by PJ Strebor
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed, Ensign.”
Nathan had been intermittently checking on Carpov throughout the bone-jarring drive. “CC, if you want to take a break, I can spot you for a while.”
A branch slashed across the view-plate, making her wince.
“Have you ever driven one of these old jalopies?”
“No.”
“Then thanks, but I’d better remain in the pilot’s seat on this one. They can be quite temperamental.”
To emphasize the point, the truck dropped into a hole, throwing them violently around the cabin.
“Shit, Carpov,” Lucky yelled, “take it easy, will ya?”
One hour and fifty-two minutes later they drove through the open gates and into the compound of Refugee Camp Twenty-seven. Thanks to Croft’s map and sage advice, their journey, although bone-numbingly tiring, had been free from rebel interference.
Just as well, since we had to leave our weapons back at the spaceport.
As Nathan dismounted from the truck, the stench of neglect struck his nose. Modern sewerage had apparently not made it into the camp. The four humans stood by the truck, massaging sore joints and muscles, while the doc went to find help. A few of the locals passed by, their eyes cast to the ground. Around the camp’s perimeter the jungle threatened to encroach. Nathan’s gaze followed the sheer face of the escarpment, which disappeared into light mist.
From a large opening in the otherwise solid rock wall, Doctor Ning emerged.
“Corporal Carpov,” he shouted, “would you back the truck into the loading dock?”
“No problems, Doc,” CC said.
“The rest of you, follow me.”
They passed through the entry and into a huge cavern. The loading dock had seen some use over the years, and showed its age. Within the cavern’s poorly lit interior, signs of construction were evident from the smooth texture of the walls.
“The basic tunnel system,” Ning said, “was formed millions of years ago. Bret engineers expanded on it during the war to use as a staging and supply area. The old tunnels go back into the mountains for many kilometers, but only the reconstructed parts are in use today. There’s mining on the other side of the ridge.”
“Sylvester!” The voice belonged to a woman about Ning’s age, wearing a long, white coat spattered with various unknown stains.
“Corinne,” Ning said. The two embraced, then the woman pecked him on both cheeks.
“Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, but it’s been one of those days, again.” She glanced at Ning’s group. “I hope they are willing workers.”
With an echoing rumble, the truck backed into the cavern and stopped before the ferrocrete dock.
“I’m sure if you ask nicely, they may be willing to help out,” Ning said.
She ran her gaze over the group, then back to Ning, and arched an eyebrow. Showing obvious reluctance, he disengaged his arm from her waist.
“Doctor Corinne Doucet,” he said, “this is Chief Petty Officer Ritchie, Ensign Whitney and Ensign Telford.”
Nathan’s back tightened as she shook hands first with Ritchie, then Lucky. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly from the waist.
The Franc doctor’s hand fell to her side.
“Welcome to Refugee Camp Twenty-seven,” she said. “What we lack in amenities, we more than make up for with injuries, disease and malnutrition.”
“I thought you were getting regular supplies from the LHO?” Ning said.
“We have.” Corinne sighed and rubbed her face. “Between visits from the rebels who want our medical supplies, and the government militia who want everything else, there is little left for the people who need it most.” She winked at Ning. “We hide a bit away in the deep caverns. Enough to deal with our most immediate needs.”
CC dropped the tailgate onto the loading dock. “Where do you want it, Doc?”
The Franc doctor took over, organizing the distribution of the many containers of food and medical supplies. When they moved deeper into the cavern, many more Cimmerians appeared. The very young, the very old and those simply too bone-weary to move on.
The job of unloading the truck and dispersing the supplies continued, Cimmerians in white coats directing the action. The supplies quickly emptied from the truck until only one container remained. Nathan paused to catch his breath. The thin atmosphere made any exertion difficult. He waited until the dizziness passed, then picked up the container and turned to find an elderly Cimmerian woman approaching him.
She examined the container’s label. “Follow me.”
