Epstein and the others didn’t have far to walk until they found the first crewmembers. Holding back the urge to vomit, they rushed toward the wobblers. The wobblers simply stared as they were prodded with the sticks. The Gray Panthers didn’t wait to see if it would work before pressing on toward the bridge.
“Hold for five, guys. Drink some water while we can,” Epstein said as he took a long swig. He listened on his radio as the other teams reported their success. Many areas had large groups of wobblers, which usually revealed trapped groups of crewmen. Most were dehydrated but otherwise okay.
The crew had to be subdued from returning to their duty stations until they were reminded that the ship was still infested with wobblers.
“Back on the clock, guys. We should be close to the bridge.” Epstein turned the wheel to manually open the hatch and was surprised at what he found on the bridge. The wobblers were agitated and seemed to be taking turns going after a small wobbler that was nude except for his white officer’s hat. The GPs quickly made the rounds, prodding the bridge crew cum wobblers. Epstein looked at the last wobbler, the one wearing only a hat.
“Pleased to meet you, Admiral Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard,” Epstein said. “Time for you to take a nap.” As he administered the prod, he thought, I almost feel sorry for the pompous prick.
Libra cargo ship Profit, Dixie space
9 November 2128
Epstein had mixed feelings. He wanted to rescue the Dixians, yet he also wanted to blast the Libra ship to hell. He felt the walls of the shuttle closing in on him, and there was no air as he fought another attack of claustrophobia.
“We’ve locked onto the ship. All signs say we have good atmosphere on the other side of the hatch,” the shuttle pilot reported. The cargo ship had been warned that they were coming and had been ordered to cooperate.
“Lets do this. Don’t take no shit from these Libra, but don’t start anything either that you can’t finish on your own.” Epstein opened the hatch to see three tall Libra standing in front of him.
“Welcome to the Profit. I am Captain Krupp. This is my first officer, Lieutenant Krupp. That is Lieutenant Krupp, the security chief.”
Epstein tried not to stare. The Libra were all tall and thin. Their skin was a transparent pink, with deposits of baby-like fatty tissue. Their bald, pink heads had tiny black, evil-looking snake eyes. When they opened their mouth, petite fangs could be seen. They had no ears or nose, just a single hole in the top of their head. They all wore simple white tunics with badges on their shoulders.
“Take me to the prisoners, now!” Epstein ordered. “If we don’t report in to our ship, we will be destroyed along with you. Now move!” The three creatures before him seemed to slink down as they walked.
The ship appeared to have had better days. The bulkheads showed severe rust in areas, and the pipes that ran along the corridors showed signs of many repairs. Some had buckets under them.
The Libra stopped in front of a huge hatchway and explained that the prisoners were in the hold on the other side. Epstein watched as the officer punched in a sequence of characters on a pad mounted on the bulkhead. The hatchway opened slowly, with a grinding noise like gears that didn’t want to mesh.
The hold looked like something from a bad horror movie. There were four levels of shelves, and bodies were piled three and four deep. Every effort had been made to get as many bodies in as possible. None of them seemed to be alive.
Epstein did his best to control his anger and revulsion as he asked, “Alive?” The three officers looked at him in a peculiar way.
“Of course they are alive. The entire hold is one huge stasis chamber. That way they sleep and stay healthy. We do not have to feed or water them.”
“How many?” Epstein was struggling to control his emotions, first the rage he’d felt when he thought these people were all dead, and now the immense relief, knowing that they were okay and would soon be rescued.
“Three thousand in each hold, nine thousand total,” the captain replied.
“What other cargo do you have?” Epstein asked. The three started to argue among themselves, and Epstein felt his anger rising again.
“Who the hell do I have to throw out of an airlock before I get an answer, dammit?” The translator couldn’t translate every word, but the three officers got the gist and they started to huddle together.
“We have a cargo hold full of native transports,” the captain answered.
“I’m not sure what the Dixians call this, but on Earth we call it looting. Sometimes it carries a penalty of death.” Epstein wondered if anyone would say anything if he did space the Libra. “How many shuttles do you have to transport the Dixians back to the surface?”
The Libra again started to argue among themselves. Epstein looked behind him at his nine men. He could see they were ready to laugh at how frustrated he was. He whispered to them what he wanted done.
Turning back around to face the bickering Libra, he order loudly, “Take the security chief.” Two Gray Panthers picked up the lightweight alien, whose legs windmilled beneath him as the men marched down the hall carrying the alien between them.
“Now, how many shuttles do you have on board? I am getting unhappy.”
“What have you done to our little brother?” The remaining two aliens seemed to have shrunken, huddling against each other.
“If you don’t answer my questions, he will either be spaced or we will eat him for dinner. Answer my questions and make me happy, and I will return him to you unharmed. Now, how many shuttles are on board?”
“Twelve,” the first officer replied.
“Eight,” the captain answered at the same time.
“Okay, I’m going to space your brother—”
“We have eight, not including four military shuttles that are cargo.”
“Are there any military on board?” Epstein cursed himself for not asking that question when he first came aboard.
