Chapter 11

On the wrong side of the river on an unknown planet.

The small wolf watched the boy very intently from the edge of the elevated lawn near the step stones in the dawn light. First, Ureeblay retied his long blue-black hair so it would hang down over the front of his left shoulder. Next, he put on his quiver holding both his caster and his two lightweight spears. After that, the boy put his meat carrier over his head.

Now he had his left arm through the strap of the quiver as well as the woven, bowerbird grass cordage he'd used as a strap for the nicely heavy pork carrier. He made sure the woven mat food container was secured to his quiver. The boy adjusted the hang of the quiver back behind his left hip so the shafts of his spears were out in front of him. Once he was on his way he would rest his left hand on his spare spear.

He had already tied his woven belt around his waist with his travel pouch going down his right hip and thigh. He secured his sheathed flint knife on the left side of the belt with the horn handle sticking out away from his quiver. Ureeblay knelt down and got his pack frame basket onto his back. Standing up, he went up on his toes, lifting his heels off the grassy loam three times to bounce the weight of his pack on his shoulders and test the balance of his load.

He was pleased with how all his gear hung on his young frame. Ureeblay stepped his left leg out far in front of his body and then bent both his knees, crouching down to grab the rawhide strap of his water carrier in his right hand. Standing back up, he placed the squelching, small pig stomach full of water easily around his neck and put his right arm through the strap.

Ureeblay stood there for awhile in all his gear. He and the young wolf near the edge of the raised lawn just looked at each other for a few moments.

The boy was happy with the feel of the flat pigskin sections he had attached to the straps of pack frame. The wide hide cushioned his shoulders from the straps that had dug into his skin. Now that he had on all of his gear, Ureeblay hopped up and down again, this time with his toes coming off the ground. He liked how well the pigskin on the pack straps kept the weight from digging deep into his shoulders. Ureeblay noticed the small wolf tip her head left, then right at his actions.

The day before, he'd found he was comfortable walking long distances with a spear nocked into his caster. He carried the spearcaster downward in his right hand, resting the spear shaft in the crook of his arm. He would do so again today, ready to protect himself on his march. The honey-colored female wolf watched him as if she'd never seen him before.

Ureeblay tried to imagine how he could use some of the last of the pigskin to create another sling. Using cords made from the bison hair he'd gathered he would make a sling, he decided. He wanted another weapon to go along with his last two spears and his knife. Ureeblay realized he would need well-cured, soft leather for at least the pouch of that weapon—unless he could come up with another method to hold a slingstone.

He liked the idea of a vast supply of nicely round throwing stones close at hand as he got closer to the Toolie. Ureeblay knew he could hit what he aimed at with the leather sling his sire had helped him fashion out of a single piece of supple deer hide his mother had tanned. Also, the strength of his stone casts had been improving. He hoped his friends, Crosof and Achinay, returned the equipment he'd left behind on the bank of the Toolie to his mother, because that was where he had left his sling. If he couldn't have the use of his sling now, he at least hoped he'd be able to use it again, once he returned home from this adventure. That was the last item he had worked with his sire to fashion, and he would tan both of his friends' hides if they did not return it to his mother.

Ureeblay turned and looked over his campsite. The fire had been drowned in his nice fire ring and reflector. He was leaving a small pile of firewood back inside the little grotto for the next person who passed this way. Turning all the way around, the boy saw the young wolf was drinking from the pool. At least he had satisfied his thirst before he put all of his equipment on, the boy told himself. And, he did have the pig stomach filled with fresh water. With one last look around, the boy started across the lawn. Once he was down on the floor of the woods, he turned toward Father Sun, rising in the Morn.

Through the early bluish-purple light and cool clearing mist, he walked among the trees and bushes. He was keeping the creek several body lengths to his left. The banks on both sides had eroded down about knee deep from the surrounding land, exposing lots of rounded rocks, and gravel, sized down to sand. Here and there the creek washed past big boulders. One or two of the giants were easily higher than Ureeblay's head. The floor of the woods was a mix of small pea gravel; small, old sand bars washed downstream and deposited some time ago by very high water; grasses and patches of dark blackish-brown mulch turning into rich soil.