They moved through the caverns, finally arriving at the hospital. A scene of barely controlled chaos, the area was strewn with grubby fold-out cots and patients. Nathan followed the nurse, who turned down a crudely hewn passage and into a separate area. The children’s ward appeared to be even more chaotic than the main hospital area, screaming babies and rushing infants everywhere. Following instructions, he placed the container on a bench.
A harassed nurse with a whining baby on each hip stared at him. “Do you have children, young man?”
“Ah, yes, I have a baby daughter.”
“Good,” she said, handing him one of the infants. “Take care of her, will you?”
Nathan held the squirming baby at full arm’s length. She had to weigh eight kilos. He could not tell her age, but this was not a happy camper. Her little face scrunched in a way universally familiar to any father.
“So, what’s your problem?”
He sniffed her diaper and pulled back. “Holy cow. You’re a toxic little thing, aren’t you?”
After locating the supplies he needed, Nathan placed the baby on a table covered with a clean sheet. “So, little darlin’, what have we got here?” Removing the foul diaper, he grimaced. The infant’s toffee-colored eyes followed his every movement. Nathan had been through the ritual with Ellen, and the principles were identical. He rearranged her white smock and held her in the crook of his arm, cleaned, powdered and re-diapered. The squirming ended, yet she continued to find him fascinating.
“Now that’s better, isn’t it?” he cooed, then tickled her belly. The little face came alive with delight, the small white teeth glistening. She seized his finger, as any baby would. Although any baby wouldn’t apply the amount of pressure she did. “Hey, sweetie, take it easy. That’s my shooting finger.”
For the first time in weeks, he truly missed his family. He should be holding his baby and wife. Pushing such thoughts aside, he brushed a strand of fine, black fur from her forehead.
“I wonder what your name is?” Being fully conversant in baby talk, he kept his tone playful. “Maybe I’ll call you Ellen two. Hey, wadda ya think, hmmm, wadda ya think?” She smiled while wriggling in his arms. He could not help but grin at her antics, and returned to tickling her tummy. “What’s your name then? Aaayye, what’s your name?”
"Emma.” Doctor Doucet dropped a container on a bench and wiped her forehead. “Her parents were killed when their village was shelled during a fight between rebel and government forces.”
“I once knew a very fine pilot called Emma,” he cooed to the baby. In the same light tone he asked the Franc, “Do you have many like her?”
“Sadly, far too many. With any luck, this little one will survive.”
Emma disliked being anything less than the center of attention, and gurgled her disapproval.
Nathan jiggled her on his hip.
“I would have thought, what with the billions of dollars flowing into the Cimmerian economy, there wouldn’t be a need for places like this.” Nathan knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from someone who had lived through the years of legendary corruption.
She snorted and shook her head. “Just what I’d expect from an outlander. There’s more than enough wealth on Cimmeria for everyone to live, ha, dare I say, like human beings? But if there was anything resembling equity on this world, the king wouldn’t have the money to build his magnifice
nt palace or have his many concubines or his new flying toy.”
“Should I take it, Doctor, you’re not a royalist?”
“Within this compound we don’t discuss politics.”
“Of course.” Nathan had heard enough. Although his dislike and distrust of Francs would forever be ingrained into his makeup, his curiosity got the better of him. “Have you been here long, Doctor?”
“Seven years,” she said. “Without the League’s contributions, children like Emma wouldn’t live to see their first birthdays. We do what we can.”
“I see.”
“It’s getting close to sundown, so I’ll take care of Emma now.” She held out her hands. Nathan tried to return the baby, but Emma had other ideas. She latched both of her small, powerful hands to his shirt with diabolical fervor. Emma squirmed and bleated and, despite the doctor’s best efforts, would not let go. Doucet stepped back, a smile playing over her face.
“Now that’s unusual,” she said. “Cimmerian children don’t usually bond with humans so quickly. I think you’ve been adopted, Ensign.”
