Gray Panthers Captain Short Blade

by David Guenther

  Short Blade just waved as he turned and headed downstairs and out to the warrior who was cooking.

  “What are you cooking?”

  The warrior seemed surprised by the question. “We weren’t sure if our arrangement with you included food, so the senior sergeant bought enough porridge and bread to last a few days, sir.”

  Short Blade was annoyed with himself for not having thought ahead. He decided he should know who his warriors were. “What’s your name? Are you a good cook?”

  “I was a field cook for fourteen years, sir. I’m a very good cook. My name is Butcher.”

  Short Blade hadn’t noticed until now that the warrior had been standing at attention as they spoke.

  “At ease, Butcher. Make a list of what you will need to feed the warriors well, and we’ll go back into town and get it today. If you need anything and the senior sergeant isn’t around, do not hesitate to let me know. You may also tell the human over there,” Short Blade said, pointing in the direction of the barn. “He is my lieutenant.”

  With that, Short Blade turned and walked over to where Ramirez was standing.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant Ramirez,” he called out as he approached. He smiled at the shocked look Ramirez gave him in return for being addressed as lieutenant.

  “You said we needed security for the cows, so I got you your own little army. Do what you want with them. Their NCO is sharp and honorable. If you need more, let him know and he will get as many as you need.

  “This’ll be my first time working with indigenous troops,” Ramirez said, unable to hide his excitement. “Looks like they’re all seasoned. Just have to make sure they’ve been seasoned well,”

  Short Blade went to the machine shed and uncovered his hover cycle. Hopping on, he balanced the machine before starting it up. The machine vibrated roughly for a minute and then began to purr as he put it into gear.

  Keeping the cycle at its preset height of ten inches off the ground, Short Blade followed the trail toward the main road at a leisurely ninety miles per hour as he refamiliarized himself with the machine. The main road was straighter and wider than the trail, so he opened it up to two hundred miles per hour when he saw there was no traffic.

  The bottling plant was on the edge of town, away from heavy traffic. Otherwise, Short Blade would have driven a larger transport. With all of the new drivers and heavy equipment operators on most of the main roadways these days, driving was considerably riskier than it used to be. The guard at the gate of the bottling plant waved him through and called to announce Short Blade’s arrival.

  Scratch was waiting at the door for him and smiled as he watched his main source of income get off his cycle.

  “Greetings, Short Blade. What can I do for you today?” His half-smile seemed almost a sneer.

  “I wanted to let you know that I brought in additional cows, so you’ll need to change your schedule to every other day to pick up my milk.”

  “That is wonderful news! With the increased quantity, though, I think the price should come down … say, a drop of fifteen percent?”

  Short Blade resisted the initial urge to shoot him.

  “If you want to drop the price you sell it at, that’s fine, but if I have to take less, I’ll import the machinery from Earth and bottle it myself. And by the way, I also have the connections to distribute it myself.” Short Blade saw that his suggestion was having the desired effect.

  “That won’t be necessary, sir. I guess I was just thinking out loud.”

  “Well, I plan to make another trip to Earth soon for even more cows, so you might want to start thinking about expanding or finding another bottler to pull your slack.”

  A tingle behind Short Blade’s ear indicated that he had an incoming call, so he cut the visit short.

  “Short Blade, I’m on my way into your town. Can we talk while I’m there?”

  “Yes, Colonel. There’s a new eatery called Little Earth. We can meet there. When will you be here?”

  “I’m just outside of town, trying to figure out where to go. The maps haven’t been updated.”

  Short Blade shook his head at his father’s inability to use technology. “I’m on the outskirts, on the north end. I’ll wait for you at the bottling factory there.”

  Relieved that he didn’t have to drive into town, he wondered why his father wanted to see him.

  Before long, the colonel arrived in a large government comfort transport. Obviously, he was doing well. He got out and stretched his arms and legs.

  “Greetings, Father. You look well. Your new position must suit you.”

