Gray Panthers Captain Short Blade

by David Guenther

  Guns went to the barn, where an additional room had been built in the back to serve as an armory. Ramirez and Dias were trying to explain to the Jacka warrior who’d been given the responsibility of being the unit’s armorer how to properly clean an old automatic rifle from Earth.

  “For the tenth time, Cutter, the barrel doesn’t have to be oiled every time you clean it— and if you do oil it, you have to make sure you get all of the oil out. Look at all the crap in the barrel from the—” Ramirez stopped midsentence as he turned to see who had entered. He smiled when he saw it was Guns.

  “What can we do for you, Guns?” he asked as he handed the automatic rifle back to the Jacka. “We don’t see you here very often.”

  “I have a last-minute task for the two of you and a detail of Jacka warriors. We’re going to bury Commander Johnson in the morning. I need you to coordinate and train the honor guard, and we need you two for the flag detail.” Guns looked around the armory as he answered.

  “Where are we having the ceremony? I didn’t know we had a cemetery,” Dias piped up.

  “Short Blade decided we could use the hill to the east of the ranch—the one that has only the one tree.”

  “Okay. We’ll use the hay carrier to get the casket to the hill, and we’ll put the casket over the grave. You do the ceremony, and then we’ll perform the salute and taps,” Ramirez volunteered. Activating his comm, he said, “Senior Sergeant Knife, please report to me immediately. I’m at the armory.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll get back to my business and leave you to yours,” Guns said, thankful for the support of the two marines.

  “What have we got ourselves into, Ralph?” Ramirez said. “Think we can get our cats trained in time so they don’t embarrass us?”

  “Your ‘cats’ will not fail you, sir,” Senior Sergeant Knife said as he entered the doorway.

  “I sincerely hope not, Senior Sergeant Knife,” Ramirez replied. “We’ll be burying our former captain in the morning, and we’ll need seven warriors to march behind the casket as it is taken to the top of the hill east of here. When we get to the top of the hill, those who served with Commander Johnson will place the casket by the grave, which a couple of warriors will need to dig today. Captain Short Blade will read the eulogy, and then the seven warriors will fire three volleys. After the three volleys, we’ll play a ceremonial song and the service will conclude.”

  “Will the body be burned tonight and then put into the casket, or will it be burned after the ceremony, before the casket is buried?” Knife asked, confused.

  “That’s not our way, Senior Sergeant Knife. We inter the body as it is,” Dias explained.

  “I heard that the Commander died a noble death saving his crew—a heroic death that song would be sung of, yet you won’t release his spirit? Instead, you intend to bury his body like garbage? If you were to give him a proper ending, I would gladly ask my warriors, and I know they would be proud to volunteer their assistance. But with what you are planning, I know that not only will they refuse to participate, but they also will quit on the spot rather than damn the spirit of a heroic warrior!” Knife tried to keep his bearing respectful and professional, but he was clearly disturbed by what he’d heard.

  “Senior Sergeant Knife, form a team of seven warriors and have them in their best uniforms for the ceremony. See that a grave is dug on the hill—it needs to be six feet deep and slightly wider than the casket. I’ll discuss our options with Short Blade. You’re dismissed.” Ramirez managed to contain his anger, but Dias could tell he was frustrated.

  “Looks like we need to get Short Blade involved,” Ramirez said after Knife had gone. “I never worked with indigenous forces back on Earth, and I’m damned if I know what to do.”

  Short Blade sat in his favorite chair, watching the curtains dance as a strong breeze blew through the open window. The glass in his paw was sweating, leaving a ring on the chair’s upholstery. He looked down at the glass, which was still full to the rim, as he pondered his future. When the communicator in his ear began to vibrate, it jolted him out of his thoughts and he almost spilled his milk. Transferring the glass to his other paw, he pressed behind his ear to accept the comm.

  “Short Blade.”

  “Sir, we have a problem. The warriors refuse to have anything to do with Johnson’s funeral ceremony unless he’s toasted to release his spirit,” Ramirez said, sounding lost.

