Gray Panthers Captain Short Blade (16 page)

Central space dock, planet Glory

24 April 2129

Harve sat in the wardroom savoring the Earth drink coffee. The captain of the Vengeance was rumored to be addicted to it, especially with cream, and made it a standing order that there would always be a pot of it available. The day ahead was going to be a long one, now that the fabricator had been installed. Immediately after the fabricator had been installed he had directed the maintenance shift to make enough parts to build a dozen droids and then to assemble them. When they’d finished for the day, twelve droids were plugged in and getting their initial charge. Today, he would have the AI from the ship docked next to the Vengeance bring the droids online and assist in the installation of the Vengeance’s AI. When he finished his coffee, he headed to engineering to prepare for when the dayshift workers arrived.

The lift stopped at the engineering deck, and as Harve got out the lights along the ceiling went out. He waited a few minutes for them to come back on or the emergency lighting to come on, but when neither did, he reached for the bulkhead to feel his way in the dark. Just about the time he sensed the presence of someone else, he felt a paw slam into his face. As he flew backward from the blow he saw flashes of light and pain tore through his head. After landing on the deck he reached into his pocket for his button knife. Pulling it out, he hit the button on the handle and the blade slid out almost ten inches.

“The Libra wants to play, does he? Put the knife away, MO Harve, or we may not let you live.”

The Jacka’s use of his name and the fact that he was using night vision goggles sent a shiver down Harve’s spine.

“Libra, you will stop asking questions about supplies and things that don’t concern you. Devote your time to your duties. You’ve proved your loyalty to the Fire fleet and the League of Planets. The work you’re doing now is the reason you’re still alive.”

Harve hunkered down on one knee, ready to spring once he was sure of where the speaker was, but another assailant kicked him in the back of the head, causing him such pain he lost consciousness.

When he woke up he felt nauseated and his head was racked with pain—as was pretty much every other part of his body. He sensed he was being carried, and it made him want to throw up. Opening his swollen eyes, he felt more pain from the brightness of the lights.

“What’s going on?” he barely whispered, surprised by how soft his own voice was.

“Sir, we found you outside of engineering. We’re taking you to the medic’s station. You look like you got trampled by a herd of draft animals. The ship is on security one alert and the entire crew is searching for the lowlifes that attacked you.”

The junior engineer, hardly more than a kid, looked like he was staring at death itself as he spoke. Harve closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall back to sleep, hoping the pain would be gone when he woke up.

Harve opened his eyes and could feel that his face was wrapped in bandages. The light was low and he could smell the plants they grew there for medicinal purposes, along with the scent of strong cleaning oils. Looking through the narrow slits in the bandages, he could see that he was in the ship’s medical bay. He was bandaged from his head almost to his toes. He turned his head slightly to look around the room and was surprised that he felt no pain. Instead, it seemed like he was in a fog, unable to feel much of anything at all.

“Those were professionals that worked you over, MO Harve. My guess is it was League of Planets secret police. They hurt you every way they could without inflicting any major injuries. Do you know why they paid you a visit?”

Harve was finally able to turn his head enough to see that it was his captain who was talking. His voice sounded faint and tinny, like it was coming from a broken speaker.

“Sir, they were unhappy that we’re not following our instructions—that we aren’t recovering supplies from the Libra navy depots in the order we were told. Then they commended me for being loyal to the Fire fleet and the League of Planets before they knocked me out and beat the stuffing out of me.”

“You’re lucky. I’ve heard of them taking victims and keeping them awake while they broke bones for hours. The doctor said you have only soft tissue damage. You’ll be available for duty in a couple days.”

“What are we going to do about those secret bastards attacking me, sir?”

“Officially, you were robbed by incompetent crooks that were scared off before they got any of your valuables. Your button knife is under your pillow. I’ve established a security detail to make sure no one can sneak on board the ship.” Bending down close to Harve and speaking softly, the captain added, “I’d be surprised if we had less than a dozen secret police on our crew. Welcome to the Fire fleet, maintenance officer.”

The Beater, en route to planet Glory

24 April 2129

              Short Blade was trying to compare the sensor data to the visual screens as his home planet came into visual range. It bothered him that he couldn’t bring himself to trust the ship as he had in the past. That trust would have to be earned again.

“Central space port, this is Beater.”

“Go ahead, Beater.”

“I am Short Blade of the Claw Clan. Request authorization to land at Claw Clan Province. The Beater is my new ship. Please add it to your records.”

“Permission to land at Claw Clan Province is granted. You’ll need to register your new ship before your next departure. Welcome home.”