“Only four. They are shuttle pilots.”
“How long did it take to get all the Dixians on your ship?”
“Only two days,” the captain proclaimed proudly.
“Well, I’ll make a deal with you. You get them all back on the surface in a day, and I’ll give you back your brother—and maybe allow you to return to Libra with more than the clothes on your back. The clock starts now!”
The two Libra stood in stunned surprise and then jumped into action. Bowing to Epstein, they disappeared down a corridor.
“Dixie ship Atlanta, this is Recovery Team One.”
“Go ahead, Recovery Team One.”
“We have nine thousand survivors on board. Be advised, crew will be returning them to Dixie’s surface using their shuttles. Do not fire on the shuttles and advise forces on the surface not to fire on them.”
“Good job, Recovery Team One. How did you negotiate with the crew to return the survivors to the surface?”
“I promised not to space the crew at this time.”
Outside New Mississippi, planet Dixie
10 November 2128
Lieutenant Krupp from the Libra cargo ship Profit was a happy Libra. He was the best shuttle pilot on the Profit and would get the bonus for delivering the most Dixians back to the planet.
“This is Krupp, to all shuttles. Be sure to stay out of my way!” The Libra military pilot had been happy to let Krupp use his shuttle, as long as he could stay out of sight. The shuttle was bigger and faster than the other shuttles. The regular shuttles were all old and in questionable condition.
“Krupp, coming in for landing.” The shuttle was pushed to its limits as the pilot pulled up at the last second, and was on the ground only a hundred feet from the city.
“Okay, everybody, you are home. Remember, it was Lieutenant Krupp that brought you home.” Krupp smiled until he saw the number of injured passengers. Oh well, he thought. They are delivered. That’s all that matters. He had delivered a hundred on his first trip! He watched the other shuttles land a
s he departed for the ship.
“Can anybody tell me what the hell is going on here?” The Honorable William Johnson, mayor of New Mississippi and general of the guard, had barely departed the shuttle before it took off. He had a broken ankle from the flight and no memory of ever getting on a ship—nor could he figure out why he stank so bad.
Arizona Space Ship Beater, Earth space
10 November 2128
“All hands, this is the captain. Check out the debris fields and number of ships. Looks like we missed the big one.” A new sense of shame combined with guilt began to eat at Captain Johnson, and he couldn’t turn away from the wreckage.
“Arizona Space Ship Beater, Gray Panther Control.”
“Gray Panther Control, Beater. Go ahead, please.”
“Beater, you are cleared to return directly to ground operation. Captain and first officer to report immediately to Mr. Abdul Bahadur. Ground transportation will be waiting.”
“Copy that, Beater. Out,” Johnson said. “Damn. I wonder what happened to Dan? And who the hell is this Arab guy?”
“The Abdul guy you already met. It’s Abby. Since he’s production manager, he probably has some new toys for the Beater,” Poland suggested.
“You can bring us in, Commander Poland. I need to try to clean up my paperwork before we get home.”
Seated at his desk, Johnson thought, I wonder how quickly I can have Beater do this for me or just pencil whip it? As he picked up the first item he was surprised to see that it was a request from Short Blade to be considered for officer training.
“Beater, are there any regulations that would keep Short Blade from being recommended as an officer candidate?”
“The only requirement he would fail is height, which a medical officer must determine after the application has already been submitted. Review of the candidate’s records and performance would make it difficult to deny him initial acceptance into the program.”
“Thank you, Beater. Are there any requirements you have while we are on the ground?”
“Numerous plates on the hull were damaged when the gas giant exploded. They should be repaired or replaced while on the planet. If the hull were polarized there could be failures, so we only had force fields to protect the ship.
“Why didn’t you report this sooner?”
“Sensors did not notice the problem until we dropped from FTL space. There was a short in the system, so it appeared that the hull plates were normal.”
GP forward command post, planet Dixie
10 November 2128
“We’ve changed our method of curing the wobblers in New Mississippi,” Colonel Kildare from the US Army told General Black. “The GPs are opening buildings and freeing the wobblers from the buildings. US forces are acting like pied pipers, drawing them out of the city. Once we get them out of the city, we use the sticks on them. Four to eight hours later, they wake up.
“The victims have no memory of the time they were infected. The nanites had the side effect of ensuring that the host was healthy by repairing any medical problems. The nanites also repaired any damage the victims sustained if they were infected as the result of being scratched or bitten during an attack.
“Those who’ve been cured and no longer have the nanites have a marker in them that makes them undesirable to those who are still infected. As a result, they’re ignored by the wobblers and can’t be reinfected.
“It is my recommendation that further handling of the wobbler infection be passed to the Dixians,” the colonel advised.
“Colonel Kildare, thank you for your recommendations. Does that mean we have nothing to contribute to the cure besides our manpower?” General Black inquired.
“Sir, with the number of cured available to safely continue the process, it makes no sense to risk vulnerable US troops, who could be dedicated to rooting out and destroying Libra forces.”
“Major Lee, you were the commander of the New Mississippi militia. What is the status of your command at this point?” Black asked.
