“Of course,” Hurranna said. “Even without implants I can leap higher than you can.”
“True,” Fonz replied, amused.
A new group arrived, they set up on the empty court. They tossed towels on the ground. Two had bags, they set them up near the perimeter, away from their friends gear. One fussed over his bag, not over its contents but over its placement before his partners hissed at him to stop.
Jethro flicked his ears in amusement and casually looked away. Hurranna was right, it would be nice to have fun and get the kinks out, but then again, Fonz was right too, the Gunny would be on them with PT or some crap duty as soon as they reported for duty.
He heard the new humans talking and tuned it out, lazing back. It would be nice to get some sun, even though the 'sun' was artificial. He could go for a walk or run, but seeing a Neocat prowling might get some of the humans upset. He sighed.
“Deep thoughts?”
“Something like that.” He killed his beer with a final swig and then crushed the plastic. With a nonchalant toss over his shoulder he shrugged. The crushed can arched into the recycling bin behind him perfectly.
“Three points,” Hurranna teased, flicking her ears. She knew he'd used his implants to see the can. “Show off.”
“Just having fun,” the panther replied, stretching.
The humans had seen the casual toss and turned. They nudged each other, muttering darkly at the casual toss.
Jethro laid even odds that they'd either get an invite to play, or they'd be ignored. These were human males, all between the ages of 20 and 40. Some were in good shape, a few were body builders. Two were overweight though, and one looked so fat he jiggled when he walked. His red sweat band was as soaked as his hair and white jersey. The humans stank a bit. Fortunately there was an air intake nearby to suck most of the fragrance of sweat away.
Jethro's eyes narrowed. Apparently the players were going for option three. The human males were uppity, increasingly belligerent, with snide remarks. The three Marines winced slightly at the soft taunts, but otherwise didn't react. “Should we leave?” Hurranna texted to the other two.
“No, just ignore them,” Jethro replied. He pulled up their last sim and fed it to the others. Both Marines smirked, the civilians didn't stand a chance in something like that.
After a few minutes their occasional raunchy taunts amused Fonz and Hurranna... right up until they overheard them making cracks about the 3 having a threesome and how Fonz would love it up the ass. That wiped the amusement off of Fonz's face. He rose to retaliate but Jethro stopped him with a restraining hand on his shoulder.
One of the hecklers paused to tie a shoe lace on the bench opposite them and called the panther a moreau peckerhead. The panther turned, eyes now slitted and glittering with annoyance. His ears were flat, fur bristling, tail thrashing. “What did you call me?” Jethro asked softly, growling slightly.
“You heard me,” the civilian said smugly, standing up to the Neo. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Is this guy for real?” Hurranna asked, clearly amused. “Or is he suicidal?” A fence was around the court, chain link fence that wouldn't stand up to the panther, even if he didn't go through the nearby door.
“Apparently so. Come on, he's just showing off to his buddies. Showing how he can get the big bad Neo Marine to back down.”
Jethro studied the human. There was something there, in the guy's eyes, not just the promise of a little action. His anger was there, but slowly ebbing as his mind ticked over. His instincts itched, something told him there was more to this than it seemed. He felt like he was being watched. He could see the self satisfied smirk there, lingering... the feeling grew stronger. His awareness of the problem was like a splash of cold water on his anger, cooling it down to acceptable levels. “Come on,” the guy said, flapping his arms and then pushing the ball between him and the panther. “You a neuter?”
“Neuter?” Jethro asked, completely calm, despite his ears flat on his head and his claws out.
“Yeah,” the guy said mockingly. “You got a set on you or what? You chicken?” he demanded, looking around. People around them, fellow picnickers and people out walking or playing had stopped to watch the taboo.