  The colonel seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to say. The two had never had an easy time talking with each other, and it had become even worse over the last year or so.

  “I need to ask a favor of you, Son. It’s for the Fire fleet.”

  Short Blade realized how hard it was for his father to come to him for help, so he decided he would do what he could. For most of his life he’d felt abandoned by his father. Recently, though, he’d found out by accident from a warrior who had served under the colonel that his father had been trying to help him but never let him know.

  “Father, if I can help you, I will. I learned why you sent me to the Libra, and I won’t hold a grudge against you anymore. I’ve learned that life is too short. What is it you need?” He was relieved to finally have that off his chest.

  “The fleet needs at least a dozen more class-one AIs for new ships they’ve added. The humans know the Dixians will do anything they can to prevent us from improving our fleet, now that the war is over. I hoped you might know a way.” Colonel Blade was thankful that his son had even listened to his proposal.

  “I’ll see what I can do. That’s a difficult request. I’ll look into it when I get back to my farm.” Short Blade knew that Dan Daniels would not approve, but he had an idea for a source.

  “Thank you, Son.” The colonel surprised Short Blade by leaning down to rub foreheads with him. Short Blade felt a surge of emotion, experiencing a closeness he’d never known with his father before.

  Pressing the comm button behind his ear, he called his shuttle’s AI.

  “Phoenix, I’ll be back there soon. Please see if you can figure out where I can get a dozen class-one AIs by the time I get there. This request is confidential.” He didn’t hold out any real hope, but he figured it was a good place to start.

  As Short Blade watched his father drive off, a liquids truck pulled into the lot. The driver of the truck stared at Short Blade in a way that roused his suspicion, but there was no time now to investigate.

  Turning onto the road, Short Blade nearly collided with an inexperienced heavy equipment operator who wasn’t paying attention to the road. I’ll not die a useless death, he thought as he opened up the hover cycle to full speed. As he passed the operator, he made an “O” gesture with his paw to insult him.

  The trip back to the farm went quickly, and Short Blade noticed as he pulled up that a small shooting range had been set up at the far end of the field where the tents were. It looked like Ramirez and Dias were evaluating the warriors’ shooting skills. He felt pity for the warriors, who would have to learn to shoot well enough to satisfy the two former marines.

  Senior Sergeant Knife approached Short Blade and saluted him, human style.

  “Sir, I took offense when the young humans said they were going to train me and my warriors, but I was wrong, and I wish to let you know that. They’ve shown us the importance of marksmanship and small unit tactics we hadn’t thought of before. Tonight, we’ll be picketed on the approaches to the farm. We won’t let you down.”

  “Thank you, Senior Sergeant Knife. I only like to work with professionals. I have to admit that these marines are the best I’ve ever seen. I would never tell them that, though. I meant to ask you … how is it that your warriors still had full uniforms?”

  “They all kept one set of uniforms for when they are returned to the fire. No matter how hard up thes
e warriors became, they still kept their death uniforms.”

  Short Blade was taken aback by Knife’s answer, and it gave him a new idea.

  “I’ll need the sizes for each warrior. They no longer fight for the Claw Clan. They now serve the House of Short Blade, and I will see to it that they have the best uniforms.”

  Ramirez approached, looking like he was in good spirits. “Excuse me, Short Blade, can I have a word?” Senior Sergeant Knife saluted and returned to the warriors.

  “What have you got for me, Juan?”

  “I think that old senior sergeant of yours could have been in the Corps. He’s a tough bastard and pushes those old guys hard. They’re shaping up on their marksmanship. They never deemed it important before. They only fired volley, then charged. I’m going to go over cover and concealment with them tomorrow. They could use some better weapons—there’s no ability to fire rapidly. I put more lead downrange with an old bolt-action rifle than what these guys have. Maybe find some beamers with only setting one enabled?”