From time to time in areas of exposed dirt, Ureeblay saw the tracks of woods deer, ringed-tailed night-thieves, several tracks of maybe some kind of small weasel, and also the prints of the young wolf. All the other prints were two or more days old. Ureeblay knew any animal smelling the smoke of his fire last night and this morning would most likely give the scent wide berth. Then he saw a flash of honey-colored fur up ahead through the long shadows of early morning. The young female wolf bounded away from the streambed and across his chosen course with her pink tongue flapping out of the right side of her mouth.

Well, he corrected his last thought; any animal he didn't feed would stay clear of the smell of his fire.

Ureeblay shook his head, considering what he had just said to himself. He wondered if any other wolves on this side of the Toolie were anything like this juvenile example. He knew wolves were social beasts from listening to the hunters and the tales yarned by the storytellers. But why, the boy asked himself as he walked along a game trail through the trees and brush, would the young wolf even come close to him?

Other than the fact she obviously hadn't been eating very well, and he had given her food, and she was separated from her pack. Well, Ureeblay reminded himself—that, and when they first encountered each other widow-vines were squeezing her to death so the young wolf could not scamper away at the time.

After a few hands of silent steps, the boy decided the mystery of the skinny young wolf was going to be similar to his missing moccasins. But not knowing the answers to questions about where the wolf came from didn't seem to bother him nearly as much as not knowing or being able to figure out what actually had happened to his missing footwear.

The creek bed ran fairly straight as Ureeblay moved quietly through the woods. He was actually enjoying the weight of his gear on his back and shoulders, feeling the flow of his muscles move him along. He was closer to the banks he noted, as he admitted to himself that he was following a slightly winding animal trail. He now had a greater sense that the land around him was slowly dropping lower toward the river somewhere further on. He saw, just up ahead, the creek was making a short left turn because a huge, whitish boulder was sticking partially out of the creekbed and diverting the flow.

There was a deep pool on the upstream side of the stone behemoth. As he approached he heard two glugging splashes, so Ureeblay moved closer to the creek to see if he could determine the cause. If there were frogs in this creek ... well, he really liked roasted frog legs.

When he got to the pool created by the boulder and looked into the deep clear water, he could see some hand-sized fishes down near the gravel bottom of the creek. Four red-gills were flexing their fins slow enough to stay in one place near the ledge drop-off where the creek flowed into the deeper water. The boy knew fish understood that such a place was where bugs or other food would wash into the slower deep water from upstream. But the boy didn't think any of those fish had made the sound. What had caused those plops he had heard, hadn't disturbed the fish all that much it seemed.

Once around the huge blocking boulder, Ureeblay again found and started following the game trail through the trees. Up ahead the wolf was looking back over her left shoulder at him as if waiting for him to get closer to her. When he'd approached far enough for her, the skinny wolf started moving along at his speed. It almost seemed to him the wolf was acting as his lead scout. Now that was something to think about, Ureeblay told himself ... nah ... most likely the always-hungry juvenile wolf just didn't want to see her food carrier get too far behind her.

Ahead of him, up through the trees to his right and left, the boy could see more of the morning sky and fewer tree trunks. He figured his path was leading him out of the band of forest and he would begin moving out across the true valley floor soon. His plan was to follow this creek to the Toolie. Once at the Toolie he would turn right in the direction of the Warm, and move upstream because he wanted to find the place he had come ashore.

He had traveled down the river on the big log from mid-morning of the first day, all night, and until early afternoon of the second day. He remembered the river had seemed to be moving at a rate equal to a fast, steady hike during that first day. After that he had other worries and didn't pay attention to the speed of the deep currents.

And finally when the current had pushed the huge trunk near this side of the curving riverbank, he had fallen into water that fortunately was not over his head. He knew it was only by the spirits' doing that the fallen trunk he'd been on had a ring of roots sticking up from what had been the base of the tree, or he would never have had anything to hang onto in his panic. He was also happy the current hadn't cause the log to roll while he'd been aboard.

