Fleetfoot Interstellar: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 1 Page 5

  Abhay stood up with a pillow covering his manhood. His bulging pectoral muscles almost touched as he hunched forward. Margaret looked at him suspiciously and snatched the pillow away. Her husband sprang up so hard that his member nearly touched his rippling abdomen. Margaret was extremely tempted but had to admit the painful truth that Mother Parveen was correct.

  “So, me standing up to your mother makes you ready?” Margaret asked with a mixture of arousal, anger and bemusement. Abhay just smiled, shrugged his shoulders and grinned that stupid grin very few people outside his family would ever see. She pulled him toward her the part of him that wanted her and kissed him hard on the lips.

  “We will finish this tonight,” She said. “I need a shower,” and walked away with her clothes bundled under her arm.

  “I’ll be right there!” Abhay called to her retreating back.

  “No way, Jungle Cat! We’ll never get going if we do that … tonight …” Margaret replied, and her voice faded down the hallway.

  Abhay painfully put on his pajama bottoms and stalked off to take his own shower. He scrubbed quickly and signaled his bodyguards to meet him in the courtyard. He shook the cobwebs from his head and tried to forget his beautiful new wife as he performed his warm-up exercises. His three bodyguards arrived and immediately joined in. When Margaret arrived two hours later, she found the four men huddled in a circle with swollen, bloody faces and lacerated bodies. They discussed in excited Hindi how best to defeat each other next time.

  “What the...” Margaret exclaimed when she saw them. She’d seen their sparring sessions before, but she’d never witnessed this much blood. She guessed her husband had a bit more frustration to work out this time. “What the hell is wrong with you people!”

  The bodyguards thought her reaction was hilarious, and their laughter obviously pained them. Abhay’s personal physician arrived and immediately turned to the Senator. In a show of good leadership and senseless machismo, he had the physician work on his bodyguards first. He went to his wife with open arms and smiled at her with split lips.

  “No way! You look like ground meat. Get away from me!” Margaret exclaimed. One of the bodyguards said something crude in Hindi and Abhay waved his fist at him and extended to him the timeless Human gesture of a raised middle finger. Margaret resolved to learn more Hindi.

  “Why do you do this?” Margaret asked. It was not an idle question. She really wanted to know.

  “I am a Military Leader as well as a Senator. We have to stay sharp,” was his answer that made Margaret feel even less informed.

  The physician finished with the bodyguards in minutes. They wiped off completely healed bodies and jogged off to the showers. Margaret watched as the doctor gave her husband a quick injection in the neck. He passed the healing unit across the swelling and lacerations that appeared to cover him from head to foot. The unit hummed as its violet light encouraged cell growth and drew nutrients into damaged flesh. Blood and clear fluids oozed from Abhay’s pores around the damaged areas. In a few minutes, he was good as new.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Abhay said and dismissed the physician with a gold coin as a token of appreciation.

  “Get cleaned up, you lummox. Your mother will skin us both alive if we are late.” She turned away, and he snapped her in the backside with a rat-tailed towel.

  “Stay sharp!” Abhay exclaimed. Margaret whirled on him and tried to kick him in the crotch. She was laughing too hard and missed.

  “You will pay for that, believe me!” She threatened, then walked away. “Giant, lumbering man-child,” she muttered as she walked away plotting her revenge.

  Breakfast was more subdued. They ate formally with Mother Parveen and made small talk, mostly about the weather. Four servants stood in each corner of the room to attend them. The Mother-in-Law only needled Margaret twice about her former life as a freighter crew person. Margaret figured that was progress.

  “I have word from Gajrup that he is doing very well with your brother,” Parveen said through a mouthful of garlic naan.

  “I have no doubt,” Margaret said, wary of some trap.

  “He tells me your brother is a very good Captain,” Parveen said. Margaret stifled a guffaw. “You disagree?”

  Margaret trapped herself. “Let’s just say that my brother is a unique individual.”

  “Many people believe they are unique. It is rare for one to convince others of that delusion. Your brother must be unique indeed,” said Parveen. Of that, Margaret had no doubt. The woman was extremely sharp and probably knew more about her brother than Margaret did at the moment. Margaret’s family was a sore spot with her mother-in-law. While she missed her family, she did not miss the vagrant life their father provided for them. In the end, she had to get out.

  “And how is your brother the Physician?” Parveen asked. It seemed to Margaret that the old woman was making actual small talk in an attempt to be pleasant. Margaret let her guard down and gave Parveen the benefit of the doubt, hoping it would not come back to haunt her later.

