"It's great they are having fun, have they done anything useful? Except, they did already determine our biology is compatible with the native life." I was intrigued. "How did they do that so quickly?"
"They used a Thuranin scanner that is designed to do just that; tell the Thuranin whether a planet's organisms are compatible with their own. Since human and Thuranin biology both use the same basic types of sugars and proteins, it was simple. And the science team has helped us validate that the caverns are suitable for us, you'll see, we've explored two major caverns here," he pointed to two caves. One had a large, arched opening, the other cave's entrance was narrow and tall.
The extra gravity was weighing me down already. It was damp, chilly, with dark gray clouds overhead, and it had just started to rain. This was going to be our home, for months. Fantastic. “Let’s get inside,” I suggested.
Skippy made contact, of course, at 0224 hours on our sixth day on Newark. He had told me it would take five days for the missile to deliver our end of the microwormhole, and I had waited anxiously for a signal from him all the previous day. Anything could have gone wrong up there, if Skippy didn't contact us, we would be stranded on Newark, and never know what had happened to the Flying Dutchman. After sitting up waiting for a signal on my zPhone, until well after midnight, I finally laid down on my cot and went to sleep. Skippy's muffled voice came out of the zPhone under the rolled-up jacket I was using as a pillow. "Ugh," I pulled the phone out, glancing at the time code in the upper right corner, "hi, Skippy," I whispered.
"Hey, Joe!" He shouted.
"Skippy!" I said in a harsh whisper. "People are trying to sleep here. Everything Ok up there?"
"Oh, sure, Joe, everything is wonderful. I'll tell you all about it. First, I-"
"Great. Everything is wonderful, so this can wait until morning, right? I'll talk to you then," I said through a jaw-stretching yawn.
"What? I want to talk-"
"Good night, Skippy. This biological trashbag needs sleep."
In the morning, Skippy was initially peeved at me, then he quickly cheered up. The missile had arrived on time the previous day, then Skippy had to maneuver it into position, release the microwormhole and test it. The Flower, with the two dropships, had arrived safely back at the Dutchman, and Skippy was busy taking the ship apart. He was extra chatty after being out of contact, and he wanted to see everything. After a quick breakfast, I gave him a tour of the caverns. Major Simms was in the back of the main cavern, still getting our small mountain of supplies unpacked.
"Good morning, Skippy," she said. "What do you think of our beautiful new home away from home?"
"Oh, it looks great, you did a great job, looks very cozy," Skippy said. "Major Tammy, are you sure you want to trust Joe in a cavern you fixed up so nicely? He's not the best houseguest, there have been incidents."
"Ha!" I laughed. "Like what?"
"How about the time you thought your neighbor had a solid gold toilet, and it turned out you peed in the guy's tuba?"
"Skippy!" I laughed. "That never happened," I explained to Simms, who didn't look entirely convinced.
Skippy snorted. "Oh, sure, if you say so, Joe. That guy's still mad. You need to remember, tequila is not your friend."
I sighed. "Ok, maybe it did happen, in my defense, there was a lot of tequila involved, I don't remember that day at all." As far as I know, the whole tuba incident was a story somebody made up to embarrass me. On the other hand, everyone in my hometown knows that story, so maybe there was some truth to it. “There are no tubas down here, Skippy, I think we’re safe.”
“Hmmm,” he said, “might be best to set up a litter box for you, just in case.”
Simms had done an outstanding job of getting two caverns ready for human occupation. Cots were set up for sleeping, with tarps separating groups of cots so people had some privacy. There were tables and folding chairs, although not enough for everyone to sit down and eat all at the same time. Lights were attached to the ceiling, each of the two caverns would be getting a field kitchen; meals would be less fancy than what we had become used to aboard the Flying Dutchman, but we would not be surviving entirely on MREs after the first couple days.
