There were four of the boats, each manned by a crew of six. A single boat could accommodate a hundred marines or even more in a pinch, along with armament and supplies for a two week mission. They were new, never having been needed before since the starships were capable of landing on planets. She wasn't exactly sure why they had been designed, built and assigned to Doc Travis for this mission but it was her duty to see that they were properly fitted out and armed. She found herself yawning and knew she needed a break. Besides, it was almost time for dinner and the Captain had requested all senior officers be present. She stood up, closed the documents in her desk, saved the work on the computer and headed for her stateroom to freshen up.
There were two new faces she hadn't seen before when she arrived, slightly late. Fortunately, Captain Keane wasn't present yet, either. She headed for the wet bar, thinking how glad she was that the Space Navy, at least, had relented on the blue water navy ban of alcoholic beverages in its ships.
"Hello," she said to the good-looking blond navy lieutenant she hadn't met before.
"Good evening, Captain," he said, ignoring the custom of calling captains majors since Captain Keane wasn't present. Since he was a senior grade lieutenant, their ranks were equivalent.
"You're new," she said.
"Brian Wannstead, formerly with Wannstead Industries. I was recalled for this mission."
"Cindy Cantrell. I'm XO of the MEU."
"Can I get you anything? I need a refresher."
"Sure. Scotch on the rocks."
She accepted the glass from him and as she did noticed the wedding ring. Drat! There weren't that many men she'd seen so far that were both interesting and eligible, considering her rank and position, and had thought he might be a possibility. Despite the ring she couldn't help noticing his circumspect observation of her appearance. Her auburn hair and petite, generously curved body made that a common occurrence.
"Thanks. What's your duty, Brian?"
"Engineering, formally, but special assistant to the Captain, informally. I was involved with the design and manufacture of the Class C ships, like the Doc Travis. It's the first to be completed."
"Great! We'll have at least one person who knows their way around it."
"You'll have two," he corrected her. "Captain Keane has already gotten most of it under his belt. He's a demon for work."
"We all know that. Do we have a departure date yet? I've been so busy, this is the first time I've had to myself when not in bed." Thinking how that might sound, she attempted to elaborate. "I meant not asleep."
He laughed. "I knew what you meant. In answer to your question, four days from today if all goes well. Most of the crew and your marines are already aboard. Right now it's just loading of supplies someone decided we needed at the last moment that's holding us up. Commander Dunaway's been busy with the weapons so you probably won't see him here this time."
Brian took his eyes off Cindy and looked at the captain entering.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," Captain Keane said as he came into the dining room, which also served as a conference room upon occasion.
There was a chorus of replies, drinks being discarded and a movement toward seats. Shortly stewards began bringing in the salads.
During the dinner Cindy noticed that some of the officers looked at Wannstead rather askance, as if he didn't quite belong. She knew that some of them were wondering why he hadn't tried to get out of such a supposedly dangerous mission. His father certainly had sufficient wealth and political power to have arranged it. Gradually, though, she saw that most of them were prepared to accept him as just another officer. In the meanwhile she began looking elsewhere for potential romantic possibilities.
Too bad Keane wasn't eligible. He was a big, rugged looking man. Sexy, she thought. Was he really ineligible? The Marine Expeditionary Unit wasn't really in the chain of command and they were even in separate services. Further, she had heard whispers of a girl friend who had decided the navy and romance didn't mix well. He was now unattached. He was certainly a good looking devil, with the tinge of gray at the temples setting off his strong face and big body, but probably he had taken himself out of the pool of eligible males simply because of his command position. Too bad.
Chapter Six: Clementine
Some people wonder all their lives if they've made a difference. The Marines don't have that problem.
-Ronald Reagan
Doug didn't know quite what to say to the woman. It certainly hadn't been his idea to be bred like some damned farm animal. He stood there just inside the curtained archway and began wondering how to talk the woman into it before both of them were punished. She spoke again before he came to a decision.
"Sorry," she said over her shoulder. "I know you were ordered to come here but that doesn't make it any easier."
Doug wondered if she had been ordered to strip before being put in this room or whether she had just been relaxing while having no duties to perform for her masters. In either case, he thought it might ease her mind if he offered her something to wear.
"Would you like my shirt? It's clean even if a bit worn."
"Yes, please."
He removed the fatigue shirt and draped it over her shoulders. She shrugged into it and turned to face him while still fumbling with the tab. Surprisingly, she smiled.
"How does it look?"
"It looks much better on you than me," he said, returning the smile. The shirt hung to just mid-thigh although it moved higher as she rolled each sleeve in turn up near her elbows. He could see touches of her fair skin showing where the touch tab had worn out in places. It was no longer effective for the first eight or ten inches at the top, hanging open and displaying quite a bit of cleavage from her large breasts. Her nipples were evident beneath the shirt, worn thin over the years. He did his best not to stare.
"Thank you, I guess. Damn. This is something I never expected."
"I didn't either." He shrugged. "I was just told to come here for a week of, quote, 'breeding', unquote with a favorable - Frang's words - ' female'. Do you suppose they're attempting to breed humans for certain characteristics now?"
