Jethro 3: No Place Like Home

by Chris Hechtl

  Marines and all of the spacers involved in combat had to go through a series of psych evals, some of it was combat related, but some was related to an ongoing security review. Apparently Command considered it overdue after the operation in Antigua, and now Beta101a1 just put more emphasis that it needed to be done.

  Apparently the psychologists had identified some psych issues with recruits Admiral Irons had made, which was expected. All had been slaves to Horathians. All of that was also in their records, but apparently still not good enough for the people in the white coats. Rubber rooms and drugs were the joke of the day in the mess.

  The psych team tried to cycle them through fast since Firefly was taking on fuel and stores in order to go to Gaston in a few days. There was some annoyance at that, but when word came down that Valenko's squad was to remain behind they were bumped to the very bottom of the list. Jethro didn't know if he should be grateful or annoyed by it. On the one hand, he'd wanted to get it over with, but on the other, he liked the reprieve. Until there was time they were temporarily assigned to the Annex and San Diego while waiting for transport back to Agnosta.

  They were assigned make-work, sessions guarding a post, shuffling paperwork, working a recruiting office on Anvil, mixed with liberal doses of liberty on the station in the evenings. It was light duty, and a nice change for some after the grueling months of training and combat they'd recently experienced. To Jethro it was again another mixed blessing. He felt restless and bored, but he knew he needed to decompress.

  Jethro took his turn, listened to the grumbling as others thought it was a monumental waste of time, but knew it had a purpose. They needed it, needed to know someone listened, someone cared. And deep down, they knew that passing yet another test, for that was what many saw it as, was vindication that they and their comrades were okay and ready to soldier on.

  Bastet got involved in Jethro's debrief. The AI added flavor and humor, listened as he talked and occasionally she sampled his emotions. When he felt off he felt her comfort him and purr in sympathy and understanding when he described a loss of a comrade.

  Only those who had seen combat or were flagged by their implants were seen by the most experienced head shrinkers and set aside for additional debrief. “Gee, lucky us. More time with the head shrinkers,” Sergei growled.

  “Hush,” Harley said, poking him. The big Liger quieted, rubbing his ribs.

  Word got around that for the most part it was a cake walk. You talked about what happened, they sampled your emotional state through your implants, and then you were checked off good to go. But since Valenko's squad had taken casualties and had a fatality, mandatory grief counseling was required as well.

  “It's not like I was there. It sucks,” Jethro said in disgust.

  “Do you blame yourself for that?” The therapist asked. She was a reservist, a blond female named Edna Chelsi. She'd shook hands with him politely, but seemed a bit nervous, most likely about his species. She'd gotten down to business though.

  Jethro wrinkled his muzzle, ears flat. “I was on a mission. I followed orders.”

  “But do you blame yourself?” The woman persisted.

  “No. Yes.” Jethro sighed and then shrugged, flicking his tail. “Sort of. I wish I had known Fonz would have done that. He had been a bit cocky in sims, but I honestly thought he'd matured and grown out of it.”

  “And he hadn't?” The woman asked.

  “No,” Jethro said sighing in frustration. “No, apparently not. And now he never will.”

  The therapist frowned, studying the notes on the incident. “He rushed a position...”

  “As point you have to move fast. But he was reckless. I don't know what was going through his head. Other than that damn plasma bolt,” Jethro growled.

  The therapist looked up with a frown. “That's...pretty dark, Sergeant,” she said quietly.

  Jethro shrugged. “It happens. Shit happens,” he sighed. He hated being stuck on his back on the couch. You'd think the humans would realize Neos didn't like to be on their backs; it made them feel helpless. This one was also a classic; she wanted him that way instead of in a chair. He wondered if it was deliberate, to make him feel vulnerable.

  “You were...” the therapist paused to check the log, “securing the command center. Good. You should receive a medal. You did that on your own?”

  “I'm good at being a loner, doc,” the panther replied. “It's part of my sniper training. Besides, we only had the one prototype rocket pack.”