Conditions were not harsh, I was not concerned about survival, or people’s health, even if the planet was chilly, damp and generally unpleasant. I wasn’t even that concerned about the inevitable boredom. The science team had plenty to occupy them; studying Newark, and going through the mountain of data we had collected on the voyage so far. The special forces would no doubt be using Newark as an opportunity to train in a heavy gravity, low oxygen environment, and to gain additional experience with powered armor suits. Keeping the pilots busy would be more of a problem, we hadn’t been able to bring down any type of slight simulator gear, so they would have to make do with flight manuals. Some of the pilots, and special forces, had already volunteered to collect samples for our biologists, I needed to encourage that spirit of teamwork.
After a mostly decent first night of sleep, when I got used to my cot, and the heavier gravity, I awoke early. Tiptoeing across the cavern, carrying my boots, I got a cup of coffee, and went outside to sit on a rock and put my boots on. It didn’t surprise me at all that Sergeant Adams appeared silently behind me. “Where are you going, sir?”
Taking a sip of coffee, I said “Nowhere special, Sergeant. Just up to the rim, so I can get a view of our cozy little canyon here. Hoping to see a sunrise.” That last seemed unlikely, the sky was mostly clouds, and from the wet rocks outside the cavern entrance, it had rained again overnight. The science team was trying to figure a weather forecast from the satellite data, they weren’t confident of understanding Newark’s climate that well until we reconnected with Skippy.
“No one goes outside alone, sir. Commander’s orders.”
I had given such an order, through my XO. “Sounds like a wise commander.”
“Jury’s still out on that one, sir,” she said with a grin I could barely see in the dim light, “he’s doing Ok so far.”
“You ready?”
She held up one foot, for me to see her boot. “Always.”
Because Adams had landed with the first wave, on the very first dropship, she knew her away around. The canyon wall was steep, especially near the top, without Adams it would have taken me forever to find my way up to the canyon rim. Someone had scouted a route to the top already, there was a rope to hold onto for the final climb to the top, it was less steep than I expected.
There was a glimmer of light on the eastern horizon, the satellite view from my zPhone screen showed patchy clouds overhead, solid cloud cover with rain to the west, and slightly less clouds to the east. It was possible I could see a sunrise, my first morning on Newark. That, I would take a good sign. “Hey, S-” I began to say.
“Sir?” Adams asked.
“Nothing,” I said, embarrassed. “I was about to ask Skippy for a weather forecast. It’s automatic by this point.”
She nodded. “I know what you mean. On the ship, I can’t get away from him. Now, I miss him already.”
“Me too.” We sat silently for a while, watching the light grow as the local sun approached the horizon. With the increasing light, I could faintly see figures moving about on the floor of the canyon below us. The SpecOps team commanders had asked me for permission to run early in the mornings, I ordered them to skip this first morning, until we could scout the area on foot in daylight. It didn’t surprise me they had gotten up early anyway, to exercise in the canyon. Inevitably, some of them were going to climb to the canyon rim, and the silence would be disturbed. Before I missed the opportunity, I cleared my throat. “Can we talk for a minute?”
She turned to look at me, in the predawn darkness, her face illuminated only by the glow of the unseen sun. “If you are going to tell me you think I’m cute, I already know that. Also, I would punch you. Sir.”
“Uh,” I said stupidly, not knowing what else to say.
“Other than that, I co
uld use someone to talk to also,” she added, saving me further embarrassment.
“Why did you come back out here?” I asked quietly.
“We’ve already had this conversation, sir. Skippy saved our whole planet, and we made a deal with him-”
“No, Adams. I made a deal with Skippy. Not humanity, not America, not you. Me. I needed to go back out with Skippy, and we need enough crew to get his magic radio. That doesn’t mean you needed to come along on this fool’s errand. You’ve done enough.”
“Marines never quit, sir. And we don’t stop until the mission is done. This mission isn’t done, unless I missed a briefing along the way.”