  “Thomas is doing very well in the Federated Americas. I haven’t heard from him in quite some time. His City Ship Armada was heading away from the Trade Lanes the last I heard from him a year ago. Exploration mission, I think.”

  “Interesting people, the Federated Americans,” Parveen said. “I never completely understood why we Humans still identify with the places where our blood pooled on Old Earth. In my advanced age, I realize we refer to the Human family this way more out of habit than anything else. You’d think that, after eight centuries, we’d forget the old world. Instead, we make our new homes in its image and name them accordingly.”

  Margaret sat in contemplative silence with that. The old woman made an interesting point. She was also grateful that Parveen stopped short of asking about their second middle brother who disappeared with their father more than ten years ago. Margaret did not want to think about that.

  Or maybe it was Abhay who saved Margaret from probing question when he said, “And talk of the Human Diaspora brings us to our latest dilemma.”

  “Abhay,” Parveen warned, casting sideways eyes at Margaret.

  “My wife has a right to know. By right and tradition, my spouse is my council.”

  Parveen could not argue with that. Her late husband was her most valued counselor as well as the love of her life. Her son brought this woman into the family. Even if she didn’t trust the wife, she decided it was time to trust her son. Besides that, she had little choice.

  Margaret stopped eating. Dread rolled through her chest like a cold fog. She fixed Abhay with unblinking eyes and waited.

  “The Reptilians have a War Fleet. We believe they will attack the trade lanes within the year at least, two years at most.”

  “And your address to the Senate this morning?” Margaret asked.

  “Both Houses,” Parveen corrected.

  “Not an announcement of war. I will ask for more funding for the trade fleets and the academies,” Abhay said.

  “Trade? What does trade have to do with this?”

  Both Son and Mother offered Margaret with the same grave expression.

  “Our trade fleets operate under a secret protocol. All trade ships owned by Human governments can be converted to warships within a single year. They are designed with baseline defensive capabilities that should hold off invasion until complete conversion is achieved.”

  Margaret just shook her head. She grew up around merchant ships and didn’t see how this could be possible. “How can it be secret if every captain knows about it?”

  “All Merchant Fleet AIs know the protocol, but only a very few Humans are aware of it,” Parveen said. “To the rest, it will be a complete and very welcome surprise when the Reptilians attack. When the need arises, Academy-Trained Merchant Captains will find themselves in command of powerful warships. Why do you think the humanoid Merchant Astronauts are so well-trained? Our Fleet Academies are military institutions in everything but name.”

&n
bsp; Margaret sat back in her chair unable to digest what she was hearing.

  “So now you know,” Parveen said, and she spread more of the spicy pickle on another piece of naan.

  Margaret tallied another debit to her husband, who suddenly got up from the table and kissed his wife, then his mother, goodbye. Make that two debits. He kissed both on the forehead. He left Margaret with knowledge that the delicate balance between Sentient space-faring creatures was about to change. And her brother would be right in the middle of it. But she had to let her brother know before it was too late. She had to convince her husband to let her do that.

  Abhay received an urgent message through his comm implant from his Intelligence Team Leader. Even subvocalizing, he could not afford to open a channel right away. He had to get to one of the many security consoles hidden in plain sight around his apartments.

  Abhay stepped out into the apartment’s central courtyard and breathed in the cool night air. “Go,” he said simply. It took a few seconds for the encryption units hidden in the planter boxes to zero in on the signal, then relay it through the entanglement transmitter.

  “Senator Prince Colonel Nautiyal,” the operative said, taking the time to address all Abhay’s offices. It meant the officer was stalling. Not a good sign.

  “I’m here,” Abhay said. “Give me the news.”

  “We still cannot find the Keystone ship, but we do have a lead. We will be away from the entanglement communicator while we follow this lead.”

  “Do what you must, Lieutenant. The mission is in your capable hands,” Abhay said, the subtext being; “do not mess up.”

  “It cannot be helped, Colonel. If there is no contact in two weeks, assume we are lost. The device will remain hidden on the Merchant ship.”

  Abhay almost said, “How can you guarantee that,” but held his tongue. His Lieutenant was risking the lives of her entire five-man crew to infiltrate the Kelgar 7 colony. Abhay had arranged this operative crew be placed on the Fleetfoot I in a hasty fashion. The word that Drexler had a shipment there came quickly.

