Chapter 19: Wolf-Ville

Baby Huey was the artificial intelligence controlling Messenger of the Gods, our station's shuttle. Drones helped pick the spot and a transporter pad provided our entry point—a few yards away was the den. My contact team was myself, three other humans, a wolf, a German Shepard dog, and a baboon. We had a floater with approximately a ton of cargo, too. When we emerged from the transporter pad I separated from the others and began bellowing the ballad called "The Minstrel Boy." I got to "One sword, at least, thy rights will guard" before streaks of gray fur slammed into me, staggering me. The wolves bayed in delight. Calgary, Nana and Fannie Mae all joined in.

The three humans were chattering. Dice—Candice Crossman the dog handling concubine went by Dice here—was talking with Georgia about the wolves howling that 'he is back.' Georgia was telling Ensign Williams that the artificial intelligences could translate wolf language to English. As the humans were chatting, the wolves were urging me to run with them to the village.

I ran.

The baboon was Fannie Mae and she had been trained to drive the floater. A floater doesn't have much speed—the wolves and I ran away from it—but it could carry a full-sized Confederacy Space Marine in battle armor or a ton of cargo. It was faster empty. The humans caught on and ran after the floater. Nana, the German Shepard with a high maternal instinct and nurturing ability, ran along with the North American wolf we called Calgary. For the record, we were somewhere in Islamic Europe in what used to be part of Yugoslavia. Call the village Wolf-Ville!

It was only a few kilometers, nothing at all for enhanced humans in peak condition. The militia had deployed in reaction to wolf howls. Overhead the nearly-invisible drones kept watch and I had video feeds—I wasn't able to track all of the defenders getting into position.

Good.

"Lawrence?" the speaker was a man with a white beard.

"I am T. E. Lawrence," I replied. "Peace, Sergei."

The old man lowered his even older Mauser rifle, caliber 7.92x57mm, the German service rifle cartridge in two World Wars. His Mauser had been made in the former Yugoslav Republic during 1947 and Sergei hated anything Russian. For a sidearm he carried an old Czech Model 50 pistol—a popgun 7.65mm Browning handgun—but it wasn't visible at the moment.

"Peace, Lawrence," Sergei said. "It has been a long time, brother."

"I have three missions, if you and the village council will accept them," I pointed at the floater driven by baboon Fannie Mae. "I have some gifts. I would like to cure your physical ills, if you let me. And my wolf Calgary is helping me ask for volunteer wolves to fight monsters in space."

"Is that a dog driving?" Sergei peered at the floater and the driver. "No, I see it is a baboon. Brother Lawrence, ten years ago I wold have thought myself drunk. Or insane. You brought humans and wolves together for mutual benefit. As long as we humans obey the Law, both wolf and human prosper. No vermin in our fields and gardens. No predators—other than humans. We did have to bury a few men from a gang that kidnaps and rapes children."

"I've taken care of them," I said. "In a few minutes I need to finish by turning my captives over to the proper authorities—along with a few other things."

Sergei chuckled.

"You always surprise me, and I know you well," Sergei said. "Just like those reverse rifleman positions—no rifle fire to front, but cross the line of death and get shot in the back."

"Ancient technique," I said. "Counter-scarp gallery. I missed your guys taking their positions in the counter-scarp."

Sergei's grin revealed missing teeth.

"Good," he nodded. "They aren't supposed to be seen."

"Tom!" the woman was accompanied by a child, a girl.

"Serena," I acknowledged. "How's Bill?"

"He's passed on," Serena replied.

"I'm sorry I missed him," I said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," Serena pushed the shy child in front of her. "This is Branimira. She's your daughter."

"Hello, Father," the girl said.

I can be surprised, too.

"Bill couldn't give me children," Serena explained. "I wanted a daughter. Fenster says that you are taking wolves to the stars. Would you take our daughter there, too?"

"What about you?" I asked.

"My place is here." I got that a lot. Many humans chose to remain on Earth even in the face of the Sa'arm—and being eaten. Serena's gift with animals was unbelievable—she was a committed vegan because she couldn't bear to eat her 'babies.' Serena motioned to Candice "Dice" Crossman and to Georgia. "Why are those two dressed as boys?"

"Camouflage," I explained. "Can't fool wolves—but this is a masculine world and if they look like boys they won't be treated like dirt."

"Serena is the only woman on the village council," Sergei remarked. "We're still in mourning for the last one and haven't elected a replacement for Head Woman."

"She couldn't live without her husband," Serena's words were enough. There are many editions of the Sacred Swill—or grape Flavor Aid mixed with cyanide and Valium, if you remember the events of 18 November 1978. Or the woman could have laid down and died—many American POWs held by the Chinese and North Koreans did just that.

"Still Speaker for Wolves?" I asked. "One of the things I can leave is a machine that will help wolf and human communicate."

"Thanks," Sergei said, "but we do okay. Besides, the last time Serena told me what Fenster really thought of me, I was humiliated!"

I presented a newly-replicated Mauser rifle to Sergei.

"This rifle and ammunition are far more accurate than your faithful veteran rifle," I chose my words with care. "This rifle is without defect. The ammunition is loaded to exact velocity—air temperature and how many shots you fire will vary the velocity, but if you fire one shot per minute you can hit the same hole at 100 meters every shot."

Sergei took the new rifle and worked the bolt. As with any experienced rifleman, Sergei made sure that the chamber and magazine contained no live cartridges. A smile split his beard.

"Serial number 007," he commented. "Smoothest action I've ever felt."

"And there are six more," I said. "You can fire fast enough when you have to—you can shoot two or three shots per second and hit close-quarter man-sized targets. Or you can achieve hits on people within visual range as long as they hold still for a second or two."

"I'll have to try this out, brother," Sergei said. "Most of the village militia wants the Kalashnikov. I hit my target more often with my Mauser at all ranges. They just make noise, waste ammunition."

The meeting with the village elders didn't take long. The were glad to see me, mostly. Fear. There was fear present. Some of that fear was fear of me—and much of it was fear of Serena. In earlier times Serena and I would have been burned as witches—if the wolves allowed. Speaking of wolves, several were in attendance. It had been a long time. I only recognized Fenster by the scars inflicted when Fenster dove through a plate glass window.

I laid out the plan: everyone in the village would be cured of sickness, made physically whole. Some of the wolves were coming with me. If the villagers allowed, all would be CAP tested—and could volunteer if they qualified.

"There are problems with the CAP test," I said. "I hope to expand the database by testing as many humans as possible. The Capacity, Aptitude and Potential test was developed using NATO servicemen as a data base. Do you see the problem? CAP testing was intended to identify good soldiers. I'm going to fight monsters."