Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (47 page)

“I can't blame him. It's bad. I...it's not just the smells. It's the miasma, the feelings you get, like your skin is crawling. Fight or flight kicks in bad.”

“Yeah, I...I've seen a couple spaces,” Jethro said. He'd had to explain a few to Bast. He hoped it didn't mess her up. Or mess her up any more than she already was messed up.

“I know, like I said, I knew you prowled your first day here. Getting to know the ship and checking her from stem to stern. I approve. And you prowling with your suit after hours. Just do keep the noise down if you go into occupied territory and keep her away from the prisoners.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” Jethro said as the lieutenant finished his last MRE and then tossed the tray to the trash. It hit hard enough to move the lid inward to allow it to fall in.

“Point. Good shot, sir,” Ox said.

“I shouldn't. Now the others will be doing it,” the bear said wearily as he got to his feet. “Well, nice chatting with you. We'll have to do it again sometime. Jethro, I'll see if we can have a face to face like you've requested. Just don't get your hopes up for too much.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” Jethro said, getting to his feet. Ox did as well. The bear nodded and left.

---( | ) --- ( | )---

Jethro finally got his face-to-face meeting, but it didn't go as he'd planned. He realized the grizzly had been right; he'd expected too much. He resented that. After all, they were Marines and naval personnel, professionals. They should be drilling constantly. Unfortunately, the Captain didn't see it that way.

“I heard about your little pop quizzes and pop inspections, Gunnery Sergeant. Such nonsense needs to stop,” the Veraxin chittered.

“Sir, it's good discipline to keep our people on their toes. And to make certain they are doing their jobs,” Jethro said stubbornly, not happy about the direction this was going. He felt mood swings, knowing not all were his own. He tried to keep a lid on it but his resentment, and Bast's resentment in his favor wasn't helping.

“You will do as you are told as will they. I believe we can trust them with their tasks, not treat them like children,” the Veraxin said with finality. “Or do I need to make a formal reprimand?” the Captain asked.

“Sir, what you are doing could be construed as prejudicial to good discipline. The gunny is within his rights to check on the Marines and make certain they are attending to their duties,” Valenko said politely but firmly. “I approved it when he came on board.”

The Veraxin froze, and then all four eye stalks swiveled to contemplate the bear. “You did?”

“Yes. We do not need to be lax with the prisoners.”

Esh'z signaled agreement. “True,” the Veraxin admitted looking at the other officers and noncoms in the room. Ox nodded his big head to the panther. All seemed in favor of the panther. “Fine. Contain your zeal panther; there is a time and place for drills and rigid discipline. We need to remain flexible now.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Jethro said through tight teeth.

“Loose the armor. You don't need to wear it.”

“Sir, my orders from Admiral Irons require me to continue wearing it, for my health as well,” the panther said.

“And the last order of an officer takes precedence,” the Veraxin said. “So, put the suit up. That's an order.”

“I'm not certain he can, sir,” Ox rumbled. The others looked to him. The Tauren indicated the suit. “The suit has its own AI with a mind of her own. She is apparently bonded to the Gunny and refuses to leave his side. He's attempted to wean her but it is...slow.”

“I have my orders regarding the suit and Gunny,” Valenko rumbled.

“And you don't want to get into a pissing contest here, despite your grade ahead of me; I am the Captain,” the Veraxin warned.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you out of the suit when on duty as much as possible then,” the Veraxin said. “At least in public areas. Around the prisoners...” he tapered off.

“It would be wise to limit their exposure, but he has already been seen in the armor,” Esh'z supplied.

“I'll do my best, sir, but Bast is still young. I can't say if she'll follow along or not.”

“See that she does.”

“Yes, sir.”

Valenko signaled Jethro to remain after the meeting broke up and the crew went their separate ways. The grizzly eyed the big cat as he paced.

“It's natural for people to relax after what we've been through. And he doesn't want to push too hard when we're spread too thin. If someone gets hurt then we're spread even thinner with people who resent the stupid accident. Morale plummets, and I'm betting he's very aware of any paperwork or investigations that would be in the future,” Valenko reminded him when they were alone.

“Yes, sir, I understand that,” Jethro said through gritted teeth. “I just don't like the idea of lowering our guard. Not with our cargo. That's what I'd think would be a bad thing.”

The bear eyed him. “You really are on a tizzy about this aren't you?” he asked.

“Not...yes and no. I want it, I see the reasoning for both sides but...” Jethro shrugged uncomfortably.

“Well, you could have put it in better terms. You need to ease up a bit. Cool it,” Valenko ordered.

“Puberty all over again,” he muttered.

“Puberty?”

“The emotional roller coaster all over again. Some of the feelings aren't my own or are to some degree. Bast is...very protective of me. She's...not happy when I'm not happy. So it magnifies things.” He explained to Valenko.

The bear nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know when it will stop?”

“No idea,” the panther said. “If ever. From what I understand this is a permanent thing. We're bonding,” Jethro sighed. Jethro felt Bast send him a wordless apology. “It's not your fault Bast. We're getting there,” he said in return. She purred softly in his ear. He smiled and flicked his ears in reply.

The bear looked at him and then snorted. “Well, just try to keep a lid on it. And don't go popping off on the people or go behind his back.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” Jethro said.

“Dismissed.”

Chapter 21

Ensign Esh'z interrogated some of the crew when it was his turn to command the security watch. He realized he was hated by the prisoners because of his species. He was tempted to use that, to play
good cop, bad cop
with them and a willing human Marine. PFC Hart might work; he had some interest in investigations apparently. He liked to read mystery novels it seemed.

