Chapter 12

On the wrong side of the river on an unknown planet

On the faint game trail in the dappled shadows near the creek, the confrontation continued between the young wolf and the potent river skunk. Ureeblay watched as the small, honey-colored wolf would growl for a bit and then the wet river skunk would hiss and stamp both of its short front paws on the sandy loam on either side of the partially eaten fish.

The boy didn't have a clue how to save the young wolf from a possibly fatal experience if she continued to threaten the river skunk. It was certain he could kill the black and white animal with his spear, in fact he could pin it to the ground with the force his caster would generate. But that would only make things worse. The amount of musk the death of the tenacious mammal would definitely generate could most likely pollute everything in all directions for a good spear cast away. And anyway, Ureeblay had made a solemn vow to the spirits to never scare, threaten, or harm a river skunk again.

If Ureeblay had a large, old sleeping skin he never wanted to use again, he might be able to toss it over the river skunk before it got off an aimed shot. But most likely not, and by even attempting that, the varmint would be targeting him.

Then, breaking through his focus on the two animals and the dilemma facing him, the boy became aware of a distant rumbling. The sound was coming from over his right shoulder, from the direction of the meadowland just beyond the tree line.

Suddenly, a little further down the game trail closer to the stream, the boy witnessed two good-sized grass babbits dart through green undergrowth. Propelled along on their big rear legs, he watched as the fleeing marsupials sprang off the creek bank with their long, muscular tails straight out behind them. Momentarily splashing into the water almost at the other bank, the two leapers bound over the embankment and disappeared into the bushes. That shocked Ureeblay; he knew babbits did not like getting their soft fur wet!

The river skunk looked away from the young wolf to the direction of the meadow. The wolf looked that way too. The rumbling sound was growing. A buck jump-deer and then another bounded through the scrub and trees from that direction and cleared the creek with one mighty leap. Birds started flying through the trees and up into the mid-morning air loudly calling cries of distress.

Now the boy could feel the rumbling through his feet. What was happening all around him could only be one thing, Ureeblay realized with a shock.

Stampede!

The river skunk bit into the fish and, cocking its head and neck up as high as possible, lifted the dirty fish off the loam between the skunk's front feet. Then with flowing little bounces, the black and white-striped animal darted off the trail and past the boy, heading toward the pile of boulders. The small wolf looked toward the sound and whined. All around Ureeblay the approaching rumbling steadily increased. From the direction of the meadow, three more grass babbits shot through the undergrowth between Ureeblay and the upset young wolf.

As adrenaline hit his blood and fear wiggled down in the base of his brain, Ureeblay thought the action of the river skunk was a good plan. The huge pile of rock was much too high for whatever was coming this way to go over the top of the barrier, he hoped. The approaching stampede of animals would have to go around.

He whistled loudly at the small wolf and made a come here motion with his left arm and hand. Then he turned and hurried toward the vee opening between the big boulders just in time to see the river skunk jump up on one, two, three smaller stones with the fish lifted in front of its short front legs. Then the black and white animal scrambled across a small, flat-topped, moss-covered boulder almost dragging the dirty fish. The white tip of its bushy tail vanished into the dark opening of a den in the jumble of big stones piled up beyond the soft, green-and-russet moss carpet covering the rock in front of the den.

The boy got to the boulder walls forming the vee with the approaching thunder swelling around him. He rushed right to the back of the stone barrier. He could now hear the pounding of hooves coming from the direction of the meadowland on the other side of the huge pile. Looking around him, the boy saw there was a shadowed gap between the tilted irregular boulder on his right and the back stonewall.

With a quick look inside, he saw no evident threats in that dark hollow. He saw only sandy soil, some twigs and leaves, and the faces of rocks creating the space. This was a little cave just deeper than the length of his body and going back in between the boulders at the rear of the vee gap.

Ureeblay quickly leaned his spearcaster and spear against the big rock wall. Then quicker than he ever thought possible, he got his hanging gear from around his neck and onto the ground. He swung his pack frame off his shoulders. He put the pack into the gap as far as he could get it without going inside himself and leaned the pack back against the right wall. He moved his water and food carriers and then his quiver deeper into the hollow behind his pack basket.