  “Check with Phoenix. Tell him to add the design for a modified beamer like you described to the list of items for the fabricator to produce. Include all accessory equipment to go with it. Be sure to take into account the size of the warriors’ paws when they use the beamers.”

  “I’m also going to place eight of the old guys in four sites tonight. If they get in trouble, I’ll have the other twelve guys as a reaction force. I don’t want to see any more cows disappear.”

  “That’s a good plan, Juan. Make sure they understand that they are to give a warning before they fire. They don’t have to expose themselves. Did all the cows get milked today?”

  “I’ll make sure they understand that. And yes, we got them all milked today. With all the new cows you want to bring in, you might want to look at increasing the acreage and hiring some more humans to work with the cows.”

  Juan’s suggestions were valid. Acknowledging to himself that he lacked many of the skills required, Short Blade decided to do what was best for the farm.

  “One more thing, Juan. You’re now the full-time foreman of the ranch. If you need something or somebody, go ahead and get it done. Don’t negotiate with the locals. They’ll do their best to cheat you. If I’m not available, then use Knife. I don’t think they would want to make him mad.”

  Short Blade felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders by promoting Ramirez. His ear began to vibrate, so he pointed to it to let Ramirez know and faced away to take the call.

  “This is Short Blade.”

  “Sir, I’ve found a potential source for the class-one AIs. The Dixians have the ability to make class-one AIs but can’t get the material to bring them online. I believe they’re desperate enough to make a trade.”

  Short Blade’s temples began to throb at the thought of having to work with the Dixians. They were still unhappy about the role of the Jacka mercenaries during the invasion of their planet. They seemed to have forgotten that the Jacka Fire Fleet later saved the Dixie fleet.

  “Now I just need a good excuse to get to the planet—without being destroyed before I can offer my services.”

  “Sir, it shouldn’t be a problem. In one week, Scotty Scholl, the retired Earth ambassador to Dixie, will be getting married. You have an invitation in your unread correspondence. That, along with arriving there in a human-built shuttle, should get you to the planet’s surface.”

  “And then killed when I exit the shuttle! ‘Only game in town,’ the guys would have said. Send a reply stating that I will attend, and that I hope not to be killed at the dock when I exit my shuttle.” I wonder if any of the old crew from the Beater will be there? he thought.

  If he was going to get any class-one AIs, he would need to leave first thing in the morning, so he headed to his desk to catch up on paperwork. He wasn’t feeling so confident about the plan in his head.

  The Phoenix, orbiting planet Zia

  5 April 2129

  “Phoenix, do you detect anyone on sensors?

  “Sir, no ships from either the Fire fleet or the Republic are nearby. The Republic still considers this a protectorate plane even though it’s in League of Planets space.”

  “Have you been able to contact any Zians?”

  “There has been no reply to our hails.”

  Just have to do this cold, I guess, Short Blade thought. “Okay, let’s take her in. We’ll land on the pad they use for visiting ships. Keep actively scanning once we get down there. I don’t want to start a new war.”

  The shuttle bounced around as it entered the atmosphere and then proceeded through a storm, but the inertial dampeners made the ride perfectly smooth and uneventful. When Short Blade opened the shuttle hatch, the wind whipped him in the face and rain began to pelt him.

  “Sir, there’s movement on the road approximately half a mile away. A group of fifty is coming this way.”

  Short Blade looked where he knew he should see them, but the road just appeared black in the night rain. Finally, when they were less than a hundred feet away, he saw the tiny torches of the Zians who were heading his way.

  “Welcome back to Zia, Master Short Blade. How may we be of service to you?” one of them said when the group had stopped.

  Taken aback that they remembered him, Short Blade decided to act quickly.

  “I need to buy one hundred units as quickly as possible. The Republic doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Good. Then they won’t try to steal the gold you bring us. We’ll start bringing the Flem juice right away.” The one who spoke shouted to another, who turned and whipped his mount as he rode off in the direction from which they had come. Short Blade pulled out one hundred gold coins and set them in stacks on the ground. The Zians came and grabbed them by ones and twos. The twelve-inch-tall creatures reminded him of vermin.