Jethro was tempted to lash out and pop the guy's basketball but held off. He started to say something and then he caught sight of that gym bag. His sensors picked out electronics there, and his eyes narrowed as he focused. He caught the tell tale glitter of a camera filming the scene. They had carefully placed it there he realized, placed it to record them. That realization cooled him off instantly. “No,” he said, backing off. He didn't need to lose a stripe over some pissing contest.
“Come on, big wussy pussy,” the guy mocked. Suddenly Jethro turned and got right up to the male. The male froze, then stood as tall as he could. Jethro recognized the act, a dominance display, he was chesting up, trying to make himself look big and bad. The panther however just took a long whiff. “What the frack man!” the guy said, backing off. “He just smelled me!” he said, turning to his friends.
“Maybe he wants to get it on with you! Likes your cologne!” another mocked, laughing.
“No, I'm just saving it for later. Be seeing you,” Jethro said, eyes slitting. “Seeing you real soon,” he growled, letting some subsonics enter his voice as the growl intensified. He saw his victim quiver and pale, he could smell the small amount of ammonia as the guy's dick leaked. “Real soon,” he said almost crooning and then turned away with Hurranna.
“You could have really screwed him up.”
“Yeah, and screwed myself. It was what he wanted,” Jethro replied, not looking back. “See the camera's in the crowd? In that gym bag? It was a set up. Someone set us up. Pick a fight, put it on the news. I'm not that gullible,” he growled.
“Really. So instead you make the Marines look like push overs,” Fonz grumbled.
“No, well yes, but then there was that whole smell thing. You see the look on the guy's face?” Hurranna asked and then chuckled.
“So?” Fonz demanded.
“So we can track him by scent. And the smell? He pissed himself. I bet he'll be looking over his shoulder for a looong time.”
“Yeah well, we better report this to higher. Which means save it in your implants,” Jethro ordered.
“Shit,” Fonz sighed.
...*...*...*...*...
They immediately called and talked to Gunny Schultz, reporting the incident. The Gunny listened to their report and then passed it on up the chain of command. The Gunny knew that Marines were no angels, off duty personnel were known to get wild and more than a few had ended up in the station or ship brig sleeping off a bender. They'd all received searing new puckerholes afterward... which for some wasn't much of a deterrent. That was also on par for service personnel. Losing their chance at liberty for a month or more usually helped curb them however.
Most were mild, drunk, bar fights, drunk and disorderly, gambling, solicitation, the occasional vagrancy for someone who had passed out in a corridor, and even two lewd behaviors that had been sufficient to pass up the chain to JAG for court martial instead of the usual Captain's mast.
Service personnel were made aware that their implants would record any incident they were involved in, both for their prosecution and for their defense. When usage of such footage in the Captain's masts were made public to service personnel they quickly learned to at least tone it down and watch out for each other. They also learned to pull their punches, implant enhanced strength could kill or do significant damage. More than one victim's broken jaw could attest to that fact.
When a few drunken squids had been mugged for their valuables, the noncoms learned to release most of their people going on liberty in a buddy system, and on rotation. Security on Anvil and on a few of the colonies also learned to keep an eye out on the bars when personnel were off duty... and to work with the shore patrol assigned to mop up any incidents.
Drinking had its own dangers
. Dust, alcohol, and other stimulants or depressants were hell on someone who had enhanced senses. Hangovers with enhanced senses tended to make many wary of overindulging. Marines learned that sometimes, having enhanced hearing, sight, and smell when you overdid it wasn't necessarily a good thing. Some medics and noncoms were positively malicious with those who overindulged, usually brutally so. Sometimes noobs were set up just to experience such attention, it was all part of the brotherhood. If you couldn't take the joke you should never have joined.
This incident however didn't sound like an ordinary incident. A quick scan of the file Jethro sent him confirmed his suspicions that something was hinky. The Gunny put the alarm out.
Major Forth got wind of the incident right along the same time other incidents were reported. He groaned when a choice select number made the evening conservative news circuit. Of course he had to take his ire out on the Marines for letting it happen, not that it was their fault, it was obvious that they had been set up, but he still had to remind them of their larger responsibilities.