The approaching rush of swelling thunder had Ureeblay feeling ready to jump right out of his skin and piss his clout. The boy turned and looked out between the rock walls just as the skinny wolf came up to the opening in the boulders with her tail between her legs. She stopped and cowered against the vibrating ground, looking around with frightened, almost bulging blue eyes.

Ureeblay fell to his knees and reaching back into the tiny cave, he got his hand inside his meat carrier. He brought out the first thing he grabbed, the fist-sized piece of bog apple remaining from breaking his night fast. He took a bite out of it and then held the fragrant, cooked delicacy toward the frightened young animal hoping to entice her to safety. He chewed three times quick and swallowed. A small part of him was amazed that anything could get down his throat with the dry feeling he had in his mouth. He hadn't tasted a thing but his own fear.

The level of noise was tremendous! Now he could hear bellowing of what must be bison. Looking over her shoulder for the cause of the threatening chaos the little wolf slunk up against the left stone wall a moment before she bolted toward the boy. When she got to the gap against the back stone face, she went right in the small cave opening and huddled at the back where she started to howl! Ureeblay could barely hear her over the all-encompassing thunder of approaching hooves.

Outside the little stone canyon, the sound of innumerable, heavy galloping bodies slammed through the brush, scrub, and smaller trees. There were cracks of breaking limbs mixed with the thunder of stampeding beasts vibrating the ground under the boy's feet. He could hear the screaming bawls of terrified or injured beasts.

Just beyond the opening vee in the boulder pile, there was a sudden pall of dust as dark shapes roared through the disintegrating underbrush and the crushed small scrub. The violent stampede flowed around both sides of the huge stone pile and away from the boy. Ureeblay was agog as he saw some of the hurtling bodies bounced off of the remaining tree trunks in the mad rush. The sandy cloud tossed up into the darkened air by the fleeing multitude as fleeing bison now completely obscured the creekbed.

Terrified, Ureeblay had seen more than enough. As he climbed into the remaining gap next to his pack and the walls of the cave, the boy grabbed his spearcaster and his best spear and pulled the other shaft out of his quiver. He put the shafts down on his left. The racket was so loud around him he could barely hear the small female wolf as she howled just an arm's length away.

The next thing he knew he was kneeling next to his pack with the shaking wolf in front of him inside the little cave. He could even feel the thundering roar through the sandy soil beneath him. The terrified, skinny animal pushed her head under his right armpit as she actually tried to climb on his thighs before she gave up and curled into a ball on the sandy floor of the stone hollow.

Ureeblay leaned forward over the shaking animal. He found he held the quivering little wolf under him and wished he had never left the terrace after killing the widow-snare. How long was this assault on all of his senses going to last? Would the rocks themselves fall down?

The amount of dust in the air of the small shelter was increasing. The boy reached out and managed to pull the pack frame toward him and the wolf. He tilted it back toward him and ducked his head under it as best he could. He let go of the wolf and covered his head with his arms.

The rumble and roar all around him continued. He found he had pulled the soft hide tie from his long black hair at the base of his neck. Now his hair was hanging around the sides of his down-turned face helping to keep out some of the sandy dust. Right below his chin was the head of the little wolf. She was curled on her side under his body and he was crouched over her on his forearms and knees. They both were trembling as the sounds of the stampeded filled their senses.

And the thunder and vibrations went on and on.

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

I was glad the meeting was over. As we filed out of the conference compartment, I saw First Lieutenant Shellbee and Major Luce were both waiting for me in the passageway.

"Walk with us," the Major told me and indicated I was to find my position near her right shoulder, between her and the First Lieutenant. I did, and within two strides, we were swinging along the passageway in the Major's distance-defeating, information-absorbing cadence.

"I want the two of you to know I appreciate your hard work so far," the Major told us immediately.

