned so well."

  I said, "On the other hand, it could be some unexpected totally positive event. Couldn't it?"

  He smiled, "I've had a lot of names over the centuries, a lot of lives. Looking back the events in those weren't a quarter positive. But you may be correct. I'll be happy to get a crew together and get into a room of my own like this. Maybe make a few memories in the next four days."

  I said, "I'm having the training you've done implanted in everyone coming out of the Med Deck. That point won't be far off."

  "Good. Do you mind if I take the bottle along?"

  "Have a dozen. I can't drink anything but my juice."

  "Don't tempt me. Later."

  At the end of three days we had placed the twenty Fighter Ball Space Stations around the one normal Space Station with the Med Deck Ball being in the inner ring. A mine field was placed around both with five plus and five minus years covered out to five thousand miles. Listening posts were out twenty five, plus and minus to fifty thousand miles. We were as covered as Trist and I knew how to do. He had his Flag Ship semi crewed. We'd set up a comm field tying his dining room to mine for ease of discussion. He was saying, "We have Control Room manning at 100%. I would have liked to be able to field more than 110 fighter craft, but that wasn't possible. You fellows and girls seem to not need much sleep, but I think my idea for a twenty four hour period to collect nerves will pay off."

  I observed wryly, "Can't hurt. This juice doesn't have much kick to it."

  We both had a laugh over that. Then he said, "Back to you in twelve, out."

  I had sent instructions via Paula to have the Space Liner and its six escorting Frigates go directly to the normal Space Station and take up housekeeping. They weren't going back to where they came from. They might come in handy later to keep order. For sure we were going to pick up somebody who we didn't want on the Weapons Stations.

  OPERATIONAL AREA - SANTE FE NEW MEXICO - SEPTEMBER, 1854

  MARSHALL JASON DILLARD AKA PIERRE LA FUETTE

  CHAPTER THREE

  That fateful morning I awakened with my mind in the past. I sat on a couch in my office and recalled the events that led me here.

  I am, or was, Marshall Jason Dillard. Then, I was en-route from Montana to Sante Fe New Mexico in November, 1848.

  I shivered as I sat before the fire, despite the buffalo robe gathered around me. The blood had finally stopped dripping off my fingers. Seems the poultice of dried nettle leaves and hot pepper powder did the job.

  Luckily, I had seen sunlight glint off the arrowhead before being hit. Instinct had brought up my left arm or the arrow would have gone into my chest.

  Luck also had my 10 Gauge Greener shotgun pointed in the Indian’s general direction. Its two barrels killed him and his horse. I checked before worrying about my arm. One didn’t die right away from an arrow through the forearm. I scalped him after stripping him of anything useful. Hopefully, whoever found him would think Indian, instead of white man. He had a fresh scalp tied to his belt, a white man's, with mostly gray hair.

  A neigh from further back in the thicket, where he’d been waiting, brought me to the Indians horse, another large horse, and a prospector’s mule, with their packs undisturbed. It seemed likely that the fresh scalp had come from the animal’s owner. No more Indians were about. I took the horses and mule with me, in search of a place to rest and heal. Breaking off the head and feathers of the arrow I left the shaft for later.

  It looked like I wasn’t going to keep ahead of the storm brewing to the north. In
the mountains, you took shelter from a storm or likely died. Luck brought me up a dry wash to a split in a cliff face. In spring it would be running full of upland water. Now, autumn, it was just what I needed. About a hundred feet up the sides, trees grew thickly across the opening. They would keep out most of the coming snow.

  At the entrance, I noticed several old sets of bear paws prints. They’d be asleep already so they didn’t worry me. It looked like they’d broken into the split from the piles of splintered dead wood lying about. That made starting a fire easy. After that I unsaddled the animals and drove them further into the split. It widened to a space I couldn’t see the end of in the gathering dusk. My horses wouldn’t go far, and the others would stay with them.

  By the time I removed the shaft; I had lost a lot of blood, in a slow steady stream, not a bursting push like so many wounds I’d seen kill men. I wasn’t going to be traveling soon, even if the weather allowed.