With the struggle ended, Emma happily returned to the crook of his arm and continued to stare at him. Her mouth hung open as he smiled at her.
“That’s fine with me. But we ship out tomorrow morning, and as much as I would love to take this little one with me… ”
“We’ll take care of it then,” Doucet said. “You’ve obviously located the diapers, so I’ll show you where everything else is.”
A short time later Nathan entered the small alcove set aside to the five humans for the night. Placing the bag of baby supplies on the floor, he slumped heavily onto the cot. Doctor Ning had said the shot given earlier would last for twenty-four hours. He already felt the weariness working its way into his bones.
Emma finally nodded off, and Nathan leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. The baby squirmed in his arms, waking him. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and checked on her. She wasn’t happy.
“What’s up now, darlin’?” The surrounding chill answered his question. Nathan rubbed her back to get some circulation going.
Three of his shipmates huddled by a small heater, staring at him with half-formed smiles. He yawned again and chuckled as Emma copied him. “You rascal, yes you are.”
“I’ve heard of a girl in every port, Mister Telford,” Carpov teased, “but this is too much.”
The group laughed as he got to his feet and pushed toward the heater’s inviting warmth. Emma clung to him as he moved closer to the only heat source in their little den. Carpov and Ritchie suspended professionalism.
“She’s so cute,” Ritchie said. “What’s her name?”
Nathan held her at arm’s length. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Princess Emma.”
“So where did you find her, Nathan?” Lucky asked.
“She kind of found me. Didn’t you?” Tiny noises came from the back of her throat. “I think that’s baby talk for ‘Yes Nathan, I did.’ ”
Even Lucky’s tough façade began to melt.
Nathan held back another yawn. “What time is it?”
“Two hours after sunset,” Ritchie said. “We were going to roust you earlier, but you two looked so content.” Sheepishly she asked, “Can I hold her?”
“Do you want to go with Auntie Ritchie, darlin’?”
Ritchie smiled and held out her hands and once again Nathan’s shirt tightened across his chest.
“That’s strange.” Ritchie looked crestfallen. “Kids normally love me.”
“Cimmerian children are different in many ways, Chief,” Doctor Ning said, as he closed the curtain to their den. Rubbing his hands together, he joined them. “When Corinne told me a human had been adopted by an infant Cimmerian, I thought she was joking. It almost never happens.”
“Maybe Nathan’s got a banana in his pocket.” Lucky’s smile dissolved under the withering glare of the two female non-coms.
“Talking of food,” Ning said, “is anyone hungry?”
“Me,” Lucky said.
Within a low-ceilinged cavern, the humans lined up for the communal meal. A smattering of elderly locals sat around rough-hewn tables, huddled over their bowls. Some of them interrupted their subdued conversations to sneak glances in his direction. Nathan prepared the baby formula and warmed it by the hearth. Having tested it against his skin, he offered the bottle to Emma, who latched on to the bottle with both hands.
“Who’s a hungry girl then? Emma is.”
Ritchie placed a steaming bowl next to him, before sitting with the rest of the group. The doctor had excused himself, he said, to deal with other matters. Juggling the infant in one hand, he tasted the soup. It contained vegetables of some kind, suspended in a watery broth. At least it was warm. He sighed as he finished. Emma happily worked away at her bottle.
Periodically he caught toffee-colored eyes stealing glimpses in his direction. Nathan suspected humans did not turn up for dinner every night. A human holding a Cimmerian baby must also rate as an oddity.
Nathan could not tell the age of the Cimmerian who disengaged from his group and made his way to the hearth. He appeared old, but something in the way he moved spoke of an ageless vitality.
“May I share your heat?” he asked.
“Of course,” Nathan said, and peeked at the baby. She had finished her bottle, so he placed her over his shoulder and began gently patting her back.
The newcomer gestured to the only remaining chair, and Nathan nodded.
“I am Gareth,” the Cimmerian said. “You are Athenians?”