She wasn’t going to answer my question, not really, so I tried to change the subject. “Why did you join the Marines? The truth is, I joined the Army because I wanted to get out of my home town, and because my father served. What I figured was, I’m in for a couple years, do my duty, get money for college. When they rotated us back from Nigeria, I was hoping to stay stateside for a while. Then the Ruhar hit us. Screwed up all my plans.”
“My mother was a Marine,” Adams explained.
“I didn’t know that,” I said. That fact was probably in her personnel file, which I didn’t look at. Hadn’t needed to look at.
“She was a sergeant also. When she finished active duty, she went into the reserves for eight years. After the Ruhar raid, she volunteered again, when we came home, she was working security in Norfolk. My father got a job in the area, they’re doing all right. When I told her I was volunteering to go back out, she didn’t try to argue with me. My father did, not my mother. She assumed all along that I was going back out. Back out, until the job is finished, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” The problem was, this mission might never be complete, unless it involved Skippy leaving us, and the Dutchman stranded in deep space. “Did your parents believe your cover story?”
“No. They didn’t say it, I could tell.”
“Same here. They knew not to ask. My father,” I laughed, “wanted me to write, or something.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d do my best.”
“You can’t ask for more than that, sir.”
“I’m worried that somehow I’ve used up all our luck out here. This mission has been nothing but bad luck so far.”
“Skippy says there is no such thing as luck,” she reminded me.
“Skippy says a lot of things,” I cautioned her. “He doesn’t always know what he’s talking about.”
“I have faith that we’ll get out of this, somehow. That you will get us out of this, somehow, and get us back to Earth.”
“Oh, great. No pressure on me, then.”
“If you didn’t want any pressure, sir, you shouldn’t be wearing those silver eagles,” she said. “Hey, look, sun’s coming up!”
And so it was. There were patchy clouds on the eastern horizon, enough that we couldn’t see the full disk of the local sun. We could see enough. “Skippy also says there are no such things as omens, either. I think he’s full of shit about that. This,” I pointed to the sunrise, “I’m taking as a good omen.”
By the end of our first week on Newark, we had settle into a routine. Each morning, I got up early, meaning 0530, to run with a SpecOps team. To avoid playing favorites, I joined a different team each morning. By two weeks in, the teams had started to mix; Smythe, Chang and I wanted the teams to learn from each other, and to bond as one team, not by nationality. Waking up at 0530 was a luxury, the sun didn't rise over the horizon until around 0600, and I didn't want people stumbling around in the dark, unless we were specifically conducting night training.
That morning, I ran with a mixed team of SEALs and French paratroopers. As usual, I was dragging in the rear, although it was encouraging that after a ten mile run, I finished only a hundred yards behind. It rained the whole time, I was eager to get out of my wet clothes and put on something dry, if not completely clean. Laundry facilities on Newark were rudimentary, despite the best efforts of Major Simms. "Oh, man," I said with a shiver, "now that we stopped running, I'm chilled to the bone. Anybody want a hot chocolate?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. These were super-fit soldiers and sailors who just finished a hard training run, not little children playing in the snow.
“That sounds great,” Lt Williams said, to my surprise, and other people nodded general agreement. Since our little talk in my office, I had warmed up to Williams, although Skippy was still suspicious, and referred to him as Baldilocks.
We got hot chocolate made, from a mix of course, and not as good as homemade. It was hot, it was chocolaty and it was better than being outside in the rain. Other people wandered over to join us, including Sergeant Adams. It became like an impromptu party, only it was early morning, and we had cocoa instead of alcohol.
Williams lifted his mug and asked, "hey, you think maybe before they decided to sell a hot chocolate mix as 'Quik', did they test market a product called 'Slow'?"
I laughed. "For when you're not in a hurry?"
"Yeah," Williams said, "like, they give you a cocoa bean and a stalk of sugar cane? You make your own cocoa powder." That drew a laugh from the group.
"Do-it-yourself hot cocoa?" I asked. "My father used to joke about our neighbors who bought a do-it-yourself kit for a full set of oak furniture, cheap."