  “Ah. I see...and you took out...this can't be right. This has to be inflated. Thirty enemy???”

  “No, thirty-one, doc.” Jethro replied, flicking his ears, this time in amusement. His grass green eyes flicked to her briefly, then away. “It's what I do,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  “Oh...um...” she looked away, suddenly very much aware she was trapped in a room with a predator.

  “Doc, why am I here? I've lost members of my team before,” Jethro said. “I've had training on how to handle it.”

  “You have?” The woman asked in confusion. “I thought no one had been in combat, wait, a training exercise?”

  “Well, that too I suppose,” Jethro said, remembering the disastrous training op on that rock years ago. An entire boot platoon had been chewed up by the experience, less than half had survived. “First Agnostan Recon expedition was where I saw real combat for the first time doc. We lost Miles and Chirby then. I was wounded, so were a few of the others,” Jethro said stiffly.

  The therapist blinked in confusion and then checked his records for verification. When she did she looked back at him. “Oh, so you've um, seen combat before.”

  “Yes. Antigua wasn't my first dance with death,” Jethro said, mind flicking through various images of combat.

  “You have a funny way of putting things,” the human therapist said, cocking her head.

  Jethro flicked his whiskers a bit, a slight shrug was all his answer.

  “So, why did your implants flag you...um, hmm. It seems you had an incident before. In Agnosta? Related to the combat you just mentioned?”

  “No. I...” Jethro sighed. “Doc, it was just a nightmare. Honest. Everyone has them from time to time. I had a couple after, but it's not combat related.”

  “Not...so what is it about?” The woman asked in confusion.

  “You...fine. If you must know, I was in F platoon,” Jethro sighed, sitting back.

  “F? You mean Foxtrot?”

  “No, F as in First. F as in Gunny Schultz's boot platoon from hell,” Jethro said succinctly. He flicked his tail in annoyance.

  “Oh,” the therapist frowned, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Oh!” she said, as her eyes went wide. Apparently she had now made the connection. They were that much of a legend he knew.

  “Yeah. We...we took on an orbital drop sim. We...it went bad. We ended up in the infirmary.”

  “We as in...” She asked carefully.

  “We as in the entire platoon. Including the gunny. It was that rough.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened fractionally in support and slight distress. “Oh my.”

  Jethro nodded, ears flat. “Yes. I...it was a...learning experience. But well, I had a close call in Agnosta space. I can't go into details; I don't know what parts are classified or not. It was similar to the drop and it...”

  The woman nodded when he stopped. After a moment she cleared her throat and said it for him. “Echoed. It brought the first incident up. You repressed the first incident?”

  Jethro nodded ever so slightly. “I didn't so much as repress it as, well, we got busy.”

  She nodded. “And it was forgotten. But it lingered.”

  “I guess so. I learned to deal with fear, and now that I've had some combat and some drops I think I'd do better on that sim. But I'd still have some fear.”

  “Anxiety,” she said.

  “Yes. But I wouldn't let it stop me.”

  “That's a Marine for you, too stupid to let fear gov
ern you,” the therapist teased. He glanced at her. She was smiling to take the sting out of her statement. He snorted.

  “Stupid and brave doc,” the Marine replied. His implants chimed. “That's time. I've got to get moving,” he said, checking the reminder. He had ten minutes to get to his post.

  “I know. I've run five minutes over my time limit I had planned for you. So, I will schedule you for a follow-up and not mark you down as unfit for duty. As long as you get seen again soon.”

  Jethro nodded, resigned to the meddling. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “Oh buck up,” she said, smiling. “Maybe I'll have some milk and I'll rub your tummy or something,” she said teasingly.

  Jethro snorted. “The tummy thing works for canines, ma'am. I'm a cat.”

  “Oh.”

  “I might take you up on the milk though,” he joked, getting up. She blinked at him then snorted softly.

  “Very well. Get going. I need a break then I so need to brush up on you people. It's obvious going cold and not reading your records isn't working. I don't understand why they insist on rushing you through so fast...”