“We’re Monitor Corps,” Lucky said.
“Ah, yes, we have heard about monitors.” He examined his hands for a moment. “Some of your ships served here during the war.”
“Yes, my father served here during the war,” Lucky said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, he was a marine.”
“We may have met then.”
“Did you serve during the war, Gareth?” Nathan sensed something from him which did not feel right. Not dangerous, as such, just different.
Gareth gazed into the hearth and sighed. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still to this day my father has nightmares of his time here,” Lucky said. “He told me many times about Cimmerian infantry.”
“Oh?” A faraway expression came to Gareth’s eyes.
“He said you could find no finer or braver soldiers than Cimmerians, anywhere within Tunguska. I’ve spoken to veterans from the war, and they pretty much say the same thing. It must have been a time of great valor and noble battles.”
“That is one take on it, Ensign.”
“What’s your take on it, Gareth?” Nathan asked.
His features hardened. “There is nothing noble in seeing entire populations bombed out of existence.” He lowered his head to the hearth. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
Nathan finally tired of this game.
“I heard that Cimmerian infantry were all cowards who shat their pants in battle.”
Gareth half-rose from his chair, his eyes ablaze.
“Why, Gareth,” Nathan said, around a wry smile, “you have a military bearing to you, sir.”
The Cimmerian nodded, acknowledging Nathan’s trap. He cleared his throat as he resumed his seat. “I served.”
“Yeah, but on whose side?” Nathan chuckled and Gareth grinned sheepishly and shrugged.
“As I said, it was a long time ago.”
Emma burped and Nathan gently tapped her back.
“I’ve heard, Gareth, that these mountains,” Nathan said, glancing around the grotto, “are impervious to sensor scans, even at short range.”
Gareth nodded. “There are minerals beneath the planet’s surface which create a scattering effect on sensors. All high-tech equipment as well.”
“Fleder and coltak?”
“I see you’ve done your research,” Gareth said.
Nathan found it difficult to read Ci
mmerians in general and this one in particular.
“I’ve researched your world from those times. A bunch of malcontents with long swords and bad attitudes took on and beat the most powerful military coalition since the Franco-Pruessen war.” Nathan leaned forward. “That is the stuff of history.”
“I believe your original home world has similar stories, does it not?”
“Huh?” Lucky said.
“I think Gareth is talking ancient Earth history,” Nathan said. “The, what was it called … Indo-China war? The most powerful country of its time stuck its nose into what was essentially a sovereign country’s internal politics, and got bloody. And lost. Yeah, I would say there are parallels.”
He attempted to bait Gareth, and the Cimmerian saw him coming. “You are quite the historian, Mister …?”
“Telford. Nathan Telford.” As if you don’t know, you old fraud. Nathan would bet a year’s pay on the Cimmerian being ex-military.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Telford.” Gareth stood and they shook hands. “Perhaps we will meet again?”
“Perhaps.”
Gareth nodded to the rest of the humans before strolling from the grotto.
CHAPTER 36
Doctor Ning awoke with a start. Beside him, Corinne continued to shake his arm.
“Time to go, Sylvester.”
“Hmmm.” Dragging his body from the bed, he stretched the kinks from his back. “Typical woman.” He yawned. “Use me up, then throw me out. Charming.”
Corinne chuckled with a deep throatiness which made him want to climb back between the warm sheets. “If you don’t get going, you horny old saw-bones, you’ll miss your boat.”
“Might be worth it,” he mumbled, as he got dressed.
Leaving happier times behind him, Ning walked into the loading dock, rubbing his hands together. From his trips to Cimmeria, he knew that the approaching dawn would burn the frost from the surrounding jungle within the hour. Hopefully the return journey to Port Kingsford would not be as disagreeable as the one out.
“Mornin’, Doc,” Ritchie said, handing him a steaming cup.
“Thanks, Chief.” He sipped the weak tea, wincing at its bitterness.
