by Chris Hechtl
“Well, you could have put it in better terms. You need to ease up a bit. Cool it,” Valenko ordered.
“Puberty all over again,” he muttered.
“Puberty?”
“The emotional roller coaster all over again. Some of the feelings aren't my own or are to some degree. Bast is...very protective of me. She's...not happy when I'm not happy. So it magnifies things.” He explained to Valenko.
The bear nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know when it will stop?”
“No idea,” the panther said. “If ever. From what I understand this is a permanent thing. We're bonding,” Jethro sighed. Jethro felt Bast send him a wordless apology. “It's not your fault Bast. We're getting there,” he said in return. She purred softly in his ear. He smiled and flicked his ears in reply.
The bear looked at him and then snorted. “Well, just try to keep a lid on it. And don't go popping off on the people or go behind his back.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Jethro said.
“Dismissed.”
Chapter 21
Ensign Esh'z interrogated some of the crew when it was his turn to command the security watch. He realized he was hated by the prisoners because of his species. He was tempted to use that, to play good cop, bad cop with them and a willing human Marine. PFC Hart might work; he had some interest in investigations apparently. He liked to read mystery novels it seemed.
Hart had been a good catch. When the Marines had been shuffled about to fill in voids the bug had put in for like-minded individuals. He knew he wouldn't get his wish, after all; he'd learned you didn't want an all intel unit. A balanced unit was best; someone had to keep an eye on the security situation or mind the logistics, after all. So he wasn't too surprised most of what he'd gotten were shooters, but Hart had apparently been a transfer in the right direction.
Most of what they did was just watch the camera feeds and hatches. Cameras and other sensors were in each of the brigs. The other Marine guards didn't care about the prisoners; they knew they were unarmed and weren't getting out of the dungeons. There had been a brief concern about a possible mutiny brought up by the Gunny, but Esh'z agreed with the Captain, the chances of them pulling it off were laughably remote.
That didn't stop him from listening in to the recordings though. The bug had gotten a rough program to filter the conversations. He had set up a computer network to catalog the various dialogs in the brigs, who said what, and how they said it. Code words he looked for, though this early in the process he was certain he wouldn't recognize them. But that was why he had the recordings. He could go back and check them over later to look for trends.
While on shift the bug overheard one of the prisoners tell another not to mention El Dorado. Curious, the bug started up a conversation with the two prisoners, isolating them from the group in the outer vestibule. They only replied in monosyllables to his attempts at a conversation while looking at the mechs and PFC Hart, however.
Eventually he came right out and quizzed the prisoners about it, sure it was some sort of attention-getting ruse. That got a viscous response, first an angry glare, then an attack on him. The largest of the prisoners, a chief petty officer, lunged at him, but the Veraxin fended him off, backing away. The mechs moved in immediately and secured the prisoner.
Spiteful, the chief snarled and spat at the Veraxin, snarling threats. Esh'z had his true hands full; however, he had to fight the other human off until PFC Hart pulled him off him.
“Strange to be so...bigoted,” the Veraxin chittered.
“Damn bugs! Someone should splatter you all! We will eventually! Not worth a stomping!” The CPO snarled, glaring and struggling against the mech. He looked at the other prisoner, who was looking away, apparently scared.
“Well, you certainly are a testy one,” the Veraxin said, mocking the human. He turned to the other human, a smaller version of the first. “Perhaps this one will be more forthcoming? We'll have to have another discussion when all have calmed down. Perhaps tomorrow night,” he said. “Take them away,” the Veraxin said, waving an upper hand claw in dismissal.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
The next shift he instituted the usual head count when he came on duty. He was actually glad the Gunny had suggested and insisted on the head count. It was tedious, but it forced the Marines to pay attention, and it let the prisoners know they had someone watching them. Perhaps he could build off that later.
“Sir, we're getting some...something odd. The heat signatures are off in D block. We're missing one,” Hart said, voice growing tense.