He had thought about it during his travels, and if he could find the correct-sized dry logs washed up on the bank, the boy thought he might be able to tie together an arrangement of logs he could then use to float himself back to the other side. He would need to find some kind of strong vines for lashing. The thought of strong vines made him shiver at the notion of the widow-snares. However, that reminded him to pay more attention to his surroundings as he hiked along with his second-best spear again nocked in his caster and held down along his right leg while resting the fletched shaft in the crook of his right arm.

He tested the air. Other than smells that he might expect near a creek in these woods, he didn't find any odors or even faint scents that caused him to worry. There wasn't much of a breeze in this part of the woods, which was thinning out as the trail followed the creek. The brush was getting higher now as more sunlight made it through the sparse canopies of the trees. There seemed to be more and different kinds of birds as he was leaving the main band of the forest behind.

There were still lots of big rocks and boulders distributed across the landscape among the trunks and scrubs. Some places the stones seemed to be piled on top of each other, over his head or even higher. Even though the boy could see in any direction about three spear casts on average, he still recognized there were a lot of tree trunks, bushes, and boulder piles where a predator could easily hide.

He could see the skinny wolf up ahead from time to time. Some times it seemed she would go off to the right, away from the stream, following some enticing scent or noise. According to the hunters and storytellers, a wolf's hearing and sense of smell were much more acute when compared to that of any of the people of the clans.

If by feeding the wolf, she would be his traveling companion for a while longer, well he decided that would be a good trade for her heightened senses. He wondered if she would warn him of trouble when it was about, instead of just disappearing to save her beautiful hide. Actually if she just warned him once but remained his traveling companion, the food she ate would be worth it.

When he did walk the now sandy trail closer to the creek, he was seeing more fish in the deepening water. Still, none were bigger than his hand. He was thinking a fine-sized fish would taste good this evening cooked over the sacred fire. If following the creek continued easy going, the boy figured he should make it to the Toolie by evening. That would be if nothing major were to occur along the way. For his mid-day meal Ureeblay decided he would finish the rest of his cooked bog apple while he walked to ensure reaching the river in good time to find a secure campsite for the evening.

Ureeblay had a good idea the wolf would eat bog apple because she had been sniffing around the base of the bushes when the vines of passing had struck. She better like cooked bog apple, because if the skinny wolf didn't eat the first small chunk he tossed to her, she wasn't getting any more, the boy told himself.

Soon Ureeblay and the creek left the continuous band of forest protecting the edge of the valley floor. There were still trees along the creek bank, with bushes and scrub growth and single stones and some rock piles. Up ahead through the thickening clumps of brush and several of the large trees on his right he could see a huge pile of boulders and stones rising to a height half as tall as the nearby dark trunks.

Ureeblay was seeing through the surrounding brush and trees the beginnings of grassy meadowlands a poor spear cast both to the right and to the left of the creek. The natural pastures seemed dotted with their own boulders, standing pink, gray, or white with stains of lichens on the sides. Those big stones were casting shortening shadows on the thick meadow grasses from the rising morning sun.

There seemed to Ureeblay to be three or four kinds of good-sized flowering stalks growing up in clumps amongst the thick green meadow grass. He caught glimpses of the plants through the tree trunks and scrub as he hiked along the game trail. Some of the tall plants had three or four lavender flowers each on a separate stalk. Another kind had pinkish-white flowers in vertical rows at the end of each stalk. And one type had big delicate white flowers.

He could sometimes see single, round yellow flowers on a calf-high stem jutting up from a base of spiky green leaves. Some of those flowers had turned soft white. He recognized the dandy-blows. Ureeblay knew for certain that the tender leaves of newly sprouted dandy-blows were good eating when stewed, especially if a piece of fat pork was stewed in with the dandy-blow leaves. Momentarily the boy perked up, after all he had hands of fat pork ... But he had no hide stewbag. Oh well, Ureeblay told himself, all of the dandy-blows he could see were much to well grown to be tender the way he liked his.

