Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (55 page)

“Oh?”

Jethro nodded. The JAG and NCIS would probably have his ass, but he didn't care at the moment. “An Asian woman. I remember her vaguely. I'm not sure of her name. I barely remember her; I met her as a cub. I do know she freaked me out.”

“She scared you? You?”

Jethro snorted. “I wasn't a Marine then, ma'am, just a cub. Yes I'm a Neo, and most Neos are predators or omnivores, but this woman was a predator too. One who hunted for the fun not for food. That's something hunters abhor; those who hunt for the thrill, for sport. A true hunter hunts for food. They don't kill just...just because you can,” he said shaking his head. “Neos are really touchy about such things.”

“I see.”

“I think her name started with a P. Miss P or something,” he said thoughtfully. “It could be a T.”

“Miss T. Mystery,” April mused.

“I'd watch that, ma'am. She...seemed prickly about her name.” He shook his head. “Damn I wish I could remember it,” he growled. He shook his head. “I remember her nickname was...Reaper, I think.”

“Oh?” April asked, raising an eyebrow. This was going in directions she wasn't comfortable with but was unfortunately familiar with. Unfortunately familiar for the panther's continued life if he didn't quit.

“Like I said, I... knew her. Vaguely. She was an...associate of my sire Jet.”

“Jet. Your father...didn't he attempt to kill Captain Logan?” April asked.

Jethro squirmed uncomfortably. “Yes, yes he did. I'm not happy about that. He...he went his own way. I wanted a clean start, to follow my dream of being a Marine.”

“So he took it as an insult? And decided to take revenge on Captain Logan?”

Jethro shook his head. “Jet wasn't like that. He always said you never killed for revenge, only for defense or profit.”

Her brows knit thoughtfully. “So if it wasn't defense...”

Jethro's ears went flat. He realized he'd screwed up. Again. Bast yowled in his ears.

“Yeah, he worked for the guild. Yes, there is a contract out on the Captain,” Jethro ground out. “I'm betting it is still out there. The same people who put one out on Fleet Admiral Irons most likely did it. You'll have to look elsewhere though; I've washed my hands of that and my father's past.”

“Very commendable young man,” April said, eyes narrowed slightly. “If it is true,” she said.

Jethro shrugged and smiled slightly. “We all know how this works. The truth is subjective in your field. I'm just a Marine, ma'am, I tell it how it is.”

“I see.”

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

April took a casual walk in the college park. People were about; it was quite busy, half way between lunch and dinner. Just as she and her contact had arranged, a public place. She found the double bench and sat down to wait. After a few minutes she grew bored and crossed her legs. She watched the people walking about with lazy eyes. As a celebrity she was or should have been easily recognized. She normally wore her bright yellow jumper, and her red hair was quite distinctive. It was pitifully easy to disguise herself then; if you expected a red head no one looked twice at the snub-nosed brunet in a white poka dot sundress.

She'd even donned rose colored sunglasses for the occasion. They were a bit overborne, more for her anonymity then actual protection from the artificial UV light.

Ten minutes into her wait she was rewarded. She sensed the presence of another person on the other side of the bench. “Nice day,” she murmured.

“Yes it is. I wish they'd let birds loose here. It would be fun to feed them,” the other said.

“It depends on what birds you mean. Pigeons are little more than rats with wings,” April replied.

“True, but there is a remedy for that I suppose,” her contact replied. “And now that the small talk has been established...”

“My, are we in a hurry?” April asked.

“I just don't like being near a reporter. Even one so fetchingly dressed,” her contact replied. “You have something for me?” he asked.

She smiled and withdrew a small item from her bra. She palmed it, hand dropping to where his hand was. “An...issue. Something you and the family should be aware of,” she murmured.

“Ah, another one of those,” the contact sighed. “I do so hate those. Loose tongues. You'd think they'd learn.”

“Fortunately, the interview was recorded, not a live broadcast. I edited out the...troubling bits. It is amusing when your own boss orders you to make cuts; what he doesn't know won't hurt him I suppose.”

“True.”

“What you do with it is up to you,” she said as she passed a flash chip. She got up and brushed her lap off. “Have a good evening,” she said as she left.

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

As members of the military and the refugees started showing up on Anvil or the other colonies they were ambushed by paparazzi. The competition to get the juiciest bits was fierce, so some credits exchanged hands with the customs officers to get an alert if someone of interest was coming in, where, and most importantly, when.

If the person was an officer, they were met with a media circus. Some didn't mind the interviews; they seemed amused or thrilled by them. Others didn't like the spotlight, they just wanted to go have a good time in the limited time they had available. They tended to put a hand up to fend off the glare of the spotlights and wild shouting questions and then moved on. Station security would sometimes show up to help people cornered get away.

All of the crews celebrated, hitting any bar or pub they could. Some of the media got wind of that and staked out a few of the bars, paying a premium to the staff for information or recordings.

The crew didn't care; they got free drinks, food and services. That was extended in some areas for all military personnel on Anvil and on some of the colonies.

Footage turned up of the prison colony from a protected source. The Horathian prisoners were vilified as Marines were shown escorting them to the detention station. There was a bit of blood lust for a short time. Calls to execute the Horathian pirates and any turn coats were vigorously denied.

“Unlike the enemy, we don't kill for sport, we don't torture for pleasure. We've kept them alive because they have some value and to put them on trial. Those that committed heinous acts will be punished. Our JAG and intelligence officers will ferret out their secrets one by one.”

“Sir, so you’re saying they are of an intelligence value?”

“Don't you go about and make contacts? Sources? Well, we need information. We'll get it.”

“Sir...”