"And you, Mister Sitwell, are looking so much more regulation in your Uniform of the Day, which now displays your proper rating-grade blazes. I trust you have learned a significant lesson? Not that I have overlooked some of your less than acceptable levels of adherence to regulations and proper military bearing. Because after this situation is resolved, you are mine until the Captain orders you back to your original command. Know this, Mister: when all is said and done you will be a good deal more a Marine in body and mind than code monkey, if I have my way. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir, I do understand you, Sir. And, Sir, I have learned that attentiveness to my duty begins in my bunk on waking up, Sir. In addition, my attentiveness should not end until I close my eyes for sleep. Then, Sir, I should dream of myself as a Marine. Also, Sir, thank you," I told my commanding officer, meaning every word of it.

The Major sniffed the air of the passageway as we strode along three abreast, arms swinging, and she asked, "First Lieutenant, did you smell something there for a moment?"

"Sir, we may have passed through a barnyard there, momentarily. I know the perfect candidate if you want something mucked out," Shellbee replied.

"Not presently," the petite Marine officer said as two young Ensigns stood aside to make way for our passing.

"So now that all the truly nasty ordnance," the Major told us in a quiet voice pitched so only we would be able to hear what she was saying, "which we are aware of at least, has been secured, and we are beginning to get some kind of a handle on this plot and its possible goals—this is what I'd like for you to do while you continue conducting your searches for contraband inventory.

"I want you, First Lieutenant Shellbee, to make sure you give G5 Sitwell a complete tutorial he can study so he doesn't accidentally hurt himself with that Heavy he's been packing. Next, I am sure you have a good idea of what we could use from that contraband list. See those are collected quickly by your security detail."

Up ahead, I saw the first turn we'd taken the last time the three of us walked this way.

"Some of the items that are turning up leave me scratching my head. Mister Sitwell, you are nosey, intelligent enough, and have a decidedly unique outlook—figure out applications for items we might not appreciate as being useful in the short run. If you find time to tinker with things, be the devil's advocate in conversations with the First Lieutenant here. Argue why it would be in our best interest to take certain items as our own that we might otherwise not select. Apply your talents to help us adapt and overcome."

I was surprised when the Major turned us left instead of right when our march reached the cross passage. I'd never been down this way before. Not that I trooped around the Bridge Block for the heck of it.

"But I am also giving you permission, Mister, to return to some of your geek ways and see what some of this stuff might be able to do if cobbled together in the, ah, most interesting combinations. And as a reward for having surprised me in good ways on more than one occasion, if you see any contraband items that you lust after, feel free to acquire the appropriate number for your own uses. I will trust in your newfound restraint that you won't get greedy. But make sure to relay item descriptions and quantities to the paperwork boys. Got that?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" I said, in sync with our stride.

"Your buddy, Merch, asked me to see you got your choice of the pickings when we were discussing what might happen to the contraband earlier. He said something about you needing to increase the stores in your shit-hits-the-fan bags now that you have two wives and a, ah, friend to take into account."

The corridor we traveled had almost no foot traffic. Other than the expected compartment address stenciled on each hatch we passed, there seemed to be no offices or duty stations, evident by casual observation, along this particular section.

"Also, since NG Blaugelt, ah, or NG Blaugelt-Sitwell, and G2 Henderson are going to start their assigned detached duty with your team, First Lieutenant," Major Luce quietly told the tall Marine on my other side, "as investigating security agents, they too are going to need a weapon or weapons and proper ammunition secured in their quarters. However, determine if they have any real skills besides their weapons qualifications levels from basic training as soon as you can. Then get their weapons skills as close to Marine acceptable as possible in the timeframe we are working with here. Since I am sure, First Lieutenant, your team will be finding and recovering assault rifles, hand guns, and ammunition tomorrow or soon after; make sure the newbies who can handle it get fitted out in style ASAP. And make sure they are not then an accidental threat to themselves or any other crewmember.

"And see that Acting Lieutenant Commander Merchanni, the Captain, and I get updates at the end of your duty watch.

"Okay," the Major said, grinning as she looked ahead. "I'm done now. So get to it."