“What? Do we have an escape attempt?” The Veraxin demanded.
Hart changed the temperature variables, then ran a back track. The heat signature traces flashed backward on rewind. He focused on the missing one and hit play. His eyes narrowed as he saw someone come over to it and do something. After a moment the heat signature thrashed and then started to cool. “No, wait, this isn't right,” Hart said, and then rushed to the door. He sent a remote drone in, then an armed one, then a mech. He followed the mech in as the lights came up.
“Move!” he snarled, shoving a prisoner back into his bunk. He arrived at the bunk just as the Veraxin got to the door with the second mech. “Damn it!” Hart snarled. “He's dead!”
Esh'z paused in the doorway and then looked around, using his scenting apparatus to pick up the flavors of the room. There was the usual scents of too many humans in the quarters, as well as blood. A lot of blood, and fresh. Most of it was coming from the victim's rack, but some was coming...he reoriented on a human, the CPO he'd interviewed before. “That one,” the Veraxin said, pointing to the culprit.
“Yes, sir,” the mech said behind him, being controlled by another Marine in the security office. The mech brushed past the Veraxin and quickly took the CPO into custody. The man kicked something. The Veraxin saw it skitter across the deck. He directed one of the drones to follow it, then hover over it.
The nearest prisoner reached for it, but then backed away, hands up when the drone focused its cameras and weapons on him. Slowly he went back to his rack to glare at the machine. The machine turned slowly, buzzing as the Veraxin went over and picked the weapon up with his left claw. “A shiv I believe. Plastic from the look of it, most likely shaped from an eating implement. Well, we'll have to do something about that,” he said. He clacked his mandibles and turned as a prisoner shifted. “Do not move unless you wish to be, as the chief said, splattered,” the Veraxin said firmly. The man snarled, but then rested on the rack, turning away with is back to the Veraxin.
“Yes, just as I thought,” the Veraxin chittered and then went to PFC Hart. The alert squad was already on the way. He received their signal and gave them the all clear. Two additional mechs came into the bay; one stood by the door while the other went up and down the lines.
“It seems we will need to perform a weapons check, which means a search. I do hate them, such tedious things,” the Veraxin chittered as he came up to the PFC. He noted the blood and body. He turned to look at the weapon again. “You soft skins are so fragile,” he clicked, turning the improvised weapon this way and that to get a good look at it. It was plastic, reshaped into a shiv by heat and grinding against metal. He looked at the victim. The weapon had been used to stab the young man through the eye and then puncture his throat in multiple places. One hand was clutching at the wound; his good eye was rolled back. He had bled out before help could arrive.
“Sitrep?” Valenko rumbled, filling the doorway.
“One KIA. Prisoner, 141. Apparently 149 killed him for an unknown reason,” the Veraxin replied.
“You and I both know why. Dead men tell no tails, sir,” Hart said nodding his chin to the victim and then turning a look on the accused. “He made certain of that,” he said.
“Indeed. A very likely motive, but we will have to continue the investigation regardless. I fear a great deal of paperwork is in our future,” the Veraxin clacked in irritation.
Great, just what I don't need,” Hart said, shaking
his head.
“I can't believe he did it, to his baby brother,” a prisoner said softly.
Hart turned orienting on the sound. “What was that?” He demanded in surprise. “Brothers?” he asked.
“I have run facial recognition. The victim is the one I had identified as a potential source for this El Dorado the Veraxin said in a text link as other Marines filed in.
“Whatever the hell it is, it's got them up in a tizzy about it,” a Marine said. He looked away uncomfortably from the blood-soaked victim to the perp in cuffs. The guy had tear streaks staining his face and blood on his hands. He looked defiant but guilty. He kept muttering about how he had to do it, he just had to.
“Put him on suicide watch,” the Marine said, nodding his chin to the perp. The medic with them looked up and frowned.
The Veraxin poked the body. That got a reaction from the prisoner. “Don't touch him you filthy bug!” he snarled, struggling wildly.
