Chapter 11: Snakes

The three types of Army fools are plain fools, damned fools and volunteers. Good thing I'm Confederacy Navy now. I had three assignments in a 15-hour period in the center of Florida: talk some foster care centers into letting me have their orphans, working with a wild animal park and their big cats, and attending a service of snake handling Christian fundamentalists.

"While you're on assignment," Lilith told me in the ready room, "I want a golden sword like this."

'This' was a Cold Steel edition of the World War Two Smatchet. The "made in South Africa" blade was 14 inches long instead of the 10 inches of the original Commando side arm and weighed in at 21 ounces by my scale. The balance point was roughly 3-1/2 inches in front of the cross guard. Many people would have called this a knife—I call it a short sword. The leaf-shaped blade was almost three inches wide at the widest part and it was about a quarter inch thick. The sides were flat—unlike most of the other two dozen swords in my collection. And my Smatchet was one of 15 short swords, plus I had other edged weapons including axes and knives. I'm not including machetes though they, too, could be regarded as poor man's short swords. As Lilith glided away I thought about her order—and decided that she couldn't have meant a sword made from gold. I didn't think we had that much gold and a gold Smatchet would weigh something like five pounds if not more—and wouldn't hold an edge. Five editions came to mind as I handed the Smatchet to Mary and stepped through the transporter: a direct copy in the same steel, a stainless steel copy, a carbon fiber copy, a ceramic copy and a titanium copy, all in anodized gold with gold colored handles. I could program five replicators to produce the copies. I did, in fact—I had programmed the Smatchet into a replicator already. It was just a matter of fiddling with the parameters, something I could do on the fly in less than a minute. As I oriented to my new surroundings I thought about rigging those swords to function as a stinger or to mimic the force blades used by the Sa'arm.

This mission required that I wear a business suit complete with tie. Shoes and all—I remember when Florida was either backwards backwoods or retirement communities. The wild places still exist and are perhaps too wet for even the Sa'arm. That's the rumor, anyway. The Seminole didn't sign a treaty with the USA until the Sixties—the area was so wet and wild. Now Florida was wild big cities. Back in the Sixties many girls in Orlando didn't own shoes. Now Imelda Marcos would be jealous! There are several shoe factories right in Orlando.

And orphanages. Unfortunately we humans have children—and then abandon some of them, just like we humans abandon puppies. In the past I could barely take care of myself—either I was "property of Uncle Sam" or wasn't able to find employment in a tight job market. Now? The Diaspora permitted taking "concubines," human slaves, to the stars in limited numbers. The CAP score determined how many: I was allotted eight on my own. My dance card wasn't full—but the loop-hole was that sponsors were permitted an unlimited number of dependents. Mary Popov and Tess were taking care of the bookkeeping on that for me since our households merged. My first mission was meeting with a dozen people responsible for foster care in Central Florida. The Confederacy had a rather relaxed method of adoption—if the person legally responsible for a child age 13 or less stated that the child was transferred to the care of a Confederacy citizen for the record, the AI recognized that child as the sponsor's dependent. So far I had collected over 250.

The first meeting took place in a party room at a multiplex movie house—it was an early lunch. There were six men and two women present—and four children. The restaurant was located in a 'gun free zone.' We were protected by a little sign at the entrance. There wasn't even an unarmed security guard. Ah, the faith we savages have in magical symbols!

Eight orphan homes were represented. It was going to be a sacrifice for the staff of those homes. They were paid a lot of money by the State of Florida to house, feed, clothe and educate those homeless minors. Frankly, I thought I was wasting my time—and theirs.

"There's more to being a sponsor than fornication and fighting," I began my presentation. "We humans are preserving our culture, our civilization. The Sa'arm are coming. Right now we cannot stop them—slow them down some, but the Sa'arm will get through." I sounded like an air warfare prophet of the Thirties! "Earth will be a battlefield. I intend to take as many children to the stars as I can."

The party room had a glass wall and that wall turned gray, masking the magnificent view of a landscaped parking lot. Yeah, architects sometimes lack taste! Parking lot! How scenic! I recognized the interdiction field as it cut off the view. An extraction was in progress. There was a science fiction film festival in progress in the six auditoriums. Talk about bad timing. A moment later two huge Marines in battle dress burst into the party room.

"Lieutenant Lawrence, Confederacy Navy, Targeted Extraction Group," I identified my self. "When you give me permission, Corporal, I'll present my credentials."

What a day for an extraction!