"Aye, aye, Sir," both Shellbee and I replied. That was all we said.

I walked into the Enlisted Lounge through the wide hatchway, securing my Heavy to my uniform belt. The First Lieutenant had transferred a complete, unlocked Heavy tutorial from hers to mine using a short data cable, as we stood in the passageway where the Major had parted ways with us. Then Shellbee told me she would see me at the beginning of our watch in my quarters and left me standing there. I was studying the tutorial on my Heavy while I walked along the passageways of the Ship until I arrived at the entrance to the Lounge

From the front hatchway I could see both sides of the EL, as us hipster geeks referred to the Enlisted Lounge. Both sides were lively with hubbub. With my quick glance it appeared each section held a mix of twenty or so off-duty crewmembers and a number of on-duty personnel as well, either relaxing some way or eating a quick lunch before they got back to duty. My system experienced a shot of adrenaline when I noticed on the bulkheads and the overhead several patterns of acoustical tiles exactly like the ones the First Lieutenant Shellbee, Arrbra Die Florrie, and I had found for dispersing the bio-agent.

Oh well, I told myself, I felt certain this entire lounge was checked for bogus tiles. Still, there were little squeaks in my lizard brain as my paranoid ass-wipe self couldn't decide if I should start trying to pry tiles off the bulkheads and check each one, or if I should gather up my ladies and run. Shaking off my PAW's irrational fears, I took a few deep breaths, and calmed down as I stepped inside the EL.

The Lounge was really one huge compartment with a bulkhead divider running almost all the way down the center that created two large section spaces. The left section held two antique foosball tables, two pool tables, two boileeo tables, two maglev puck tables, four card tables, and lots of three, four, six, and eight person tables and booths with comfortable chairs. The right section of the Lounge was set up with a small stage in the front right corner; a good-sized, wooden dance floor; a high-definition audio-holographic jukebox, which doubled as an amazing karaoke set-up; and more tables and chairs. There was also a closed hatchway that opened to the Enlisted Pub.

I knew there was an expensive digital drum set, several keyboards, and other musical equipment stored somewhere in or near the right section of the lounge. I'd been to a few jam sessions on that side of the EL. There were quite a few of the crew who could play various instruments. Some were very good. McCord, if I could believe it, claimed to be a good guitar player. Although no one I'd talked to had ever heard the proof.

I knew there was a huge, high-def holographic projector in the right side section, used for Video Nights. There was something about being around other people while enjoying entertainment that the designers of the Glenndeavor class ships realized was very important on long deployments and made accommodations to meet that need.

Along the back bulkhead of both sections was a food service bar available to both sections of the Lounge. There were always at least three Commissary Techs working behind the bar. Crewmembers could order sandwiches, salads, ice cream, an ever-changing variety of healthy snacks and appetizers, and a vast array of non-alcoholic beverages.

If you wanted to drink alcohol, you needed to walk through the hatch into the Enlisted Pub and drink there. Scheduled dances were the only time it was okay to bring booze or beer into the Lounge from the Pub. Dances were just no fun for a lot of the single members of the enlisted crew unless they had a drink in their hand, it seemed.

The Lounge never closed completely. Groups could reserve the right section of the EL for parties, off-duty club meetings, and things like that, while the left section remained open to entertain and serve 24 hours a day.

I saw Anika and Beatrice standing a few steps back from the big table our group used for cards. The table was near the back bulkhead bar in the left section of the Lounge where we always played Poker Night games. There was a crowd of eight off-duty folks watching the game. I saw two of QT's Code Monkey Team in the audience.

G3 Polly Doodlarr was a gawky, rust-haired young woman whose body was wide but skinny and of medium height. She had played poker maybe five times that I knew about on this Mission but always was here to socialize with the rest of us geeks. Her pale, gray-blue eyes and beak nose was set off by her fair skin that broke out on her chin at certain times every month. She had been onboard since the Glenndeavor was commissioned and she had several nicknames – Polly Wally Doodle, Pollywog, or Polymorphous – and she heartily laughed at all of them. She would laugh and tell us not to call her anything unless we intended to call her for polyandry.