  Outstanding warrior though he is, he’s finally met a challenge he doesn’t know how to overcome, Short Blade thought.

  “Tell Senior Sergeant Knife to get a priest to perform the ceremony to release the spirit from the body tonight. We’ll place the commander’s ashes in the coffin and give him a traditional human ceremony in the morning. I’m sorry. I’ve been away from my own race for so long, I forgot how important this is to some Jacka. I’m not religious myself, and I don’t care what happens to my body when I die. But warriors can be very religious and superstitious. If we don’t hold the ceremony, we could lose every warrior we have. Tell Senior Sergeant Knife to coordinate everything for the ceremony and that I’ll reimburse him for the cost of the priest.”

  With that, Short Blade ended the transmission. Taking the glass from his other paw, he took a long swallow. Damn. I’ll have to attend the ceremony tonight, as it will be expected of me, he thought as a dull pain began to form behind his eyes.

  A couple of hours later, at the temple in town, the daughter of the high priest for the Claw Clan peeked out from behind a curtain. Her father was speaking with a strange old warrior who looked like one of the old beggars she had seen on the streets in the past. Her heart broke for him when she saw that he had only two arms. Instead of a proper blue uniform, he had on a mismatch of colors that reminded her of the forest. He wore a belt with both a sword and strange-looking pistol.

  “Yes, Senior Sergeant Knife, I know the ranch you speak of. I will be there tonight at sundown to perform the spirit ceremony. My daughter will accompany me to help with the ceremony, since my regular assistant left to join the Fire fleet. I’ll warn you now—she’s a runt. Be sure to tell your warriors in advance, so there won’t be any trouble. She was left in the forest when she was young, as tradition dictates, and she survived. Will bringing her with me create a problem?”

  “No, that won’t be a problem at all. I’ll see you at sundown,” Knife said, unable to hide a slight smile as he handed over a small pouch filled with coins and quickly left.

  What a strange individual. I wonder if his odd behavior is the result of his time as a warrior? the priest thought. Calling out to his daughter, he said, “Flower, prepare for a spirit ceremony this evening.”

  The priest then returned to his study, aware that his daughter had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Though she tried to avoid strangers at all costs, sometimes her curiosity got the upper hand.

  Damn, when will Father get a new assistant? I hate having to go out, especially around strangers. And why did the senior sergeant smile when Father mentioned that I’m a runt? He’ll be unhappy if he insults my father or me, Flower thought as she gathered the supplies for the ritual.

  Ramirez was impressed with the warriors Knife had chosen as he watched them march up the incline to where the funeral ceremony would be held. Each carried a Libra projectile rifle that would sound similar to a traditional Earth rifle for the ceremonial volley. Two others had gone to the site earlier and were nearly finished digging the grave. When the team got to the top, Dias was waiting to give them instructions.

  “You’ll position yourselves here,” he said, pointing to an area twenty feet from the grave. “When the order to fire is given, aim for the very top of that tree. I’ll give the order to fire for each volley. After the last volley, the detail you’ll stand at attention. A song will be played and that will be the end of the ceremony, since there won’t be any family members present for Commander Johnson. All right, let’s head back so you can prepare your best uniforms for in the morning.” He marche
d the team back to the ranch, pleasantly surprised that the old warriors were so easy to work with.

  Ramirez was watching the warriors who weren’t on guard duty or work detail as they constructed a makeshift funeral pyre. Across the field he could see the Libra with Namid finishing up the morning milking. Namid was using her dogs to send the cows back to the field so they could graze. She saw him watching her and waved before heading over to him.

  “What’s with the activity today?” she asked. “Is another mission being planned? The warriors all seemed preoccupied.” She turned so she could watch the dogs while she and Ramirez talked.

  “We retrieved the body of the ship’s captain. We were going to have a military funeral for him in the morning, but then we found out the Jacka were going to go on the warpath if there wasn’t a ceremony to release his spirit through fire. There’s a priest coming tonight for that, and then we’ll bury the ashes in the morning. Could you help out with that? I’ll need someone to turn the music on at the end of the ceremony.”