“Beater, when you got your updates from the Phoenix, did they include the location of my ranch on the north continent?”

“Location of the ranch and all locations frequented by the Phoenix have been updated in navigation control.”

“Thank you, Beater. Please take us to the ranch. Ensure that the entry into the atmosphere is as gentle as possible. I don’t want to take any chances with your hull repairs coming undone.”

Short Blade brought up the ship’s telemetry and monitored the status of all systems with suspicious as the Beater began entry into the atmosphere. There was no sense of motion, the inertial dampeners ensuring a smooth ride. Seeing the external hull temperatures rising, Short Blade began to sweat as he imagined the hull repairs breaching. When the external temperatures started to lower again, he released the breath he’d been holding and relaxed as the shuttle continued its descent through the clouds. Familiar landmarks soon became easier to spot in the early morning light. As the ranch became visible, Short Blade noticed that an area by the equipment shed had been leveled out and a new landing pad had been built. He dismissed any hesitation he had about using it when he saw Namid run to it and light up a homemade smoke pot. She then ran back about twenty feet, thinking she was at a safe distance. As the ship landed, she found herself on her backside, laughing from the excitement of watching the ship land and being blown over.

“That looks uncomfortable,” Guns said as he reached down and took hold of her right arm. Jimmy grabbed her other arm and they pulled her to her feet. All three of them watched the Beater’s ramp drop. Short Blade stood in the entryway, looking relieved, yet preoccupied.

“I survived. Is the shuttle ready for launch?” Short Blade asked, ignoring the pleasantries. “Jimmy, get in touch with Lieutenant Commander Poland. Send him all of our data on the Beater and tell him I want him to tear her down and put her back together again in conjunction with a level-one depot inspection. He’s the only one who knows more about the Beater than I do, since he did the upgrades on her. After I get a good night’s sleep, I’ll be departing for Earth to pick him up.”

“Can I come with you, Short Blade?” Namid asked. “I need to get veterinary supplies for the cows.” She worried that he was stretching himself to the breaking point.

“Yes, Namid, you may come with me—as long as you promise you’ll come back here when it’s time to leave,” he said with a half smile that Namid didn’t see.

“Boss, we have one other task to take care of before you leave. Commander Johnson. I was thinking that little hill east of here would be a nice place for a small cemetery,” Jimmy suggested.

The thought of having his body buried after his death seemed stupid to Short Blade. Jackas burned the bodies of the dead to free their spirit. But, he decided he would honor his friends’ superstitious nonsense.

“Have a hole dug up there tonight, and in the morning one of you can officiate the ceremony to bury his body. Namid and I will depart afterward.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so Short Blade headed for the house and the promise of sleep.

“I wonder what the odds are that he returned safe, with only field repairs done to the ship? I bet he had a level-ten pucker factor when he entered the planet’s atmosphere. Why’d he risk it, do ya think?” Jimmy asked Guns.

“If some of the council members knew that he’d recovered the Beater, I’m sure more than one of them would try to grab it for the Fire fleet, or for themselves. No doubt galactic law has all types of loopholes to screw over someone that tries to claim a derelict found in space. Dollars to donuts, he’s going to register the ship here on Glory by making a person or two rich. If I were you, Jimmy, I’d get right on sending that request to Poland, along with the data for him to review, in case he accepts the offer.”

“I’ll use the communications center on the Beater,” Jimmy replied. “It’ll easier that way to pull up all of the specs to send. Namid, before you leave in the morning, I need to give you a list of vital supplies to bring back from Earth.”

“Sure, Jimmy. I’m sure you’re running low on Jack Daniel’s by now. Okay if I check out the ship?” Namid asked.

“That’s fine,” Jimmy said as he turned to walk toward the ship. “Just stick with me. We don’t know if there are any surprises.”.

As they entered the Beater, Jimmy remembered that it was still a warship. .

“Beater, this is Namid. She’s our new medical officer. She’ll need open access to the ship, especially if the command ‘repel boarders’ is given. Will that be a problem?”

“Hello, Jimmy. Adding Namid to the ship’s access roster is not a problem. The request will need to be confirmed by a ship’s officer, though,” Beater answered.

“Go ahead and comm Short Blade. He’ll authenticate the request. Come on, Namid, let’s get it out of your system. The Beater’s a good size for what we do, but it’s still a small fish in a big pond. Maybe the next time we’re near Earth I can get you on one of the big ships, like the Nike or the Bia.”

Jimmy walked Namid through the ship at a brisk pace, pointing out areas of interest. When they got to the flight deck, he sat down at the sensor operator’s station and brought up communications to draft a message to Poland on behalf of Short Blade.

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.