He couldn't blame the Marines in the videos. Two had kept their heads, turning what could have been a messy brawl into a shouting match. One had come to blows, but had instantly pinned his opponent when the cameras had come out into the open.
The one thing that ticked him off was one of the men was in the hospital. He claimed to have whiplash and a broken jaw. Commander Thornby replied that he had neither, and the footage of the man in a hospital bed was not from one of her facilities. Forth fed that to Knox as well as the assertion that the entire mess was a put up job.
The injured human sued the Marines the next morning. He appeared before the doors to the courthouse chambers in a halo ring and all bandaged up, with a pair of smartly dressed attorneys on either side of him, talking to the cameras for him. He looked like he'd been beaten to a pulp, with a swollen cheek and two black eyes.
Hastily the Anvil prosecution's office was called in. No criminal charges were to be filed, it was obvious from the witness statements that the so called victim had antagonized the situation and even thrown the first punch. The prosecutor reported that he was being leaned on by the system attorney general to file charges against the Marine. He had told her flat out to go to hell, he wouldn't move until his investigation was concluded.
The Judge Advocate General's office had been involved from the beginning, they had already viewed the footage from the media as well as from the Marine and the other Marines and off duty naval personnel in the crowd. They were still forming a brief when word got out about the lawsuit. The JAG office sent a representative right away, and asserted jurisdiction since a military personnel had been involved. They also sent a representative to handle the civil lawsuit. The media played it up, showing the smartly dressed formal uniform of the naval officer stepping into the court chambers.
Judge Farely, senior judge on Anvil and also Chief justice of the Anvil supreme court somehow took the case. There was some consternation when a pair of bailiffs escorted the attorneys into an empty court chamber.
The judge brushed through the opening court proceedings and took his seat, brushing his black robe and settling himself into his chair. He nodded to both parties. “All right, let's hear it.” He motioned a gnarled hand towards the plaintiff.
The attorneys representing the 'victim' Mister Yurelli filed for damages and then filed for a motion to open the trial to the media. They then filed a motion to suspend all Marines from Anvil, and finally a continuance motion to further gather evidence.
“I don't see a need for that. You have all the evidence here, witness statements, the video record...” the judge said, holding up a tablet.
“Your honor in light of the circumstances...”
The judge waved the protest aside as he turned to the JAG officer. “Er, Ensign...”
“Lavot sir. For the defense.” He nodded to the young woman with him. “This is ADA Winters, who was down the hall when this civil action was filed. We were both called in to represent the defendant.”
“Ensign Lavot. Does your client wish to proceed?”
“Yes sir. We wish to put this all behind us as soon as possible your honor.” He turned as the doors opened and Doctor Thornby entered. She nodded and took a seat. She was in her military uniform, full mess dress of a Lieutenant Commander. Unlike the Ensign who had the badge of a book on his right shoulder, she was dressed in a medical white uniform, with a caduceus of her branch service in gold on the badge on her right shoulder. She nodded at the JAG officer.
“I don't see your client Ensign.”
“We're ready to proceed your honor.”
“Sir, we renew our continuance motion,” the testy female attorney said.
“Request denied,” the judge replied, looking at her. “First, all motions must be in writing. Second, you do not have grounds for a continuance.”
She looked affronted. “Your honor!”
The judge shook his head. “You have witness statements. You have evidence, your client is here, and you are his counsel and are present. Now sit down Miss Gera, you are getting on my nerves.”
“Sir, I protest!”
“Now what?” the judge asked, eyes narrowing.
“Not all witnesses are present, nor is the defendant!”
“The defendant? She does have a point there,” the judge replied, turning to the Ensign. “Where is your client?”
“I and Miss Winters are representing him.”
“I want him here. Do you need a continuance to fetch him?”
