Nomad's Galaxy

by Craig Martelle

  Terry compromised. He asked Marcie to get him a plate while he focused on the new kid.

  “Hi, I’m Terry Henry Walton. Who the fuck are you?”

  “Grandpa!” Sarah cried, looking for her mother to come to their rescue. Cory was occupied and didn’t see her daughter’s plea for help.

  “I’m Magnus Tolliver,” the young boy replied calmly. “These elegant creatures are of your bloodline? I am appalled.”

  “I’m appalled that you’re appalled,” Terry replied, unsure what to make of the well-spoken teenager. He didn’t know why he expected less from the young man, but he had. It was refreshing to be surprised by an educated soul in a world removed from where a person could study for a lifetime. “What’s your claim to fame, Magnus?”

  “Claim to fame? I brought them here, and I’m spending the day before going home this evening. I live just a few miles down the river. I can make it in five minutes if I open her up.”

  “And that’s how this ugly mob made their way into the city? Ingenious. I have to say that it’s refreshing to meet such a well-spoken young man. It reminds me of Shakespeare.”

  Terry looked at the ceiling before narrating. “Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, by use all gently, for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. For anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature...”

  “Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 2,” the boy said.

  “I like you,” TH said before turning to Sarah. “You can keep him.”

  Terry took the plate from Marcie as he walked away before his granddaughters could express any more outrage. Marcie pointed to her eyes and then to the young man. I’ll be watching you.

  They were her nieces, after all.

  Char was waiting with the mayor and the council when Terry arrived. “I got my comeuppance. Nicely done, Major. I salute you for showing me the light.”

  He turned to Marcie to ask whether the other garrisons would demonstrate the same inherent weakness, but thought better of it. He wanted to talk about it, but now wasn’t the time.

  The more he ran it through his mind, the more the feeling of failure tugged at his soul. He didn’t mind that Char bested him. That wasn’t it at all. What bothered him was failing to properly identify the threat. He had, but hadn’t passed that down where his kids understood.

  He’d made them look like idiots.

  Char saw the conflicting emotions race across Terry’s features. From his stance to his shoulders, to the twitches in his face, she knew he was tormenting himself.

  “If you’ll excuse us. It seems the beer isn’t sitting right with my husband, or maybe he just needs another one,” she said, smoothly leading the way outside where they could get some fresh air and Terry could eat in peace.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Portland

  There were benches outside the building, as if many people over the years had the same idea, preferring the serenity of the outdoors to the heat of a crowded hall.

  Terry and Char sat, not needing to speak. They held hands, something Terry found comfort in because of how natural it felt. He couldn’t remember a time when her hand wasn’t in his. He looked at their hands, then followed the skin of her arm. She wore short sleeves, as always, and even with that, the Werewolf inside kept the fire burning.

  TH traced a finger along her arm, enjoying the heat that she radiated. It was familiar.

  “A love to last the ages,” Terry whispered.

  Char pointed to the faint scar leading to her lip. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for making me wait two years. I have this to remind you!” Char teased.

  Terry smiled. “I know. You wouldn’t be you without that and we wouldn’t be us. You know me. When I commit, I’m all in.”

  “I figured that from day one, but you played hard to get. I’m glad you came around.” Char lifted Terry’s chin. “Don’t be angry with the kids or yourself over this. We learn from exercises. We fix the problems, and we try again.”

  Terry rubbed his face. “That’s the issue. To do this right, we need to be looking internally, as in, a police force of some sort, an FBI, or an MI-5 to look within the walls. I never intended the FDG to be that. They cannot be, because then the people they are protecting become the enemy. We can only have one enemy.”

  Char pursed her lips. “How about an off-site?”

  “It’s been a million years since I heard that term. It was used by corporate executives to get away from the daily grind, clear their minds so they could think bigger thoughts, refocus on what could make their company great.”

  “Something like that.” Char smiled before continuing. “We’ve been away a long time. We need to get to know the pack again and talk about what it will take to keep the world growing, protect it from itself. You’ll come up with a plan. You always do.”

  “What would I do without you?” Terry said, leaning close for a passionate kiss that lasted too long.

  “Grandpa!” Sylvia shouted from the doorway.

  “Grandma!” Sarah exclaimed.

  Terry rolled his eyes as Char shook her head.

  “I’m not sure I like our titles. It makes us sound old,” Char said.

  Terry didn’t take the bait. They were old, but he knew better than to say it. “You are as young and beautiful as the day we met. I yearn for your heat,” he cooed.

  “Nice comeback,” Char replied. They stood, still holding hands, and turned their attention to the disaffected youth.

  “What can we do you out of?” Terry pleasantly asked.

  “What?” Sylvia wondered. Sarah slapped her on the arm.

  “We’re going to stay with Magnus until you’re ready to leave. Mom said it would be okay with her if it was okay with you,” Sarah regurgitated quickly.

  “I’m pretty sure your mother didn’t say that,” Char said coldly.