Hart had been a good catch. When the Marines had been shuffled about to fill in voids the bug had put in for like-minded individuals. He knew he wouldn't get his wish, after all; he'd learned you didn't want an all intel unit. A balanced unit was best; someone had to keep an eye on the security situation or mind the logistics, after all. So he wasn't too surprised most of what he'd gotten were shooters, but Hart had apparently been a transfer in the right direction.

Most of what they did was just watch the camera feeds and hatches. Cameras and other sensors were in each of the brigs. The other Marine guards didn't care about the prisoners; they knew they were unarmed and weren't getting out of the dungeons. There had been a brief concern about a possible mutiny brought up by the Gunny, but Esh'z agreed with the Captain, the chances of them pulling it off were laughably remote.

That didn't stop him from listening in to the recordings though. The bug had gotten a rough program to filter the conversations. He had set up a computer network to catalog the various dialogs in the brigs, who said what, and how they said it. Code words he looked for, though this early in the process he was certain he wouldn't recognize them. But that was why he had the recordings. He could go back and check them over later to look for trends.

While on shift the bug overheard one of the prisoners tell another not to mention
El Dorado
. Curious, the bug started up a conversation with the two prisoners, isolating them from the group in the outer vestibule. They only replied in monosyllables to his attempts at a conversation while looking at the mechs and PFC Hart, however.

Eventually he came right out and quizzed the prisoners about it, sure it was some sort of attention-getting ruse. That got a viscous response, first an angry glare, then an attack on him. The largest of the prisoners, a chief petty officer, lunged at him, but the Veraxin fended him off, backing away. The mechs moved in immediately and secured the prisoner.

Spiteful, the chief snarled and spat at the Veraxin, snarling threats. Esh'z had his true hands full; however, he had to fight the other human off until PFC Hart pulled him off him.

“Strange to be so...bigoted,” the Veraxin chittered.

“Damn bugs! Someone should splatter you all! We will eventually! Not worth a stomping!” The CPO snarled, glaring and struggling against the mech. He looked at the other prisoner, who was looking away, apparently scared.

“Well, you certainly are a testy one,” the Veraxin said, mocking the human. He turned to the other human, a smaller version of the first. “Perhaps this one will be more forthcoming? We'll have to have another discussion when all have calmed down. Perhaps tomorrow night,” he said. “Take them away,” the Veraxin said, waving an upper hand claw in dismissal.

---( | ) --- ( | )---

The next shift he instituted the usual head count when he came on duty. He was actually glad the Gunny had suggested and insisted on the head count. It was tedious, but it forced the Marines to pay attention, and it let the prisoners know they had someone watching them. Perhaps he could build off that later.

“Sir, we're getting some...something odd. The heat signatures are off in D block. We're missing one,” Hart said, voice growing tense.

“What? Do we have an escape attempt?” The Veraxin demanded.

Hart changed the temperature variables, then ran a back track. The heat signature traces flashed backward on rewind. He focused on the missing one and hit play. His eyes narrowed as he saw someone come over to it and do something. After a moment the heat signature thrashed and then started to cool. “No, wait, this isn't right,” Hart said, and then rushed to the door. He sent a remote drone in, then an armed one, then a mech. He followed the mech in as the lights came up.

“Move!” he snarled, shoving a prisoner back into his bunk. He arrived at the bunk just as the Veraxin got to the door with the second mech. “Damn it!” Hart snarled. “He's dead!”

Esh'z paused in the doorway and then looked around, using his scenting apparatus to pick up the flavors of the room. There was the usual scents of too many humans in the quarters, as well as blood. A lot of blood, and fresh. Most of it was coming from the victim's rack, but some was coming...he reoriented on a human, the CPO he'd interviewed before. “That one,” the Veraxin said, pointing to the culprit.

“Yes, sir,” the mech said behind him, being controlled by another Marine in the security office. The mech brushed past the Veraxin and quickly took the CPO into custody. The man kicked something. The Veraxin saw it skitter across the deck. He directed one of the drones to follow it, then hover over it.

The nearest prisoner reached for it, but then backed away, hands up when the drone focused its cameras and weapons on him. Slowly he went back to his rack to glare at the machine. The machine turned slowly, buzzing as the Veraxin went over and picked the weapon up with his left claw. “A shiv I believe. Plastic from the look of it, most likely shaped from an eating implement. Well, we'll have to do something about that,” he said. He clacked his mandibles and turned as a prisoner shifted. “Do not move unless you wish to be, as the chief said, splattered,” the Veraxin said firmly. The man snarled, but then rested on the rack, turning away with is back to the Veraxin.

“Yes, just as I thought,” the Veraxin chittered and then went to PFC Hart. The alert squad was already on the way. He received their signal and gave them the all clear. Two additional mechs came into the bay; one stood by the door while the other went up and down the lines.

“It seems we will need to perform a weapons check, which means a search. I do hate them, such tedious things,” the Veraxin chittered as he came up to the PFC. He noted the blood and body. He turned to look at the weapon again. “You soft skins are so fragile,” he clicked, turning the improvised weapon this way and that to get a good look at it. It was plastic, reshaped into a shiv by heat and grinding against metal. He looked at the victim. The weapon had been used to stab the young man through the eye and then puncture his throat in multiple places. One hand was clutching at the wound; his good eye was rolled back. He had bled out before help could arrive.

“Sitrep?” Valenko rumbled, filling the doorway.

“One KIA. Prisoner, 141. Apparently 149 killed him for an unknown reason,” the Veraxin replied.

“You and I both know why. Dead men tell no tails, sir,” Hart said nodding his chin to the victim and then turning a look on the accused. “He made certain of that,” he said.

“Indeed. A very likely motive, but we will have to continue the investigation regardless. I fear a great deal of paperwork is in our future,” the Veraxin clacked in irritation.

Great, just what I don't need,” Hart said, shaking his head.