"What's that?" Williams asked.
"For ten dollars, you get," I said while laughing at my own joke, "an acorn and a saw."
That got a big laugh.
"Waiting for an acorn to grow into an oak tree, would still be faster than some contractors out there," Williams said sourly. "My parents gave a contractor a deposit to remodel their kitchen, back before Ruhar raided Earth. So far, all he's done is tear out half the cabinets and disappear. That's why I really came out here," he added with a grin, "the contractor is apparently not on Earth, so I figure he must be out here someplace. I'm going to hunt him down and drag him back to my parents' kitchen."
“Yeah,” I said, “I know what you mean. My uncle hired a contractor to build an apartment above his garage. The guy tore the roof off, covered it with a blue tarp. Then he had to wait for some supplies, then he hurt his back, or some crap like that. When it got to be November, the tarp started leaking, my uncle said screw it, and called my father and me. The three of us worked nights and weekends, including over Thanksgiving. Working in a garage with no roof, in late November, made me want to punch that contractor, if I ever met him. Anyway, it rained all Thanksgiving weekend, we had a roof on by that time, but no heat in there. Reminds me of the weather on this miserable planet.”
"Hey Joe," Skippy said from the zPhone on my belt, "look on the bright side. With this cold crappy weather, you don't need to worry about having a beach body this summer."
"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, "that's what I was worried about."
"You know, all that shaving, and plucking and waxing," Skippy mused.
"Skippy, it's none of your business what the women here-"
"Oh, I was talking about you, Joe."
"Very funny."
"Hey, that reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you, Joe. Why do you shave down there in the shape of a lightning bolt? Wouldn't a question mark be more appropriate for you?"
"Lightn- I don't shave anything!" I protested as people began laughing. Adams slapped the table, and had tears rolling down her cheeks she was laughing so hard.
"Question mark-" Adams gasped, she had to hold the table not to fall off her chair.
"Oh," Skippy said innocently, "shoot, sorry Joe, is this one of those privacy things you talked to me about? Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Skippy said, in a cavern full of people.
"I don't shave down there," I said through gritted teeth. If I could, I would have strangled that beer can right then.
"Aha, Ok, got it. Riiiiiight, you don't."
"I'm serious, Skippy."
"Um, I'm getting mixed signals here, Joe."
"Can we drop the subject?"
"What subject? See, I can be discrete."
I looked around the compartment at people who were having a great laugh at my expense, and trying to avoid my eyes. "Why couldn't I have just left that beer can on a dusty shelf?"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mornings began with running, then breakfast. After breakfast, I walked around, checking on people, making sure we had no problems with supplies, that anyone injured or sick was being tended to. Generally letting people know that I cared. After lunch, I had free time, which I was using to study how to fly the Flying Dutchman. Skippy called me as I was learning about the flight controls. “Joe, it’s admirable that you are learning to fly, are you sure you’re not overdoing it? You’re training with the special forces units, you have all the administrative BS to deal with, and you’re way behind on your officer training.” It surprised me that he didn’t make a snarky joke about how I was learning to fly, because I had nothing else to do.
“Can we be serious for a minute, Skippy? This will only take a few minutes. A one hundred percent, dead serious, human to advanced being conversation.”
“Hmm. A minute is not the same as a few minutes. Tell you what, Joe, I’ll give it a shot, and I’ll pay as much attention as I can, depending on how interesting what you have to say is.”
“Fair enough. Here’s the truth; I am learning to fly, because I want to be able to pilot the Dutchman all by myself. Skippy, I want to make a deal with you, and this is the serious part. We came out here, not knowing what will happen when you contact the Collective. Before people signed on, I told each one of them there is a very good chance we will not be returning, that the ship will not be able to return, after you contact the Collective and leave us.”
“Ok, I don’t like where this conversation is going, Joe. We already have a deal. Your home planet is safe, I shut down the wormhole.”
SpecOps (Expeditionary Force Book 2) Page 23