  Terry was speechless as he processed what had just been said. He had to put it into words so it made sense. “My fifteen and sixteen-year-old granddaughters want to shack up with a young man and expect to get my approval. For the record, your father is still on probation.”

  “No!” Sylvia cried defensively. “It’s not that at all.” She stomped her foot and crossed her arms.

  Terry closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples.

  Cory appeared behind her daughters. “Isn’t this a nice family get-together? Why does everyone look so unhappy?”

  “I told you that one had a gift,” Char said. Terry nodded.

  “Since they asked, the answer is simple. No. You may not spend the night with your new boy toy. It’s not that I’m being protective, but you two are in training. You want to be as hard as woodpecker lips? Then discipline and dedication is what it takes.”

  Terry wasn’t sure they wanted to be as hard as all that, but he liked the way it sounded when he said it.

  They didn’t.

  Without a word, they huffed and grunted as they passed their mother on the way through the door. Terry expected that they’d be delivering the bad news to Magnus Tolliver any moment.

  He even liked the boy, but not that much.

  “As soon as we’re done with tomorrow’s out-brief, we’re going someplace separate where
we can contemplate what this all means.”

  “We could just stay here,” Cory suggested.

  “There aren’t any five-star resorts to retreat to,” Char offered. “Let’s take the pod, snag a few buffalo, and come back here. I think Cory is right.”

  “What about those two?” Terry asked, pointing at the doorway.

  “They’ll be fine,” Cory said definitively.

  “Remember that little talk about control that we seem to keep having?” Char said.

  Terry returned to rubbing his temples.

  “What’s the problem, Dad? Too much reality for you today? Did you get schooled too badly and all that education is melting your brain?” Cory prodded.

  Terry slowly opened his eyes to look at Char. “This is your fault.”

  “How so?” Char turned to face Terry. She didn’t cross her arms, but was slightly turned as if ready to throw a punch.

  He liked her feisty, but that was something completely different.

  “Dammit!” Terry stepped back and looked to Cordelia. “Your daughters. Your problem.”

  Cory nodded. “I know.”

  Terry was taken aback.

  “Yes, it’s that easy. Shall we go back inside and get something to eat? Then tomorrow, we’ll go buffalo hunting. After that, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

  The weight of the world still rested on Terry Henry Walton’s broad shoulders, but with Char’s and the others’ help, the load wasn’t unbearable.

  The Northern Plains

  “Look at that herd!” Gene exclaimed, gawking at the image on the pod’s large screen.

  Only the pack had come as Terry and Char wanted to use it as a training exercise in conjunction with the more practical side of bringing home a few tons of meat to the city of Portland as a way to pay back the city’s hospitality.

  The pack changed into Were form—Werewolves, Werebears, Weretigers, and Forsaken. Char didn’t change. Terry didn’t have to wonder why. He remembered the last time the Werewolf Char took on an adult buffalo by herself.

  “What are you going to do?” Terry asked Joseph.

  “We have our ways,” he replied mysteriously.

  “Fine. Do what you want, but I don’t want to watch,” Terry replied.

  “I don’t want to watch you eat, either, Neanderthal. And definitely not him!” Joseph pointed to Gene in Werebear form. “I think he’s actually gotten worse. Just when I thought Fu finally had him housebroken.”

  Terry looked at Joseph, but was at a loss for words. Petricia giggled. “You are far too nice for the likes of this one,” Terry told her.

  “I know, but I’ll keep him anyway.” She held onto his arm and he looked embarrassed.

  The pod started to descend. Char loosened the pistols riding low across her hips. Terry conducted a quick function check of his rifle and started to rock in anticipation of the impending action.

  The ramp opened as the pod settled the final few inches to touch down. The pack ran off, splitting and heading in different directions. The pod had landed in the middle of a massive herd. No matter which way they went, buffalo were there.

  Terry and Char strolled off and watched the others tear up the turf as they charged their prey. The bulls rallied and faced their attackers, horns low and forward.

  Gene and Bogdan pounded toward a small group, one bull and three cows, but they didn’t go after the smaller buffalo. They charged the bull, crashing into it with the force of two locomotives.

  Terry winced when he saw the impact. The violence of the assault lifted the buffalo from its hooves. Before it hit the ground, Bogdan was driving its legs out from under the beast. It fell when it hit. With its head pressed into the soft earth and its vitals exposed, it didn’t have a chance against the Werebears. Gene finished it while Bogdan ran down the smallest cow and added her to their take.

  The Werewolves hunted in pairs, accelerating in an arc past the waiting bulls. They weren’t keen on charging animals ten times their size.

  Char had discovered the futility of that over a century earlier. The paradigm was still true.

  The Weretigers looked like a pair of happy cats, seemingly playing with a small group, but all they were doing was separating one from the rest so they could do their business unmolested. When the young bull had had enough, he turned to fight, but it was too late. With furious snarls and screams, the Weretigers were already on him, their six-inch claws embedded deep in his thick neck. The other buffalo lost heart, abandoning the bull and running to join the stampede.