  The Indian had been a youngster, out to make a name for himself, most likely. The coming snow would cover him, and my tracks. With the narrow opening and the double curve I’d gone around, no one would see my fire from the flat below. I'd moved several larger logs to the sides to narrow the passage, which was only about ten feet to begin with.

  Then snow came, bringing the fact home that I wasn’t going to be out of these mountains anytime soon. No one in Sante Fe waited for me anyway. No one waited for me anywhere. Relatives of the bunch up in Wyoming that I’d killed probably would like to burn me alive. If they had good sense, they’d let it go.

  It wouldn’t be the first winter I ever spent in the mountains. Past winters faded in and out of my mind while I fought to stay conscious until enough snow fell for me to be sure I wasn’t followed.

  I had my reloaded shotgun under my robe with me. No one was going to come through the split's opening unless I wanted them to. Not while I was awake anyway.

  The night was gone before I was sure enough snow had fallen to keep me safe. The driving force of the storm blew the snow around both bends, but not quite to me. With my last strength, I shifted two large logs onto the fire and collapsed under my robe, the world going black.

  When I regained consciousness, light was fading again. A move under the robe made me realize something was under here with me. Ignoring my throbbing left arm, I slowly moved my right arm toward the knife I wore in a sheath around my neck. When I had the knife in my hand I threw the robe aside and raised the knife to strike. What I saw stopped the downward thrust. Next to me was a squaw holding a baby. She saw the knife but could barely raise an arm. I noticed the baby was awfully still with no white breath in front of it’s mouth.

  I lowered my arm, putting the knife back in its sheath and covered them up with the robe. Being careful not to make a sign, which could be seen from outside, I checked down slope. No tracks broke the drifting snow. Satisfied, I went back around the two bends.

  The squaw was sitting up, the baby lying next to her on the ground robe. She was in such a weak condition she could barely keep herself upright. Seemed she realized the baby was dead. She lost her last strength and fainted. I covered her and checked the baby to make sure. It was ice cold to the touch and had red spots on its face. Some sort of pox, for sure. Taking the small form with me, I walked into the basin to check on the animals. They were fine, having found some dry grass tufts along the sides where the snow was not high. I placed the baby up on a narrow ledge where no animals could get to it, though there weren't any animal tracks. Maybe the sleeping bears, or I, kept them away. With me in the entrance, they'd likely stay away.

  It was fully dark, when I returned to my almost dead fire and my robe. I stirred the embers, added wood, and checked my wound. It had started to pucker around the edges. I wound some fresh cloth around it, after putting on a little bit more hot pepper powder. It would heal soon, if favored. Making soup from the snow and my dried trail mix, I waited for the squaw to move. She didn’t, so I took the dead prospector's robe and rolled myself up in it, closer to the entrance, with my shotgun, to wait for her people. I didn’t fool myself into thinking that would be any pleasure.

  Three days passed while storm after storm piled up more and more snow around us. The squaw and I were safe in the narrow defile since the snow had pilled up on the trees at the top of the crack, making a roof over us. There was a chance the snow would fall on us unexpectedly but I figured the heat rising from our fire would result in ice being formed above, holding it up. I recalled the year I’d spent in the far north of Canada where the Indians used that idea to make solid houses.

  The squaw slept most of the time and ate a lot. I didn’t mind; as I had my supplies, the prospector's, and a little from the Indian I’d killed. One late night, when I was sure the squaw slept, I burnt the scalps of those two. No sense in making life any more difficult than necessary.

  Actually the squaw complicated life enough already. I wasn’t sure she was in her right mind and slept lightly in case she planed to harm me. The few words out of her were from the Crow tongue. The Crow tribe was far to the north of where we were so I concluded she had been a captive of some local tribe.

  On the morning of the fifth day, I awoke to stillness. The storms had stopped for the moment. I started to make breakfast of some flat bread and bacon when she pushed me gently away from the fire and said, “I Tritchka. I cook. You watch.”