  “I can do better than that. I have a trumpet and can play Taps. I just need to make something appropriate to wear—everything I have is for farm work.”

  “That would be great. Just be sure not to wear black. It’s another Jacka thing … and we don’t want to upset the warriors,” Ramirez quipped before he headed back to the armory.

  As Flower looked at the box of materials for the ceremony, she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. All that was in it were a carton of flash powder and ceremonial wine. There actually wasn’t much to the ceremony—her father would give a small prayer and then the body would be ignited. While it burned, the warriors would get drunk as she danced around the fire. She would dance until the body was in ashes, though if the warriors gave a large enough donation, she would be required to dance even longer. She had almost been raped a couple of times, so she now carried a small blade in the sleeve of her ceremonial gown.

  Short Blade woke with a start. Judging by the angle of the light coming through the window, it was late afternoon. Soon he would have to sit through the fire ceremony. He grabbed a piece of jerked meat and sat down in his chair to pass the time, washing the meat down with glass after glass of milk. As the light coming through the window grew fainter he could hear the soft sound of chanting in the distance. Time to get this over with, he decided.

  The glow from the fire on the other side of the barn lit up the entire area. The warriors were sitting on a long, low board drinking a mix of ceremonial wine and milk, Seated on a smaller board across from the warriors, the humans were drinking from red plastic cups and were laughing and clapping as they took turns filling the cups for each other. Short Blade was shocked to see that he had missed the beginning of the ceremony. Commander Johnson’s body was already atop the fire .

  A huge throne had been placed between the humans and the warriors. Both groups noticed him at the same time and directed him to his official seat. As a warrior handed him a large stein filled with milk, he noticed the dancer for the first time. She wore only a sheer white cloak with a hood that covered her face. With the light of the fire behind her, he could see the outline of her body through the cloak. She was like him, a runt. She alternated between dancing near the fire and dancing close to the warriors. Her movements reminded him of the lap dances he’d seen on Earth. The warriors kept chanting, “Fire will set you free!” Someone refilled his stein, and before long Short Blade felt himself losing control. He joined in the chant, mesmerized as he watched the dancer. The warriors kept grabbing at her and pointing toward Short Blade. Finally, she made her way toward him.

  “Hello, Your Excellency. I hope my dancing pleases you,” Flower said in a low voice.

  She softly purred as she sat in his lap and moved with the music. Short Blade burned with embarrassment at first, but then a new, stronger emotion took hold of him. He found that he was attracted to this female. As he stood to dance with her, he noticed that she was slightly smaller than he was as. The chant changed to “Short Blade! Short Blade!” His blood seemed to burn as he rubbed against her in front of everyone. He could feel her soft pelt and he grew bolder. Flower was first amused, and then excited by the runt dancing with her. She could feel the power he held over the crowd and decided that he was worthy of marriage. She could get away from her father and wouldn’t have to be his dancer anymore. She knew that this little Jacka was her destiny as she rubbed herself against him, forgetting the crowd.

  Short Blade was feeling no pain as he began to stir from his sleep. He felt a soft warmth at his side. Lifting the sheet that covered him, he saw the naked little female cuddled against his side. Even in the dim light he knew two things: She was a runt, and she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. It felt natural to put his arm around her as she draped her arms and leg over him in her sleep. He let out a slight sigh and let sleep take him once again.

  “Wake up, Short Blade. The ceremony’s in half an hour.”

  Slowly opening his eyes, he saw that Guns was trying to wake him while Jimmy was looking for his uniform. He came to full alertness when he realized that he was alone in the bed, the soft fragrance of Flower’s perfume still lingering, along with an unmistakable muskiness.

  “Get out!” he ordered as he threw off the sheet. “I’ll be out front in ten minutes. Now go!”