Then the boy remembered that he had heard whispers from other boys that the yellow flower balls could be brewed with other things to make a fermented drink. As a youngster in the clans, until he passed his trial of manhood, he was not allowed to partake of fermented drinks. That was a very strictly-enforced clan rule, especially by the Sisterhood of the Women. But what he wouldn't give right now, the boy told himself, to be where he could be scolded by one of the Sisterhood for anything at all.

Ureeblay could hear bird calls from up in the tree limbs overhead. His nose reported the scent of the creek and several different flower odors from soft sweet to a thick, peppery greenish smell. The morning air was fresh, and still a little mist-heavy in his lungs as he hiked along through the dappled shadows. He knew once Father Sun was full up, his warming rays would cause a riot of scents to fill the air around him as he hiked on to the Toolie.

Suddenly, up ahead through the trees he heard the small wolf growling. Just like that, his spearcaster was up and cocked back and he was in a throwing stance even with the unaccustomed weight and bulk of his new pack on his back.

Then he heard the growling again. Now what should he do, he asked himself? He could just continue slowly along this faint game trail. Along with the adrenaline, Ureeblay felt embarrassment blush up his chest, neck, and head. He had been traveling along this game trail complacently while he looked at flowers. Shaking that off, he wondered if he should take off his packframe basket for better range of movement if he needed to make a spear cast? He didn't even know what was causing the little wolf to growl.

The growling went up a notch and the boy heard a hiss of some other animal. The hiss sounded familiar.

He found himself slowly moving forward, ready to cast his spear if need be. His left hand was on the shaft of his best spear and ready to take it out of his quiver if necessary. There was a big, thick tree trunk ahead on the right, and close to that, some blocking bushes and scrub just to the left. The faint trail looked as if it crowded between the trunk and the bushes. Just out of sight from the other side of those barriers, he heard the growl again.

Ureeblay quickly turned his head and looked around. Behind and off to his right, a ways beyond a particularly big, tall tree, there in the leafy morning shadows was a high pile of huge stones. The boy realized the stack of different colored, smoothed granite boulders rising up out of the grass-covered sandy loam was the same pile he'd first seen a short time ago from up the trail. There seemed to be several dark openings in amongst the jumbled pile.

On the Cool side of the pile, he could see two huge boulders against a third, which was even bigger, maybe three times his height. He could see from this angle that there were lots of smaller boulders and rocks heaped up around that group of three. The stack of stones, it seemed to Ureeblay, was almost the shape of a squat teepee.

The two smaller boulders of the three caught the boy's attention. The two boulders formed a vee-like opening almost a good hand of paces deep that was full of shadows cast by the morning light. But unlike his grotto by the pool, there was no stone overhead. It might still be a good place to retreat depending on whatever the female wolf had confronted, the boy decided.

Ureeblay heard the growling and then the hiss again. The hissing noise didn't seem to be coming from an overly large set of lungs, he told himself. The idea of a smaller, unknown foe made him feel a bit more confident. He ever so slowly rounded the wide tree blocking the trail. Going off the trail to his right, the boy was aiming to put the pile of boulders behind him in case he did need to make a hasty retreat.

As he cleared the tree and a few green obscuring bushes he saw the skinny young wolf on the trail. Her tail was sticking straight out behind her as she semi-crouched ready to spring. In front of her a few body lengths away was a big, wet black, river skunk. Ureeblay's eyes followed the animal's single white stripe running from the top of its head and down its back until it split around the animal's bushy black tail. That tail was sticking straight up with the white tip pointing at the sky, which was not a good sign.

There was a partially eaten, hand-sized fish between the wet skunk's stocky, short front legs. The skunk's small, bright black eyes were gleaming with intelligence, or so it seemed to Ureeblay. The small mammal bared its dainty, razor-sharp white teeth at the skinny wolf.

"Hey girl," the boy said in a low voice, to let the wolf know he was coming up behind and beside her.