She returned the shrug, doing interesting things to the loose shirt as her breasts swayed beneath the worn cloth. "More likely they just think I needed to try a new male since I hadn't produced any children so far, but that was by choice. Maybe I had a premonition but I brought along a couple of spare implants. The last one has probably run out by now, though, and I'm scared because it's a dangerous part of my cycle. Some people may think we'll be rescued one day but after all this time I've given up hope and I'll be damned if I'll raise my children to be slaves!" She practically spat the last word.
"May I sit down somewhere?" Doug asked.
"Oh. Sorry. Come on in. There's more room in back. Ordinarily I have another woman living with me but they took her away a couple of weeks ago and I haven't seen her since." She led the way past another full-length curtain into a small room with a long chair or short sofa, depending on how one looked at it. There was a table and closed cupboards. Beyond an unobstructed doorway he could see a low bed with typical Sinchik covers of rough cloth, somewhat like corduroy.
"Nice place. Better than what I have for sure. I'm Douglas Trevanne, by the way."
"Clementine Scarlett O'Hara, and if you laugh I'll hit you."
Doug didn't laugh but it took some effort to hold it back.
"Oh, go ahead if you have to. I'm used to it. Or at least I was used to it before making the mistake of signing on for that Wannstead survey. And to think I turned down a scholarship for this!"
He frowned. "I don't recall seeing you on the Jeane Baptiste. I was with the security and first contact section, and backup shuttle pilot." He laughed ironically. "Little good that training did me."
"That's why we never met. I usually stayed near the bow of the ship. I was an engineering technician, just turned twenty when we left Earth. Go ahead, you may as well sit down."
"Thanks.
" He took one end of the odd seat. It had bare wooden arm rests but the seat was padded. She took the other end and tucked one leg up under her.
"So what are we going to do?" She leaned forward and whispered, "They may be recording."
"I ...suppose we should obey orders if we can," he said while winking at her.
She relaxed but he didn't. Somehow they had to manage this in a way that removed the risk of pregnancy for her but also appeared as if they were doing as told.
"Yes, I suppose, as much as I don't want to." She returned the wink but didn't smile. He knew she was wondering how to fool the Sinchik, too. It didn't matter much what they said about their masters so long as it wasn't directly to one of them. It was only when they suspected English words were being used to demean them that punishment resulted. So far as he knew, none of them had ever bothered to learn spoken English. He thought a few had learned to read it clumsily in order to study the remains of the Wannstead ship but even there he wasn't certain. The robots inhabiting the city appeared more interested but they appeared at odd intervals, usually when the Sinchik were herding humans somewhere.
"What do you like to be called? Clementine or Scarlett?"
"Clemmie. I don't how I got through school without killing someone."
He didn't wonder about it. Whether she realized it or not, even after so many years of captivity she was still very attractive. Her long strawberry blond hair framed a face that even without makeup was very attractive, primarily because of her long lashed deep blue eyes and lips that appeared almost made for kissing. He felt a stirring and hurriedly turned his mind in another direction.
"What kind of work have they given you, Doug?" she asked.
"Hmm? Oh. I guess I'm lucky in a way. I'm a personal servant so I'm used for errands and light housecleaning, sometimes a bit of cooking, and the last couple of years I've had to supervise the croppers, the ones working in the fields." He nodded his head in the direction of the circular area in the center of the city. It was a full mile in diameter and was devoted to growing food. "I don't like it that much but it gives me a chance to get out and about fairly often. I don't know how much longer that will last, though. I think the Sinchik population has been dropping the last few years. How about you?"
"Nursery duty while mothers go out to work. Cleaning. The usual menial stuff." She shifted her position and moved closer to him.
Surprised, he raised his brows, wondering what she was up to. He didn't think she intended to change her mind, certainly on this short acquaintance.
"Come closer."
He complied until their heads were together. She put her lips close to his and whispered "There's still love in the world."
Astounded, he managed to return the code phrase in a barely audible voice. "Love means a lot to me."
She collapsed into his arms and began shaking. He held her close while she cried with relief. There were a few humans who were Quislings but no one knew who they were. Collaborating with the underground could mean certain death and many of the human slaves wanted no part of a resistance movement. Taking such an awful chance on such short acquaintance made him think she must be really desperate, quite understandable after so many years of slavery. He was both excited and worried. She was a member of the underground like him, but what a hell of a way in a hell of a situation to find it out! Now what?
***
"All of our people are aboard now, ma'am," First Sergeant Watkins said to the executive officer after reporting to her in her office, adjacent to that of the marine CO, Major Rambling.
"Thanks, Top," Captain Cantrell acknowledged. "Have you gotten that last load of ammo aboard, too? And the extra supplies?"
"Yes, ma'am but don't say that too loud. A lot of these last loads weren't exactly on the manifests. They were sort of, ...um, found laying around and some of the more, uh, enterprising marines didn't want to see them to go to waste."