  The men looked at each other and said nothing as they complied with his order. Short Blade was pleased to see that the room didn’t spin when he stood up. In fact, he felt good. He could hear the birds singing, and he felt at peace as he dressed. When his obligations were over, he would find the little dancer and make her his.

  The humans were all in front of the house waiting when Short Blade walked out. Namid smiled at him but said nothing. The four men were all wearing their new camouflage uniforms, decorated with racks of ribbons and awards. Short Blade thought they truly looked like they were in mourning. Namid also had on a camouflage uniform with an impressive rack of ribbons of her own.

  “We modified the itinerary,” Jimmy told Short Blade. “The coffin’s already in place. When we arrive, you’ll say a few words. Then Juan will command the rifle detail for the three-shot volley and Namid will play Taps. That will conclude the ceremony. We should get going.”

  As they turned to go, Short Blade heard Guns ask the others if they were as hung over as he was. That’s why they look like they’re in mourning—they’re all hung over, he realized. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at their discomfort.

  The walk up the hill was quiet. Everyone seemed to be in thought. Short Blade was the first to discover that the top of the hill was crowded with warriors, their families, and comrades who had fought against the Libra. The group stopped for a moment to form up and then marched the remainder of the way. Short Blade went to the small podium, the few words he had planned to say lost.

  “Commander Kyle Johnson was the most courageous warrior I’ve ever known. When he was still back on his own home world, Earth, he commanded a fleet of small boats fighting on the seas during the Iran War—”

  A collective gasp came from the Jacka because of their ingrained fear of water.

  “The commander received many decorations for bravery and skill in the face of his enemy. After that war, he retired and lived his life on a small fishing boat, going out onto the ocean every day. When he was asked to join the Gray Panthers, to leave his world and fight in space, he did not hesitate. That is the type of human Kyle Johnson was. He was my first human captain on our ship. I was a proficient crewman on the ship, but through his will and spirit he made me want to be better. I was promoted to chief petty officer, and later to lieutenant. I’m a better Jacka because of him. When his ship was damaged in an ambush during the last days of the war, he got his dying ship out of the ambush zone and evacuated his crew. He stayed behind to destroy his ship so it couldn’t be captured. He died of his wounds, deep in space, alone, knowing he had saved his crew.”

  He nodded to Ramirez, who marched over to the
rifle detail.

  “Standby. Ready, aim, fire!”

  The percussion from the rifles was deafening.

  “Reset. Standby. Ready, aim, fire!”

  The crowd continued to watch as one more time he gave the orders.

  “Reset. Standby. Ready, aim, fire! Reset. Present arms.”

  As each warrior held his rifle vertically in front of his chest, a sorrowful sound came from the side of the formation. Namid then stood at attention and played Taps. As they listened, most of the humans fought tears, while others fought memories. When she finished, Ramirez softly issued additional commands to the rifle detail.

  “Order arms. Right, face. Forward, march.”

  Guns went to the podium to announce, “This concludes our ceremony for Commander Kyle Johnson. Thank you for coming.” He then performed a left-face maneuver and marched down the hill slightly behind the rest of the humans. He heard the Jacka walking behind him and resisted the urge to turn around and look.

  Short Blade returned to his room to change out of his uniform and into blue jeans for the flight to Earth. The sight of his sheets reminded him of a night he didn’t fully remember. What should I do about Flower? What if her father complains about his daughter being dishonored? What if I found her and married her? What if she wants nothing to do with me? He tried to push the thoughts from his head as he decided to just go to Earth, get Poland, and figure it out when he got back.

  He thought the warriors around the ranch seemed more interested in him than usual as he made his way to the shuttle. They were overly cheerful—almost to the point of laughing, he thought. They know I had the dancer with me! he realized. He continued straight to the shuttle, avoiding everyone. Namid was already there, waiting to go. Guns and Jimmy were completing the preflight inspection for him.

  “Thanks for getting the ship prepped for me. See what you can do with the Beater—but no test flights until I get back with Poland,” he told them. He could swear they were ready to start laughing, the way they were smiling. Does everyone know the dancer slept with me?