  “It's the nature of the beast doctor, duty calls,” Jethro said. She waved a hand. He came to attention smartly.

  “Dismissed,” she said. He nodded, about faced and left quietly.

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  At his next therapy session Jethro got into a debate about the psychology of Neos. They touched on various subjects like Felines, Canines, and Apes social hierarchy. “It is fascinating, the roles of Alpha, Beta, Omega social roles. Do you have trouble translating that into military and civilian life?”

  He paused cautiously, not certain how to answer. “In some ways, there are some social cues that are awkward to deal with. Your human's showing of teeth for instance. In animals, we're hard wired to that reaction; a show of teeth means threat. That goes for just about everyone by the way—dog, cat, ape or other.”

  She blinked and then nodded. She made a note.

  “There are others of course, but over the years you learn to deal with them. I think, oh, years and years ago people, humans tried to change it all. But it didn't stick. So, we learned to deal with it. Just like humans learned to deal with us in our own way,” he said.

  “And the question of how that fits in today's society?”

  “Well, if I had to translate it, I'd say to some an alpha or beta translates to an officer or person in authority. There is some automatic obedience required there, and yes, some dominance issues,” he said. He felt a pang, remembering his encounter with Kovu on Agnosta. He'd slipped there.

  “But really, we fight the animal urge. For some it is a constant struggle, for others it is easier. If you're asking if we regress in combat...” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I don't know what to tell you doc. When you are fighting it is life or death for all.”

  “I see,” she murmured. “And you have no issues with authority? You don't feel the urge to challenge it?”

  “It depends. I will accept and follow orders of course. But if I have a suggestion I speak up when it is appropriate. Sometimes when it isn't, but I know I'll get in trouble for it and accept it. That's not a challenge; it's just an alternative idea.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Where are we going with this?” He asked.

  “Just talking,” she said with a hand wave. “I was curious about the natural urge to battle for supremacy, but with the artificial command structure thrust upon other cultures, it complicates things.”

  He snorted. “We're indoctrinated, trained to handle it doctor. We can handle it.”

  “True, but there are so many somatic types to deal with. Cultures. All in a vast vat. Throw in danger and death...” She shook her head. “It can all come apart.”

  “And just as easily it can all come together doc. There is an old saying,” Jethro said. He paused to cock his head. “One's mind is concentrated with the imminent threat of a hanging. And oh, another, one man's enemy is another's friend. Binary solution set doc, work together or die.”

  She frowned but wasn't quite ready to let it go. “But if you throw in interactions with the various species as well as aliens and you can have misunderstandings. Fatal ones.”

  Jethro nodded. “True, but, over time things have changed as I said. We've learned to cope. We've had over a thousand years time to iron out all the bumps. In some ways Neos are more human now.”

  “And the threat of going feral?”

  “Remote,” Jethro said. “A proper diet, social interaction, and other things keep such problems at best a very bad holo horror film. And may I remind you, humans were the ones who invented those, and oh, serial killers and such— Adolph Hitler Stalin, Mengela,” he reminded her, reading the names off the list Bast pulled up.

  The human flinched but then nodded. “A cheap shot, but I suppose well played.”

  Jethro spread his hands. “Hey, you asked for it,” he said.

  “Yes, yes I did,” she said, smiling politely. “And you did get me.”

  “I know, I know, it's not nice to be on the receiving end of a prank,” Jethro said. “Trust me I know. We play pranks on each other constantly when we can. Most of the time it's minor stuff, shits and giggles. Slapstick really. Occasionally some have gone overboard,” he said, voice darkening.

  “I take it you've been...a victim of one such occasion?” she asked.

  “Well, yes, and it ties in to my bioform,” he said. He sighed when she seemed intent on his continuing. “Fine,” he said. “It went like this...” he went on to describe his experience in Firefly's Infirmary. How the medics had tricked him and then placed a device on the back of his neck rendering him immobile.

  “You don't say. So it...you couldn't move?”