Cindy smiled. She was always amazed at how the senior Sergeants in the corps were able to accomplish just about any task given them, regulation or not. In this case, Major Rambling had made his wishes known in a roundabout manner. She in turn had wished for the items in hearing of Sergeant Watkins and before long they magically appeared aboard the ship, stowed in unobtrusive nooks and crannies.
"Were there any repercussions from Captain Keane seeing those extra pallets of beer being loaded?"
"No ma'am. He passed right by, said 'Looks like a big load of soda pop there, Top' and went on about his business."
She laughed out loud. "I could get to like the man."
"Same here, XO. Any other last minute details that need taking care of?"
"Now that you mention it ...sit down for a minute, Top."
He sat, relaxed and waiting while she considered how to bring the subject up. It had just occurred to her the day before.
"Top, you know we're planning on being out a good long while, right?"
He nodded.
"And I suppose you've heard a bit of scuttlebutt about the mission?"
"Yes, ma'am. Hairy, so I hear."
She twisted her hands together, noticed what she was doing and unwound them. She saw that the first Sergeant was scrutinizing her rather more closely than usual. Nothing to do but blurt it out, she thought, and probably make a fool of myself.
"Okay, here's the skinny. Suppose we don't make it back. It's rare but ships do go missing. Also suppose the crew survives whatever happens. Do we have any provisions for colonizing?"
Watkins rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. "I believe most interstellar space ships now include a basic allotment of farming implements and terrestrial seed stock as well as frozen embryos of some food animals and ...dogs, cats and a couple of other domestic companions, including the carpet cats from Wiggins World." He paused and wrinkles appeared across his forehead.
"So we're in good shape?" asked the XO.
More wrinkles appeared as Watkins thought seriously about the subject. "However, being Doc Travis is strictly designed as a war ship I wouldn't be surprised if that particular provision was overlooked. I'll take care of it."
Cindy nodded but there was more. "How about provisions for babies and children? Teaching materials, history books and so on? Whatever survey ships carry?"
"I'll take care of it, ma'am," he repeated. "Good thought. Damned good thought."
As he left she was glad it had occurred to her, too. Probably it wouldn't be necessary. More likely they would either come back or be killed but it was always best to consider all the possible contingencies. That was the essence of the military and one of the essentials that separated military thinking from civilian.
***
Brian was immediately put to work by Captain Keane. He spent all his days and many nights before launch checking the interfaces of the new weaponry with the original specifications for power outflow, gravitational settings and electronic synchronization associated with all three. He got practically no sleep, ate on the run and spent what seemed an inordinate amount of time on his hands and knees crawling around well-nigh inaccessible cubby holes where power cords seemed to grow and multiply in their dark abodes. At the present time he was sitting off by himself at a table in the officer's lounge trying to make sense of a particularly puzzling addition to one of the gravitic capacitor couplings.
He was amazed at the work and ingenuity that had gone into re-arming Doc Travis after the Navy had taken delivery. The pulse cannon and ECM systems were completely new to him, although he did have an extensive background on outfitting lasers to draw power from the excess flow of the quantum drive and its backup, but the new, much more powerful ones aboard Doc Travis staggered him . He had seen theoretical models of pulse cannons but thought them years away from application, which told him just how brilliant the men and women in DARPA were.
Even the meteor shield required hitting the operational manuals far into the night to see how it had been upgraded without reducing power drawn from thrust while underway. Only the rail guns
were relatively simple but even those were much more powerful than what he'd seen anywhere else. All those systems drawing power from the quantum drive while still allowing it to push the ship twice as fast as the older models made him shake his weary head and wish he could have had more time to work with them before launch.
"You look weary, Brian," Fred Jergens commented as he sat down beside him the day before launch. "Anything I can help you with other than providing sustenance for that starved look you're carrying around?"
"Bless you, Fred," he said, picking up one of the chicken salad sandwiches Jergens brought. "You probably can help a bit later. Right now I'm just trying to absorb the basics of the new systems. You guys have done some magnificent upgrades on my ship." He noted that the electronics design engineer was sporting a much shorter haircut than the last time he'd seen him. "Hey, I see you got your ears lowered."
Jergens face colored slightly. "Captain Keane made a gentle suggestion."
Brian managed a laugh, tired as he was. "I suspect it wasn't all that gentle."
"Well ...let's just say I was told by Chief Mura I had an appointment with a barber at 0800 this morning and that the Captain was planning on having a trim done at the same time. I took the hint." He ran his hands through his shock of considerably shortened and thinned hair. "Have you met everyone now?"
"Most of the ones I'll be working with," Brian said. "Say, I talked to the crew of one of the assault shuttles. Now that's a real innovation. I guess you were the one responsible for squeezing the stealth and ECM into them, huh?"
"Yeah. That was my sneaky little hands, or brains rather. Of course, I did have to get my dainty little fingers dirty a few times, but it was worth it."
"I'll say. That Warrant Officer Hekstrom, Judy, I think her first name is, she's driving the one I looked at and she is one smart cookie. Even after the systems were installed and checked out she came up with a couple of new wrinkles. Now they can fire the wing guns at the same time as releasing their rockets. I wouldn't want to be one of their targets."
Alien Enigma Page 7