When the human was hauled off the Veraxin chittered. “Yes, that is something odd. They obviously have something to hide and are going to great lengths to do so.” The Veraxin said. He clacked his mandibles as he viewed the crime scene, going over the details carefully. “Even kill for.”
“Apparently they thought he couldn't hold the secret. Whatever it was, sir,” the human private said.
“I hadn't gotten a chance to interview him in depth. That is disappointing. I had hoped to get to the root of their sociopathic xenophobia,” the Veraxin said. He'd gotten some interesting leads while discussing the history of Horath and comparing it to what was on file.
“I'm more interested in whatever this El Dorado is,” private Hart said, pitching his voice to carry while scanning the improvised brig. He made note of those who reacted to that statement. He sent a text message to the Veraxin with the recording identifying those who did react.
“You were wise to watch for a reaction but unwise in letting our interest in such information slip. Now they know what not to talk about,” the Veraxin replied. Hart sighed. He couldn't win it seemed. “And you should have warned me that what you were doing was to provoke a reaction,” the bug said.
“Sorry, sir,” Hart muttered.
“We're all learning. Some faster than others it seems. Don't make the mistake again,” the bug said as the PFC followed him out of the compartment.
The next morning a bed check discovered two other Horathian ratings had committed suicide by hanging themselves during the night. Ensign Esh'z was furious over the intelligence loss.
“I should have known! Seen something! We should have segregated them better!”
“Look, we can't be everywhere at once! There are only so many of us to go around and quite a few many more of them. Plus running the ship Ensign. What more do you want?” the Veraxin Captain Tr'j'ck asked.
“Answers!”
The Veraxin signaled first-level commitment to action but patience with his true hands and upper arms. “So do we. And we'll get them. What do you want to do? We can't separate them. I wish we could. The best we can do is get a handle on those with intel and put them in stasis, if we have enough pods.”
“I wish we could put them all in pods.”
“Well, we can't. We have a lot of wounded in pods already. If we fill the remaining pods up we won't have room in case we have another accident. And besides, there are only two left on the ship.”
“Great,” the Ensign chittered, signaling exasperation.
“Just do what you can. That is all any of us can do.”
“I agree, sir.”
“One thing that did occur to me. Each of the deceased knew something right?” The Captain asked.
The Ensign clacked his mandibles and then signaled second-level agreement. “Apparently. Or they were depressed.”
“Well, that's a given. I don't care about that. But I do wonder if we can draw from that. By identifying those who died, perhaps a computer records check and some careful digging will tell us more. If not the entire secret, then at least put us on the path to its answer.”
The Veraxin intelligence officer clicked his mandibles a few times and then signaled first level assent.
“Good. Get on it then.”
“Sir, I think we should interview the surviving former slaves as well. They may know something, even though they don't know they know it. Perhaps something the Horathian's let slip when they were in command.”
“Good idea. Log it for follow up in Pyrax.”
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Jethro trotted down the companionway and then ducked around the corner. He judged he had about thirty seconds before the suit found him, if that. It wasn't fair, Bast was linked to him so she could track him. Besides, she had access to the ship's security net. His only recourse was to hide in a group of people or near them. She would then hold off, stalk him or meow piteously in his ears until he gave it up.
He'd tried tag with her, but when she got excited she tended to get a little rough. Catch was fun, but hide and seek was a natural thing for both of them. And since both he and the suit could cloak... well, it made it interesting.
“Gunny?” A familiar voice asked.
Jethro stiffened, coming to attention as the familiar clack of legs came closer. “Sir.”
“Aren't you out of uniform, Gunnery Sergeant?” The Veraxin Captain asked.
“Sir, off duty. And well, I am working out.”
“Out of the suit I see,” the Veraxin said. “Wait, I just saw it a moment ago,” he turned in place in confusion. “Yes, isn't it over there?” he asked, pointing his right upper arm.