  “No. That sucked. I could hear, see, think, but I couldn't move. It was like I was trapped in my body. I do admit it freaked me out,” he said. “Seriously, I don't like feeling helpless. And I resented it. But, you have to be able to take a joke, even a bad one. So, I did.”

  “I see,” she murmured, making some notes. She seemed intent on that for a short while. He tried to relax but found the damn couch and position annoying.

  “Do you ever...ever wonder about your form? I mean, the claws, teeth...” she finally asked, looking up.

  “It's how I was born, doctor. I like what I am. There are a few things that bother me, but I'm fine with it. I just wished others accepted who I am. Those in the government of this system for instance,” he said. He held up a warning hand as her eyes lit. “That is in no way an inferiority complex, doc, just a simple statement of truth. Sometimes the world, or at least certain jerks in office, really are out to get you.”

  “True,” she admitted. She frowned prettily, then made a note on her tablet. She sighed after a moment. “So much for getting you to relax.”

  “Well, doc, you did bring up social concerns. And well, to be honest,” he turned and rolled onto his side. “As someone with an animal genome, you should know we're not happy about being on our back. It's a sign of submission, and it's also a bit painful after a while,” he said pointedly. “Forcing someone to assume that position is its own form of dominance play. Which granted is a psychological ploy, but it is annoying, be it for a human or...other form,” he said with a hand wave. He flexed his claws for the moment.

  “Oh,” she said, blinking.

  He snorted. “Just be glad I haven't clawed this thing to death doc. It is damned uncomfortable,” he growled.

  “Sorry,” she said quietly. She shook herself after a moment. “Okay, moving on,” she said determinedly.

  Bast seemed amused as the discussion wore on. She silently brought up a link or two for him to quote from, as well as a note about the therapist engaging in discourse and small talk to probe. That amused him, but he still ended the session on a positive note.

  ---( | ) --- ( | )---

  Jethro waited on transfer to Agnosta. He received additional downtime on Anvil but it
was a mixed blessing. The intention was for him to decompress and catch up with his family. But most of his family were either dead or in Agnosta.

  His Matriarch adopted grandmother was still on the station, but in his absence she had become increasingly elderly despite the advanced medical care available. Neos aged rapidly, even with anti-aging treatments. Her mind was still there, still as sharp as ever, but her body was frail. It bothered him when he saw her, but he tried to hide it.

  What bothered him even more was the changes around her. He didn't like it. The daycare was gone as was the prattle of the cubs. She wore a threadbare shawl, and sat in her old worn rocker, but she'd moved to a small room in the ever shrinking Neo district.

  Her golden eyes twinkled. “You're wondering why I'm like this,” she murmured.

  “I...yes,” he admitted. He'd long given up feeling the willies about how she did that. To her everyone seemed an open book she could read.

  She shrugged, brushing the shawl with a frail hand paw. “It's simple, I'm old. Old and tired, young one. Ready to move on to the next life.”

  “But the medics...” He protested.

  “Did a lot for me. But I made a choice. I am not going to regret it. Besides, I am far too old for my body to accept the anti-aging treatments. Sure, they might squeeze a few more years out of me, but it would be an even slower decline than this. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer a fast death.”

  “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

  She brushed her whiskers. “Don't my grandson, don't be. I see you, Sergei, Hurranna and the other cubs and what you have accomplished has filled my heart with so much joy. Keep living your lives to the fullest. I'll be along with you in spirit.”

  He nodded uncomfortably; then rubbed her cheeks with his. She patted his hand and then rested back in her chair. After a moment he realized she had drifted off into a doze. He waited for a few minutes, then got up and left quietly.

  Jethro made certain to check his old haunts from his childhood. Things had changed, in some cases radically. He didn't like the looks some humans gave him. But since he was in uniform, none seemed to object. They did stare though, making him uncomfortable. Eventually he moved on. He stopped by where the armor had been stored for so long and took a good look around. Bast didn't seem interested so he moved on.