G3 Bennitree Betts was a small man of Earth Polynesian ancestry. Of course everybody in the department called him Benny. He was an outgoing, funny character and got along with everybody. He was in a committed relationship. His husband, Jorge who was a G4 in Navigation wasn't on the Ship this Mission due to a family situation he was dealing with on his extended leave. Benny let everybody know that as soon as he made G4 and became team leader by displacing the sorry QT, the first watch CM Team QT would be renamed CM Team Jets.

Benny had a collection of early Earth media that rivaled mine. However, his porn was a lot more like-chromosome than what I watched. But we'd swapped a lot of old movies, music, and TV show files. He was really into old Earth radio broadcasts. Which I'd always thought was a fairly adhesive entertainment format until Benny suggested I put on the original War of the Worlds broadcast and listen to it in bed before I went to sleep.

With my eyes closed and the inner world of my imagination opened up, I started to understand what Benny had been trying to tell me about the days of radio. For my birthday last year, he'd given me a little, bubble drive with copies of all his radio stuff. For his birthday this year, I'd found during Glenndeavor's last liberty call on Sparzoff some long, fuzzy purple, blue, and pink knit, mohair calf-warmers at a crafts bazaar. I spray-glued them to a knee-high pair of boots I had seen Benny try on the day before, just a few stalls down from the lady selling the hand-knit products.

"There you go Benny," I'd told him as he pulled the fuzzy eyesores out of a cheap tote during his birthday party. "Now you've got your mohair boots."

"You god-damn motherfucker," he spouted, holding up the boots to the hoots of the rest of our geek and non-geek friends. "It was electric boots and a mohair suit asshole—when I become team leader, there is no-way I can wear these with Benny and the Jets," he moaned to me, shaking his head.

"So," he said, shaking his finger at me, "Jaym, you are the sorry breeder who bought these boots back on Sparzoff. I'll have you know, I went back to that bazaar the very next day after I saw these things—and they were gone, bitch! And now, just look at this! You've ruined them! I be wearing these around, folks will accuse me of killing psychedelic pussy cats!"

And then Benny had broken up laughing.

But Benny didn't laugh around the poker table. He admitted to everyone that he had a gambling problem; so, please do not even ask him to play. He could watch others play now, he'd told us, but he would go to the other side of the EL from time to time with Pollywog, or some other woman and dance to a few songs on the jukebox. Then he'd be back groaning at QT's bets and egging S.W. Mindenhall on to, "clean out those trash-playin suck-ahs."

Tonight I saw the table had the rules limit of five gamblers. Each one was concentrating on their cards or trying to read their opponents faces to come up with clues on how to play the cards they were holding in this particular game.

QT sat with his back to me as I slowly moved into the game room in my duty uniform. My blonde, pony-tailed, sex-bomb wife sat to his right. To Juliet's right was G3 DeShaine Dempler, Communications Specialist. She was a small, boyishly thin, studious young woman with almost white hair and pale-blue eyes. Many people mistakenly took her for an albino. But every three weeks or so, the black roots of her short hair would slowly begin to make themselves evident again until she went to the Ship's small Beauty Salon to have her hair color touched up. I could never understand why she just didn't have her hair roots zeldized so her hair remained that almost white color as it grew out.

Next to DeShaine was none other than G2 Randolph McCord, our resident rude, crude, and crusty dude of a Shuttle Repair Tech. I could tell as I got closer to the table McCord was half-ranting about something as play went around the table. I realized that I'd never heard anybody ever call him by his first name or by any nickname. He was just that annoying. The fifth player, G3 Pearson Amboy sat between McCord and QT. Amboy was black. He was a fit, bald—shaved I think—late-20s Propulsion Specialist from the Engineering Department. He'd cleaned my poker clock on several occasions. But, thankfully, he rarely sat at the table to play.

As I got closer to the table, I could see Juliet had the chip lead.