“That won't be necessary your honor,” the Ensign said. “I believe he is now outside the courtroom,” he said, turning. He sent a signal to the Private to enter.
The doors opened and the bailiff turned with the court spectators to see the Private march in. He was in his pea green Marine uniform, smartly dressed with his cap under his arm. He marched up to the space between the parties, turned smartly to the right, and then stepped three steps to the side of the Ensign, then smartly turned to face the judge and came to attention. “Sir. Private Holder reporting as ordered.”
“Private, glad you are here,” Miss Winters said, glancing at her companion. She leaned closer to both of them. “But under the circumstances perhaps time to go over the material would be wise?”
“No need. I've taken the Private's statement and watched his video already ma'am,” the Ensign replied softly.
There was a persistent murmur from the spectators. The judge tapped his gavel and the room quieted. “Well! If you are certain you are ready to proceed Ensign?”
“We are your honor.”
“Very well then.” Judge Farely turned to the prosecutor. “You seem to be on the wrong side young lady,” he teased.
“I like it where I am at your honor. You'll see why in a moment,” she said, dimpling slightly.
“I see,” the judge replied, and nodded. He turned his eyes to the doors. People were filing in and taking seats. He motioned to the bailiff to get a handle on the situation. The courtroom was turning into a packed court.
“If you are not on the witness list ladies and gentlemen, then you need to remain quiet and not disrupt the proceedings. I thank you all for participating in the judicial process. Now, let's begin shall we?” he asked, looking pointedly at Miss Gera.
“Um,” she got up and brushed her power skirt off nervously. She'd thought they'd have time to prepare, time to draw it out in the media, make the navy squirm. Work the public opinion in their favor, play up the beaten underdog and brutish military. They had planned on the Navy trying to buy time, which they would have then exploited, stating that they were dragging their heels. Obviously, the planners hadn't planned enough. “Yes your honor. We um, are a little unprepared.”
“Then you shouldn't have started this then,” the judge said, cutting her off at the knees. “You should always have your ducks in a row before you move forward young woman. Make your statement.”
“Very well.” The woman frowned as she steppe
d around the table. She went on to make a case about how her client had been viciously beaten by the thuggish Private in an unprovoked fight where the Private threw the first punch. She went on to state there was a cover up, and how the military was sweeping it all under the rug.
It was obvious to those with judicial training that the woman was working without a proper script, summarizing bullet points, but without any practice in the statements. The Ensign smiled and nodded to the judge when he called him forth.
“Your honor, if it pleases the court, I don't think I've heard a single true statement in that mess there. Well, I do believe she was right about who threw the first punch, but that was about it. We are prepared to prove that the situation was staged, complete with sympathetic witnesses and cameras, in order to create a political crisis and defame my client as well as the Marine corps. We have a pattern of behavior from which we can prove this chain of events.”
“Secondly,” he crossed his arms. “We intend to prove fraud in this case. No qualified medic has examined Mr. Yurelli, so his injuries haven't been verified and are therefore suspect.”
“I object!” Miss Gera said, lunging to her feet.
“Well, since this is an opening statement, objection overruled,” the judge replied. “For now, I'm going to allow it. Please continue Ensign.”
“I'm about finished your honor. I will point out in my finishing statement that the Private was a Private First Class before this incident and since he is a Marine, he is subject to the UCMJ, the Uniform Code of Military Justice. His chain of command has waved a trial and has handled his part in this with a NJP, Non-Judicial Punishment for being involved in the incident.”
“I see. That is why the prosecution waved jurisdiction,” the judge said, glancing at Miss Winter. The woman nodded. The judge turned to Miss Gera. “Call your first witness.”
Each of the witnesses Miss Gera called were ringers, all were bruisers claiming that they were minding their own business when the Marine came over and started the altercation. Each milked the situation the best they could, but it was obvious that they were grandstanding and after the second witness laid it on a bit thick she quietly murmured to him to tone it down.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 23