“Yes, sir, I suppose it is.”
“Well, if you are here...Who...” The Veraxin asked, now sounding both put out and confused.
“Bast sir. You wanted me out of the suit. She's...using it. To track me down.”
“I see,” the Veraxin said. Jethro's eyes narrowed. He could tell the AI was up to something just from the mischievous look in her eyes. He turned, sniffing the air but he couldn't see or smell anything.
“Problem?”
“She's stalking me, sir. We're practicing, developing her skills and giving me a physical work out. She's well, hunting me. I think she's cloaked,” Jethro said.
“Yes well, I'll just...carry on then I suppose,” the Veraxin said. “You should have that suit on a leash or something,” he muttered, walking away.
Jethro shook his head just as he heard a familiar playful gotcha growl behind him. He had just enough time to tense and leap straight up as a ton of suit came flying at where he had been in a tackle. The panther rebounded off the ceiling tile, denting a couple panels and knocking one loose before he recovered.
Bast growled, still cloaked.
“You are so cheating you little witch,” Jethro chuffed, looking around. He knew she was going to win; it was just a matter of when. He closed his eyes, dropped into cloak himself, and then deliberately cut off his senses.
Bast yowled, a mix of fear, anger, and annoyance. Jethro didn't react, he just shifted, moving slowly by memory alone. He felt the AI attempt to force his implants back online, but he firmly kept them off. He moved slowly, using his recon ghosting techniques to carefully step. He heard a clatter further down the companionway but didn't react.
Bast did though, catching on to his realization that she was getting colder. The growl rebounded. Jethro snorted softy. She should be able to do something about his cloak; after all she was a part of it. He wasn't sure why she didn't, but he wasn't going to turn down the chance, if it was a chance. He made the corner then picked up his pace. He slitted his eyes to make sure he wasn't going to run into anyone, then flattened himself against a wall as the suit went barreling past. He made it to the lift before she did and then opened his eyes.
She immediately knew where he was, she yowled. “Peek a boo,” he chuffed, watching the doors close just as she rounded the corner. She ran full out and leaped but missed. He winced as she clanged off the door. She meowed piteously on his HU
D.
“Spoil sport,” he growled, hitting the override and then opening the lift doors. But she was gone. “Oh really, turning the tables you little minx?” He asked with a laugh. He flicked his ears when she didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if she was pouting or what but he knew he'd have a hell of a time finding her. Fine then he thought moving out slowly.
---( | ) --- ( | )---
Two days after the death and a day after the strip search Ensign Esh'z heard a blood curdling scream in E block. He rushed to the hatch and without thinking opened it and ran in.
He expected to find another murder, but instead was immediately set upon by a group of desperate or angry Horathian prisoners.
Jethro arrived on the scene a moment after Hart hit the alarm. The Marines squashed the riot or mutiny and break out attempt from the brig before it had a chance to get started. The Intel Veraxin survived, but he had been injured in the fighting. He had been stabbed in the joints of his arms and had lost an eye stalk before the mechs and drones had waded into the fray.
The Veraxin was taken to the infirmary. He had lost an eye stalk in the fight, but he had used his lobster claws to cut off one attacker's head, another pirate's hand and a third's genitals in the attack. The scissor-like appendages were quite powerful when they were used against flesh. They used reflex muscles like those in a Terran bumble bee's wings to snap closed with incredible force, crushing and slicing in one action.
The Ensign seemed a bit put out over the confrontation, because he had misread the human's body language, underestimated them, had been injured, and had been forced to kill two of his attackers in the confrontation. The destruction of a possible intelligence asset bothered the bug the most it seemed.
Jethro confronted the hard ass who had created a shiv. The Horathian stopped struggling briefly when he was picked up by Jethro by the back of the neck. The human was easily a hundred kilos of solid muscle, but in the suit he might as well have been a feather. “Stop struggling or I'll snap your neck,” Jethro growled as PFC Hart snapped cuffs on the guy.