The last thing he wanted to happen was have the blistering, pungent, eye-watering stench of a river skunk blasted at him. He remembered the caustic musk would permeate everything—his hair, his breachclout, his travel pouch, his meat in the carrier, his bog apples in the woven-grass container inside his basket packframe. It would even flavor anything put in the pig stomach. And that was even if he wasn't directly the target. Ureeblay knew from experience that the black-and-white animals seemed to hit whatever they aimed at with ease.

Oh, yes... , he knew from personal experience if the animal's tail started to curl forward and then down to its head, even trying to run might not help. He and his friends, Crosof and Achinay, had all heard the hunters and storytellers say that the exceptionally tenacious black-and-white animals could stand on their front paws while looking at you. Then the skunks could flip their butts forward up over their heads to shoot their scent glands at whatever their eyes might be glaring at before their noxious attack.

However, until he and his two friends actually saw it and unfortunately discovered the attending catastrophic, smelly results, the three of them just couldn't really imagine any animal was capable of doing such a thing. At that time, the three boys could balance, feet to the sky and standing on their hands. Ureeblay could even balance for a good while and not fall over as his two friends did. Achinay had argued that he did not see how some old animal could do something he could not do.

Well, now Ureeblay knew that a river skunk could do all of that, and incredibly quickly too. He blushed at the memory, and that had happened when he was a youngster; just over two congregations ago.

The river skunk hissed again, and the young wolf growled.

How was he going to defuse this situation? Could he just slowly back away and leave the young wolf to her fate? If she were hit in her beautiful eyes, she would be painfully tortured by the caustic musk and be blind for several days. Also, she would smell so bad for two double-hands of days that she could be easily tracked, by even a small, tottering child. Some stories told of men going mad from the throbbing of their eyes and the inflammation of their soft tissues inside the nose, mouth, and throat.

Suddenly he was aware that after having saved the skinny, beautiful spirit wolf from the vines of passing, he didn't want to see her hurt in any way. A full-fledged encounter with a river skunk was painful enough for a member of the clan, but it was often fatal for smaller animals. That was why almost no wild animals but a wolverine would challenge a river skunk. But, the boy wondered, why was the young wolf acting like she wasn't going to give any ground?

Then he remembered that he and his friends had acted in a somewhat similar fashion when they'd been hit by the outer edge of a spraying. And they had even been told since they were old enough to understand words what one of the black-and-white mammals could do.

Maybe, the boy considered, young wolves had to learn things just as a growing child did?

Third Mission, outbound aboard the Federation space vessel DSE Glenndeavor, 2401 CE

The Terrible Twenty wasn't quite as bad as two days ago, for me. And PFC Vespa had been correct. I did suck-it-up better with my wives and G2 Henderson there, even if they showed-up right before the festivities kicked off. Luckily, they were wearing zippered, off-duty hoodies and were already in their tee shirts and shorts, carrying a gym bag and a daypack of clothes and Anika's gi, I guessed. But the three of them seemed to me to be bickering, maybe over who caused them to be almost late. I was standing in the front line with seven or eight Marines. There were four rows of Marines here for PT. The girls got on the end of the last line.

Again, I made it through without getting sick during or after the exercises, but it took a toll on me. From what I could tell from the times my head was turned their way, Anika not only didn't seem bothered by the intensity of the workout, she was obviously taking a savage glee in the proceedings. Juliet looked like I had felt my first time through this particular version of physical training: sweaty and nauseated.

Unfortunately, at the end of the T20 Beatrice was not as lucky as the rest of us. So Beatrice and Juliet hurried off into the locker room when PT was whistled to an end. I found out later it was so Beatrice could get sick in the head, while Juliet got to hold our sweet honey-blonde's hair out of the way and probably try not to get sick in sympathy with Bea Bea's heavings.

The Polka Fireball on the other hand bounced around on the toes of her now bare feet like a jiggling, top-heavy prizefighter in her gym shorts and undulating tee shirt. She was excitedly waiting for her new friend, Gunnery Sergeant Krychenkov, to start the mat workouts, I figured. I got my teenaged wife's attention and reminded her she needed to put on her gi for the next part of our training.