"Does anybody here want to be extracted?" the corporal asked. "If so, present your CAP cards. No? Okay. Any weapons, place them on the table. Lieutenant, you're exempt, of course."

I felt my ears grow hot. The nature of Targeted Extraction Group operations required that sometimes I leave weapons behind. Often I had to work naked. Today was different—of course. I got to wear clothes because that was 'conduct expected' for my extraction target. Even my presentation graphics had been edited so that I would be able to avoid being charged with kiddie porn crimes. 'Protect the children' is the battle cry of every despot who seeks to control adults. It works.

"We're moving the few children in here," the corporal said. "There are things that young eyes don't need to see."

Now I regretted leaving the dogs behind. Nana was very good with children—even when their initial reaction was fear, Nana calmed them down. It was one of my secrets—animals. Many traditional cultures used dogs as baby sitters. Yes, I am prejudiced because I was raised by wolves myself. In a few minutes there were twenty frightened children—plus the four that had accompanied the staff from the foster homes. So I began telling stories of the children in my colony and their animal friends. I had a visual aid, a virtual screen, and was able to show some of my four-footed friends—and clothed kids. Give the worried something to focus on—don't scare the adults.

"Lieutenant," another Marine signaled from the door. "I need to talk to you, sir."

The sergeant in charge of the extraction told me that several of the children were being abandoned by their parents. The parents were now concubines. I'm afraid I was judgmental—at least I had enough sense to keep my trap shut. I have a low opinion of parents that will just dump their children. No wonder they didn't make sponsor-grade! None of my own biological children had been born yet—but I wouldn't abandon any of my adopted children.

"I am here to adopt children," I said, "orphans. I have a safe place for them to grow up. Yes, I'll accept them. I have the resources to pick up any other child belonging to extracted concubines. Just give me their addresses, their names, and record the parents giving me custody."

One of the men asked me if I was a pedophile. I wanted to hit him—his question was more of an accusation.

"Please, sir," I said in a coldly controlled voice, "exactly what you mean by pedophile. Be specific. Be thorough so that I can comprehend your definition. No answer? I have access to more than a hundred adult women who are sexy beyond belief. Or are you a pedophile yourself, sir? May I see your CAP card?"

I didn't see that card—if he had one. My pre-mission research didn't tell me who had a CAP card among the foster home staffs. I was limited to "need to know" just in case one of Earth's governments seized me and squeezed me for information. Confed conditioning should have protected that information—but the Targeted Extraction Group operated on old human information security principles. I was angered by the accusation—the implication of abuse. The accuser wilted.

It didn't matter. The extraction took just thirty minutes and then the interdiction field was gone. I wound up with another 42 children. Usually anger will have the effect of alienating people. This time it seems to have convinced the foster care reps that I was serious about taking care of their charges. I accompanied the children to space and returned to Earth for my next assignment.

That evening I drove to a wild animal park that billed itself as "we ain't no zoo!" My contact was Doctor Jodi Sergeant. Doctor Sergeant was in her nineties and had been a veterinarian for over sixty years—she had become an animal doctor before it was fashionable to be a professional woman. I don't think I was as spry and active as this little lady before I was rebuilt in a medical tube.

It was obvious to me that the animals in the park loved their human mommy. I met six other women—two were introduced as Doctor Sergeant's apprentices—her FORMER apprentices. Both former apprentices had their own apprentices. I wasn't the only person needing a spread sheet to track my "family." There were more than three hundred animals in the park—plus about two dozen care taker staff. I met with just the apprentices of the former apprentices ad Doctor Jodi. The first thing I set up was a transportation portal. As usual I mounted it on the wall—they can be mounted on any surface but I like vertical better. When it turned silver I realized that it wasn't Confederacy technology. Confed transport pads are black when active. This one looked like a shimmering mirror. Two semi-nude warriors stepped out carrying gold Smatchets—and gold bucklers, wearing gold helmets and gold sandals. I recognized Boo on the left—she held her Smatchet in her right hand and her buckler was in her left. Cor was on the right, with a golden Smatchet in her left hand and a buckler on her right. Both were decorated in body paint and gold jewelry. I didn't have time to admire their muscular bodies or evaluate their decorations more because Lilith emerged from the shimmering silver surface wearing a flat-topped hat or helmet and carrying an ankh in one hand and a flail in the other. I was surprised, but not too surprised to snap to attention and render a hand salute. Yes, I was in soft clothes—not a uniform—and had no weapons—but I rendered honors as best I could.