“We are back to twenty percent of our manning, and growing every day as our people are returned. Our armories are intact. The self-defense batteries have either been destroyed or are missing.”
“What is the risk to my forces from those batteries, Major?”
“The heavy batteries need to be repaired. Ten light man-portable units are missing, along with thirty charges. These units are primarily for use against air assets but could be used against lightly armored ground vehicles.”
“Where do you think we will find the remaining Red Coats, Major?”
“From interviewing civilians and my own militia, the enemy is in the underground defense works, where we were ready to make our last stand.”
“Can you provide us with the plans and other information about those facilities? We will then clean them out.”
“General, my engineers have already disabled the power going to the facility. They have maybe another day of emergency lighting. The air should start getting bad about the same time. We’ll provide the location and plans to your forces.”
“Major Lee, let my staff know if they can be of any assistance to you,” Black offered. “Thank you for all your assistance,”
“Lieutenant Scholl,” Black continued, “I have some mixed feelings about your performance during this operation. Your discovery of what we are calling the Scholl Sticks has been invaluable, but conducting an illegal operation that resulted in fatalities cannot be overlooked. Since it was a joint operation with Dixie forces, including an officer senior to you, we absolve you of responsibility. The Dixie command, however, may have another view. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Captain Scholl, you are now attached to my air support staff. You are dismissed.”
Scotty was stunned by the way things had happened. His only worry now was if any of the injuries to his eyes and ears might keep him from flying again.
Gray Panthers headquarters, Arizona
10 November 2128
“Welcome back to Earth, Captain Johnson. We didn’t expect you home this soon, though I am very glad to see you. I hope there wasn’t too major of a problem out there,” Abby said.
Johnson started to sweat. Had they heard something already? What were they going to find when they copied the ship’s logs for the archive?
“Sir, when we destroyed the refinery near the Gas Giant Rewards, we damaged seven enemy combat ships and destroyed a dozen tankers. There was also collateral damage. A civilian space dock was destroyed.”
“Sounds like that alone made the trip worth it. Download your logs and take leave for yourself and crew for a couple of days. I will need your ship ready to depart on the twelfth. We’ll have a full crew go over your ship from top to bottom. Is there anything else you have for me?”
“Sir, I need to report that I am guilty of genocide. I killed thousands of innocent civilians.” Johnson managed to keep from breaking down at his admission of guilt. He welcomed his punishment, whatever it would be.
“Captain Johnson, I have some news I don’t think you’ll care for. Earth is not a signatory to any articles of war. We refuse to see ourselves under the jurisdiction of any alien governing body. The determination of this matter that took place not only off our world, but outside of our solar system, ultimately rests with the commander of the Gray Panthers. Dan has put me in full charge of the Gray Panthers.
“I am going to do a full and impartial investigation of this matter. I am going to review your logs and ship’s records. I am then going to make a determination that it was an accident of war.
“Captain, I have seen real war. I have blood on my hands. I am not going to give you the luxury of affording guilt. That is for when the last bullet has been shot and the last body buried. Go see your priest, or your shrink or bartender, but in two days, be ready to go back out again. If you want to talk, I will be available. The record of your mission is top secret, Blue Falcon, compartmentalized to members of your crew only and myself. I will see to it tha
t your crew is briefed immediately.
“Captain, war sucks. You are dismissed. Try to enjoy your downtime.” As Abby watched the captain leave his office, he knew his own ghosts would visit him later that night.
Guns and Jimmy knew better than to take any chances—they left the ship as soon as word was given they had a forty-eight-hour liberty. Short Blade was hesitant but agreed to join his comrades.
The trio piled into an old Dodge pickup that Jimmy had owned for over twenty years. The truck turned over on the first try, and country music blasted from the speakers.
“Oops. Sorry, guys. What’s our first priority? I used to go for a good steak after every mission, but the chef unit does such a good job, I need to lose a few pounds,” Jimmy said, patting his stomach for effect.
“Bullshit, Slim. You’re still rail thin. I want to go to a bar where we can relax and just chill. We can make plans from there,” Guns requested as he opened a beer and handed it to Jimmy, then opened one for himself.
“Sorry, little partner. I know you don’t like booze,” Guns called over his shoulder to Short Blade in the back of the truck cabin.
“That’s all right. You’ve taught me well,” Short Blade replied. Guns turned around to see that Short Blade had pulled out a half pint of milk.
“Ha! Short Blade, you have learned well!” Both chiefs laughed uproariously. Their nervous energy was dissipating as they drove farther from the base. Short Blade beamed as a result of his acceptance.
The three were in a great mood as they arrived at the Satellite Inn. The dilapidated hotel was the central hub for three dozen bars and numerous eateries, all within walking distance, and security guards patrolled the walled-in parking lot.
“I’d like the best room in the house, please,” Guns told the old clerk at the reception counter, slurring slightly.
“That would be the Phoenix Room,” the man replied. “It has three bedrooms, a central area and spa. Three thousand a night.” He stared at the two chiefs and then asked if their pet was housebroken.
Gray Panthers: Dixie Page 13