  Before long, tiny carts began to pull up to the shuttle, the largest able to hold ten ounces. “Here is your Flem juice, Master Short Blade.”

  Short Blade was starting to thank the tiny Zians when he received the message.

  “Sir, a Republic destroyer has just entered the sector. It will be here shortly if it picks us up on sensors.”

  Short Blade shouted to the Zians to scatter as he climbed on board and shut the hatch.

  “Phoenix, get us out of here now! As soon as we are out of the gravity well, jump us.” As Short Blade watched the monitor, the destroyer changed its course and headed toward the shuttle. The Phoenix adjusted its course in response, putting the planet between them, and then headed straight away from the planet. The destroyer came back into view just as the shuttle engaged the FTL drive.

  Peary Crater Lunar Base

  5 April 2129

  William “Guns” Wright sat across from Jimmy Brewster. Both were veterans of the Iran War. Jimmy was in his nineties and Guns in his eighties. Each had volunteered to join the Gray Panthers and had been rejuvenated with the nanite technology. They had the bodies and stamina of men in their twenties. With the Gray Panthers essentially mothballed, they found themselves on the moon providing minor maintenance wherever needed.

  “I’m ready to say to hell with all this shit. I didn’t achieve the rank of first damn sergeant and then recycle myself in the Gray Panthers to chief just to find myself a goddamn janitor on the fucking moon!” Jimmy grumbled.

  Guns nodded in agreement as he poured bourbon from his flask into Jimmy’s coffee cup. Jimmy let out a sigh as he picked up his coffee cup.

  “Salute,” he said, clinking cups with Guns. “Looks like Scotty’s getting married to that little shuttle pilot he hooked up with on Dixie. The GPs are sending a ship for his friends and family. Let’s go have a good time and stay there. With our skills and knowledge, we should be able to get decent jobs.”

  “Fine,” Guns replied. “Let’s go start life over again, only this time on an alien planet! How am I going to get my pickup there? Never mind—if we go, I want a hover cycle!”

  The men were obviously intoxica
ted and were being quite loud. A pair of nearby security guards couldn’t help but overhear their discussion, and one of them started to walk over to ask them to tone it down. The other guard grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “Joe, they don’t pay us enough for this shit. We go over there to quiet those two down and I guarantee you it’ll get ugly. Let ’em vent. They aren’t hurting anyone, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “Okay, Jay. Let’s go check the docking area. Shift change in forty-five minutes, anyway.”

  Guns walked Jimmy to a terminal, where they proceeded to coordinate their transportation to Dixie and convert all of their assets to gold coins. They’d be on the ship heading for the wedding the next day.

  Teetering in front of his cabin door, Jimmy said, “Door open,” his words slurring. At last, on the third try, the door opened. Guns helped him stagger in and pushed him into his bunk. Jimmy was out cold.

  “Damn lightweight army types never could hold their liquor like a navy man,” Guns muttered, smiling to himself. As he turned to leave, the room began to spin uncontrollably. His years of experience kicked in, and he was able to grab a chair and sit down before everything went black.

  “Good morning, sunshine! Rise and shine. We have a ship to catch.”

  Guns opened his eyes enough to see Jimmy standing over him with a mug of coffee.

  “You navy types never could hold your booze, could you?” Jimmy said with a smirk.

  Guns wished only evil thoughts upon his friend as he reached for the coffee. “How can you be so chipper first thing in the morning?” he groused after taking a sip.

  “No work today. Couple of hours from now, we’ll be on our way to Dixie. New life, new adventure.” Jimmy hummed to himself as he pulled out his sea bags.

  Guns rubbed his face and head, piecing together the conversation they’d had the night before. “I can’t believe two grown men are gonna just throw away everything and start over like this,” he finally said.