"I tell you, if any of you ever want to take a sightseeing trip out into the Big Black let me know," McCord said boastfully looking at his cards. "Hell, give me two cards."

I moved up between Anika and Beatrice, who stood a few steps behind QT. They both turned and looked up at me. On my left Anika grinned at me in an irritated kind of way and Beatrice looked sort of confused but happy to see me. Being near them again put a shot of horniness into my hardening cock. I hoped it was not my siren detector kicking in. But on looking around us, none of the crewmen near by seemed antsy, or was suffering increased respiration, or was checking-out my girls with hunger in their eyes and raw lust in their hearts. So maybe we were good.

"Yep," McCord said in an overly loud voice from his seat at the poker table, his round face making him look like he was on his way to being out of shape, as he tossed his two discards down onto three other cards already in the trash pile. "It's official. I can co-pilot a shuttle during planetary landings or take one out by myself for short in-system trips from ship to ship and such. They awarded me my Class Three B shuttle ticket yesterday."

There were a few half-hearted congratulations offered from around the audience. QT and Juliet said something positive to him. I even noticed that Will Toliver, another guy I knew from my department and who sat in at the table from time to time, actually patted McCord on the back and congratulated him as Toliver walked by on his way to the commissary bar.

QT dealt McCord two more cards and then put down the deck, picking his own hand back up.

"Got it first time I tested, too," the buzz-cut, brown-haired McCord told everyone in hearing range. "We're doing the last pre-survey maintenance work scheduled on planetary shuttles attached to my Bay right now. So anybody wants a ride-along when I do final in-flight checks on the next one, just let me know. I'm in Shuttle Bay One.

"My god, but Glenndeavor is one mighty-fine, big bitch," McCord said, with pride in his voice. "Don't get a real feel for just how big she is, 'til you're right up close to the hull in a shuttle. Of course, we stay inside the warp bubble so we can't get far enough back to see the entire Ship until we reach the first system—but—" And he shook his head with a wistful look on his flushed face.

"I am, once again... ," QT said, a smirk obvious in the tone of his voice as he looked at his cards, "good."

"Fold," Juliet said, reaching out and dropping her closed hand on the discard pile.

"How are you two ladies doing?" I whispered to Anika and Beatrice, tuning-out what was going on at the table. The two luscious girls leaned in from both sides, putting their wonderful, cushiony body weight up against my dark-blue, Class D uniform jacket.

Beatrice grinned and nodded up at me. She aimed a plastic straw between her sexy, full lips and took a pull on some creamy pink liquid from the large, iced, plastic cup she was holding up near the eye-popping chest of her light-blue, off-duty coveralls. Anika just sort of growled.

"McFucktard—" was all Anika said in a low-pitched, accented voice.

"He hasn't been rude to our beloved first wife," I asked, sort of pulling Anika's head to me as I moved my lips to her curly-hair-covered, right ear as Beatrice leaned even closer against me, I talked just loud enough for her to hear, too, "or either of you equally appreciated and admired women of my household, by chance?"

"He is, how you say – pointedly – ignorant I am standing here," Anika whispered back to me, and sounding to me almost a little miffed at McCord's lack of acknowledgement.

"Ah, my love," I found myself replying, "I think you want to say, he has pointedly ignored me. Yes?"

Anika gave me a gentle hip-check that pushed me deeper into the curvy side of Beatrice. Then my Polka Fireball rewarded me with a real, eye-twinkling grin.

"I must go all in," I heard QT say from the table, to a groan from several of the crewmembers standing around the game. I recognized them to be some of our regular audience and sometime players.

"Good golly, aren't you dangerous, now," DeShaine Dempler said cryptically from her seat beside Juliet. "And, just how much is that, QT? Ummm, just in case I want to call your bluff, I mean, your bet?"

"As you have, I am sure, been keeping a running tally of every one of your competition's generous stacks," QT snapped, making his words sound like an accusation about her small chest in his fake, Earth Indian sub-continental accent, "I doubt I need tell you; but I have nine and three-quarters credits worth of chips I am wagering.