  The frightened animals looped around their attackers and headed toward the pod. Terry guessed that a thousand animals or more were pounding their way. “Close the rear ramp!” Terry yelled into the pod as he vaulted upward, catching a hand-hold and pulling himself up to the top of the roof. Char joined him.

  She pulled both pistols and waited. Terry noted that her fingers were on the triggers. She saw him looking at her hands.

  “Do you need me to shoot you again?” she asked.

  “No. I’m good.” He forced himself to look away. He checked on the others. “I hope the pod can lift off with all the buffalo on board.”

  Char took aim. “Two trips, minimum,” she said as she fired, then fired eight more times.

  Terry fired his M4 and then again. No matter how well-placed the first round was, it wasn’t enough to bring down one of the big creatures. The buffalo hunters from the nineteenth century prided themselves on single-shot kills. Terry wondered what happened to the M40 sniper rifles they’d acquired at one point, but they didn’t have anything besides the ma deuce that was close to the caliber of the old buffalo hunters.

  Quantity over quality, Terry sighed to himself as the third shot brought a young bull down.

  He proudly looked over at Char, his smile disappearing as she pointed to her kill, a monumental brute probably weighing more than a ton. He looked at her nine-millimeter pistols. She smiled. “Trigger control.”

  Portland

  The pod landed close to the meat-packing plant. They turned over three tons of meat to the wide-eyed adulation of a small crowd. The pack climbed back into the pod.

  Char leaned out. “One more trip with at least that much. We’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  “Do we all have to go?” Sue whined, leaning toward the open ramp.

  “Yes,” Char answered simply. Sue looked at her clothes and grimaced. She was covered in blood. They were all covered in blood from field dressing their kills.

  Timmons walked with a hitch. Char suspected the buffalo had fallen on him and broken his leg.

  He’ll heal, she thought. Gene and Bogdan had fallen asleep. They had dined on their kills before dragging them back to the pod. Even as big as the Werebears were, it had been an extreme effort to move the buffalo. But they did it to prove they were the strongest.

  No one had doubted that, but the two dragged the massive carcasses anyway. Maybe it had been a father-son contest. In the end, the buffalo were cleaned and loaded onto the pod.

  The Weretigers had stayed behind and were waiting. They remained in Were form, lounging like lions on the Serengeti. They snapped at the vultures and ravens to keep them away from the meat, leaving the flock with the unattended gut piles.

  When the pod landed, the Weretigers changed into human form and dressed, while the others manhandled the last of the carcasses aboard. Fifteen minutes after landing, they were on their way back to Portland.

  ***

  “Everyone get cleaned up and meet back here in two hours,” Terry ordered. Char’s expression told them that the pack was back, and she and Terry were the alphas. Their directions were to be followed without question.

  Cory had already snagged forty pounds of meat to roast over an open fire. Kim, Kae, Ramses, and Marcie had been hard at work with the garrison, conducting an attitude realignment. In their minds, they needed to cut the size of the garrison in half. The mission no longer required a large ground force, only a mobile force able to mov
e quickly, attack and destroy small enemies. Catch the enemy wherever they may be found.

  They needed a Force de Guerre made up of tactical teams, not a static land army. What would the end result look like? The conversations that the colonel was going to lead would determine that. In the interim, the four officers wanted to prepare the warriors for the news.

  The man with the hole in his backpack from where Marcie stabbed it? He was discharged and sent on his way. They didn’t want the captain to be lonely as he transitioned to private life.

  Marcie hadn’t even tried talking with the former captain. She didn’t want to lose her composure. The only thing she could do was respect the fact that he reported to the brig as ordered and put himself in one of the cells as he waited for his punishment to be levied. She had people to do the dirty work. Kim and Kae talked with him first and he suggested resigning. They accepted it, because they weren’t sure what to do. They’d never had to remove the person in charge before.

  They felt guilty as they were the ones who had promoted him. They hadn’t realized what he was or what he had become. The captain’s failure was a hard lesson for them, that hands-off leadership didn’t mean that they could abandon their responsibilities to the front-line warriors.

  A failure in leadership affected them the worst. They suffered at the captain’s hands because he thought he was superior. A brig? Kim and Kae were ashamed that they hadn’t known, that warriors were being imprisoned.

  Part of the out-brief was their apology to the warriors that such an environment had been created and their vow to do better.

  When the four arrived at the barbecue, they weren’t initially hungry. Terry knew their appetites, because he was always hungry. Lean buffalo steaks? That was the epitome of pure protein.

  Sylvia and Sarah saw Terry and made a beeline for him. He held up his hand to keep them from interrupting as he turned to his officers.

  “Spill it,” he demanded.

  “We failed them,” Marcie said, standing up for all of them as the colonel was supposed to.