So the two of us went in to the locker room and changed out of our PT clothes. After a quick ultrasonic cleaning, in separate individual stalls, we got into our white sparring uniforms. We finished changing just as Bea and Juliet came out of one of the toilet stalls in the head, with my loving first wife telling Beatrice she probably wouldn't get sick from the T20 tomorrow.

After cleaning themselves in the locker room, Juliet and Beatrice decided they would start their defensive training the next day. Juliet informed First Lieutenant Shellbee of their decision as the Marine officer came out of a dressing cubicle in her gi. The attractive, tall woman in her white gi seemed to agree they needed to be in better shape so they could get the most benefit from working with Gunnery Sergeants Krychenkov and Moanauer, or whoever would be overseeing their training. Then we all went back out into the gym.

That is how Juliet and Beatrice ended up sitting against the bulkhead on the other side of the mats from me, in their zip hoodies and in tee shirts and gym shorts. Six or seven of the two dozen or more other Marines who'd attended the PT class also seemed willing to wait around and watch the festivities. I saw PFC Vespa and PFC Benson sitting and talking to Beatrice and Juliet. I also recognized another Marine who'd been on the military donk with Vespa and Benson; his name was Yalvay with the chubby cheeks. I recognized another of the other women soldiers in the compartment. I'd sparred with her once before; I think her name was Aspenhurst. The rest of the audience's faces were new to me.

Well, of course I recognized Gunnery Sergeants Krychenkov and Moanauer, and the First Lieutenant.

Now, wearing my clean gi and standing on the far side of the mats, I started clearing my mind and doing my breathing exercises while I did some stretches. The next time I looked over their way, Juliet and Beatrice were watching, along with the rest of the Marine contingent on hand. The two Marine NCOs and First Lieutenant Shellbee talked together and prepared to assess Anika's skill level before they obviously planned, in my mind, on working me over under the guise of teaching me how to better my existing martial arts skills by adding offensive attacks and stratagems.

Maybe I was just being my normal, paranoid ass-wipe self with that conclusion; but, I told myself, time would tell.

As before, Gunnery Sergeant Moanauer announced First Lieutenant Shellbee was to spar with the newbie, Anika, even though the Marine officer stood a full head-and-a-half taller than the younger woman. This time, Gunnery Sergeant Krychenkov had both women go to a big locker against the far bulkhead and put on headgear, a padded torso vest, and thin elbow and knee pads.

It was clear to everyone that NG Blaugelt was seriously cranked-up for the upcoming assessment. She was bouncing up and down and smacking her small fists together, and talking Polka-lish to herself from time to time as her head bobbed from side to side and a few stray, copper curls escaped her protective headgear.

Gunnery Sergeant Krychenkov said a few words to Gunnery Sergeant Moanauer. He watched Anika for a few moments. And then the NCO hurried over and got back into equipment locker. Returning to the center of the mat, Moanauer had both ladies put on the red sparring gloves that he had retrieved. The gloves were thickly padded on the knuckles and the backs of the hand, yet still would allow the wearer to get good grips on the parts of the opponent's gi not covered by their pads for throws or tosses.

When the match started everyone watching was startled when Anika immediately attacked the tall Marine woman who was able to block each part of the smaller woman's weird kind of flowing heel-fist-fist-knee combination. Anika's lightning follow-up hip-toss was only partially stymied by Shellbee's tall frame. The Marine officer pulled-off a kind of reverse ankle jerk on Anika by using her curled, trailing foot, just before her torso went over the Polka Fireball's top hip.

And that brought both of them to the mat in an ugly tangle with loud slaps against the padded surface.

My teenaged wife seemed to instantaneously levitate off the mat and back into a toe-bouncing posture as she circled the mat across from Shellbee. Anika's copper curls which now had managed to escape her headgear in larger numbers, bobbed around like crazy. The look of almost fanatical delight on my young wife's almost baby face shocked me.