“It's also about honor. Some surrendered honorably. Some never participated in the war crimes. We know that. We're weeding the sheep from the wolves. It will take time, but we'll get it done.” He glared about, fists clenched. “
However
, if we find evidence of war crimes then the guilty
will
be punished.”

“What does that mean, sir?” April O'Neill demanded.

“It means those who abused prisoners, committed war crimes such as bombing populations, raped, tortured or murdered for fun, or practiced genocide
will
be punished,” he said with cold final eyes.

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

April spent some time thinking about what she wanted. What the future needed. What she wanted for her future. After a while she came to a decision and went to Knox. She had to handle it carefully, so she planned accordingly.

“You can go in; he's expecting you,” Moya said, looking up.

“Just a minute,” April replied, smiling ever so slightly Outside her door she unzipped her jumper a bit to give a better view of her cleavage, adjusted her lacy black bra to show more skin, and then made certain her hair and makeup were okay. The secretary smirked as she knocked and went in.

She strutted to his desk and then leaned over the desk, giving him just the right amount of cleavage. “I think I will take that job in Antigua.”

He looked up from the tablet and then blinked. “Um, uh...what...”

She smiled, knowing she had him hooked. Sonya was good, but she knew her boss was a sucker for the honey pot. Not that he ever dipped more than a finger into it. Sonya'd have his balls if he did. “The job? Anchor job in Antigua.”

“Um...”

“It's a fresh start. New audience. I can present news from here and the sector there and send reports here. Win win,” she said with a flirty bat of her eyes and then a dainty lick of her lips.

“Um...uh...” he sat back. “Yeah,” he licked his lips.

“If you don't mind loosing me here,” she said in a husky voice, fighting the urge to laugh. Men, she thought with amusement. So easily led.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, you will be, um, missed,” he said and then tugged on his collar and adjusted his seating.

April knew flirting with her boss would get her in trouble with Sonya; the minx at the desk acted as a spy for her. All this would get back to who really ran Knox. He'd have no choice but to move her as far away from him as he could. He wouldn't can her, he couldn't afford to lose her to the competition, but he'd go along with her plan.

“Yeah, um, that'd...yeah. I'll um...draw up the paperwork.”

“Thanks boss,” she said smiling. She turned and gave him a bit of a hip wiggle as she strutted out. When she got to the door she turned and winked and then left.

She turned to see the minx frowning up at her. She winked at her too and then zipped up her cleavage and left. If she was right Moya would be calling Sonya, and the wife would be showing up to lay down the law by dinnertime.

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

Captain Logan pondered his changed rank with a bit of bemusement. It was just like John to pull a stunt like that, he knew Horatio would have pitched all kinds of fits, so he'd taken the decision out of his hands and done it without him even in the system! The thought amused the old man. At least John thought he'd done a good job, or at least the best he could with what Irons had left him to work with on such short notice.

Things were shaking up, shaking loose. That programmer jig, what's her name, Ball, he thought, yes she had gotten together with Commander Sprite and the other AI long enough to not only copy all of the bots the AI commander had created since she'd left the system, but also a basic template for a dumb AI. She'd even wangled firmware updates for each of the AIs in the system while she'd helped boot Maine's AI Lobsterman. She'd nearly been press ganged into service on Maine until Irons had relented and allowed her to return to her family in Pyrax.

The Yard was coming alive again. The industrial plants hadn't been fully taken offline, but they hadn't been at anywhere near 100 percent use in the past four years either. Now they were swinging back into production, and the stockpile of parts and hulls his people had built up were starting to erode away as ships moved into docks to be finally finished. With the AI and people to man the ships, he figured they finally had a fighting chance against the Horathians.

He'd even pulled in some of the ship's he'd slapped together, like Kittyhawk. She was due for an overhaul right after Firefly vacated her slip. The escort carrier wouldn't leave this time without a proper fusion reactor and hyperdrive.

Shipments of equipment and supplies were moving out with gratifying speed to the orbital forts. It would be at least a month before they managed to get all the parts installed and online, but they were already making headway there.

Now that things were moving again in the Yard, he'd finally thought he could relax. Or at least feel like things were getting back to normal. They weren't quite there yet, but getting there. The military ships were easy; Xavier was already being repaired, as was Charlie and Jumping Jack. Charlie would be the first to return to active service with Jumping Jack a week behind her.

The four gunships he'd mothballed. He could use them, but they needed a thorough going over and full update. He wasn't certain it was worth it. For now he'd stick them out to pasture until he had a use for them. He paused, cocking his head. He could send them in pairs to nearby systems...he shook his head. Later, he'd think about it later.

He did have a few issues to deal with though. He'd wished John had been clear about what to do with them. Hell, he'd wished he'd taken the lot with him!

He'd have to pay prize money to the people who'd taken the ships. That wasn't a problem, but Gypsy Rose and Minerva Alabama were already becoming a headache. The survivors from both crews were agitating to get their ships back. Both wanted to move on with their lives. He couldn't blame them. He wasn't happy about the lawsuits that had been filed though, but he could let the ships go in good conscience.

The reefer Gypsy Rose would do well running loads of meat from New Texas down chain to as far as Avalon, then rare meats and veggies back, if they went that route. Minerva...that ship was a mammoth ship; he wished he could hold onto her. He'd rather trade her for the Moth, but the surviving crew were no fools. They wanted no part of Spaceways Whale.

There was some speculation that he'd send some of the ships to the auction block to clear the Navy's debts. Since they didn't have any debt, he didn't see that happening, though he'd been tempted with the whale. She was just too old to put into naval service, even though she was a functional ship.