  I wasn't fond of my own cooking; so I sat back against the wall and watched her. She knew where everything was amongst the packs so I realized she had been observing me all along. She made coffee like I did and even tried some with a lot of snow in her cup. She made a wrinkled face at the taste, but finished it.

  When we were finished with breakfast, she put the eating utensils in my large pot and kept filling it with snow until it was full and boiling over. I always did that. It was easier than washing them. Then she said, “Where baby?”

  I took her to where I had put the baby and lifted it down for her. It was frozen stiff but she held it to her chest for a while and then said, “Put back. I gather stones.”

  I returned it to the ledge, stood away, and watched. She gathered stones from next to the walls. There was little snow there. With her foot in a crack, she reached up and put the stones around the baby. After a while, I left and went back to the fire. Her lament started, low so I could hardly hear it. I didn’t think it would carry far so I kept my distance, letting her get it out of her system. Toward dark, she came back to the fire walking with a certainty and brightness.

  She sat cross legged and said, “I tell, you listen. I from Crow nation. From far north of here. Was taken when young girl, five winters back, to tribe near flatland. White man comes, many wagons, tribe kills them. Days later, tribe start to be sick, to die. When many dead, I steal horse, go toward north with baby. After one moon and some day’s, horse break leg. I walk with baby. Baby now sick. Cold come. I find you from smell of fire. Baby now dead. I alive. You need squaw?”

  I didn’t have the harshness in me to tell her that she was a big problem to me. So I said, “Yes, I need squaw.”

  The next morning I awoke early almost liking the situation fate had stuck me in. Me, the well read lawyer from the east, who was at one time too quick to anger and killed too easy, the wrong person from family who didn’t forgive. Once again, I wondered how many children my remarried wife back home had, in addition to my three, and whether the bastard who had fathered them had squandered my inherited land and monies. I pulled my mind away from those thoughts and back to the warm woman next to me. Half-awake, she pulled at me wanting me back in her embrace but I said, “Morning time.”

  She sat up and said, “Fine morning, make food.”

  We dressed and I said, “Go see outside, horses.”

  She waved at me as I came back from checking the down slope in front of our little valley. No tracks. Up the valley a bit, I found the animals standing near the walls. I could see where they had used their hooves to clear the snow off of more dense grass mounds.
The moist grass seemed to satisfy their thirst for the most part. Once a day, I brought then melted snow but they never seemed overly thirsty. I didn’t fool myself into thinking there was enough grass for a winter but until it was all used I didn’t have to kill any of them.

  Back at the fire, after breakfast, I showed my new wife my firearms, the shotgun, long rifle, and my four new pistols. She wasn’t familiar with firearms, but when she saw the bow and arrows I had taken off of the Indian, she said,”Give.”

  She took them and looked closely at them and said, “Good bow, I go find food.”

  She walked away up the valley and I kept my peace and let her go. I hadn’t seen any game but it seemed logical there were at least prairie dogs, or their local cousins.

  There were. She came back with three fat ones several hours later totally pleased with her self. It was a good supper, and better under the robe than the previous night.

  Halfway through the night, they almost surprised me. If I hadn’t put small dry twigs just under the crust of the snow, to make a sound and warn me, they would have succeeded. At the first sound, I gripped her shoulder hard as I swept the robe away. Grabbing my shotgun and pistols, I was at the valley mouth in little time. There were six of them. Indians in winter fur wrappings. They had all stopped about fifteen feet away from the opening, frozen by the sounds they had made, waiting to see if there was any response from inside the crack. After a moment they must have concluded the inhabitants were still asleep as they started forward again. Ten feet away, they bunched together some and then I fired one barrel from the Greener into the middle of them. There were still two left standing so I shot them with the second barrel. After that loud noise, made louder by the narrow opening, there were no sounds but the moaning of them dying. I could see them all quite plainly lying there. Several were thrashing about but I wasn’t going to waste another shot on them. They would freeze soon enough. One managed to make it to his knees and I was about to take mercy on him when a bow twanged next to me and he fell with an arrow in his chest.