  But it wasn’t the fact that Abhay had to order five people to undertake a potentially fatal mission that bothered him. It was the fact that his brother-in-law was most likely a mercenary spy for the enemy that caused Abhay such agitation. It was times like this that Abhay relied on the most ancient wisdom of intrigue to friends close and enemies closer. He was fairly certain that adage applied to family as well. If he played his cards right, Abhay could eliminate Drexler without Margaret finding out. He was nothing if not confident in spycraft.

  “Krishna protect you and your team, Lieutenant,” Abhay said. Calls that delivered troubling news always ended with a disturbing wake of silence. Abhay stood among the potted plants and planned his next set of moves.

  7

  Even for a backwater port, Kelgar 7 was not a very busy space station by the standards of the Trade Lanes. Samuel looked around with a studiously casual air as he clocked his surroundings. The foot traffic was odd. Everyone was wearing civilian clothes, but they seemed to be on a mission. When people spoke, it didn’t seem like they engaged in small talk. They made smile-free greetings, exchanged words and sometimes looked at info devices, then walked away in opposite directions. There were no couples of any polarity that seemed to be anything more than people with a similar agenda. It seemed there were no friends here. The Doctor hated to admit it, but Drex was right; something was off about this station.

  Drexler took a long pull from a surprisingly good pint of beer, looked across the table at two Lizards and unzipped the shielded inside pocket of his flight jacket. Two of the Lizards across from him had eye stalks, and one had a single large green eye in the center of his crocodile head. When they caught the whiff of tobacco wafting from Drexler’s contraband pocket, every eye stopped twitching. Nobody blinked.

  Drexler zipped up his pocket again and tried to resist a sly glance at the Doctor. Both Humans knew from the Lizard’s reaction that they had experienced tobacco before. The Lizard with the crocodile head trembled slightly, and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth. None of them spoke. Samuel watched their throats for signs of subvocalized communication. It was hard to tell with the collars of their flight tunics pulled almost to their chins.

  “Humans should be careful,” the largest Reptilian spoke. His name was Sslaar, and he wore the three jagged claw mark lines of a Loadmaster on his shoulder patch. He was a Reptilian Freight Guild officer. The others were still apprentice-class Astronauts.

  “We are always careful,” Drexler replied, leaning back in his chair. The move was calculated to seem nonchalant, but he also wanted some distance from the table in case one or more of these creatures decided to take offense or make a grab for the contraband. Both were known to happen in port.

  The crocodile-headed Lizard said something in his native tongue and excluded the Tradespeak translator from offering the comment to the Humans. It was against custom and a very rude move that no fellow Astronaut should do in friendly company. Drexler let it slide. So did Samuel, but for different reasons. The Doctor tried to open an encrypted channel to Drex’s comm implant but failed. That’s when he realized something was very wrong. Trade Union Ports were not allowed block crew communications.

  As they walked along the outer ring of the space station, Gajrup also began to notice strange things about the facility. There were no families, no vendor stalls. There was only one restaurant, two food dispensaries and one lounge on the outer ring. The restaurant looked more like a cafeteria with unpleasant food, but the food dispensary did yield nourishment for his insect friends.

  Tara spent a shocking amount of credits buying many Human and other Simian desserts for her children. Apparently, the beetle-like creatures enjoyed desserts or needed a lot of sugar to survive. Tara selected one dessert for herself and surprisingly, one meat-based protein item intended for Reptilians. Any thoughts of food left Gajrup's mind as he watched the insect’s mandibles tear open packages and eat. It looks like they had several miniature octopi in their mouths. Translucent gray tentacles writhed from their open mandibles that both held and licked clean the nutrient pouches.

  The slightly smaller insectoid child now known as Dewey saw Gajrup watching and gave a chuckle by way of a short rattle of his wing covers. Gajrup was surprised how quickly he was picking up on their expressions. So far, he only detected amusement and pleasure.

  Dewey retracted his mass of tongues, closed his mandibles and said, “Would you like some?” and held out the spit-covered pouch to Gajrup.

  The engineer stammered and blushed beneath his chubby brown cheeks. “Ah, no. No, thank you but …”

  Huey rattled his shells in laughter and gave the back of Dewey’s armored head a swift swat with his second left hand. It seemed this was a gesture common to Humans and Insectoids alike. “Don’t be a jerk,” the friendly swat said. They were putting Gajrup on. Dewey laughed harder and made raking gestures with his free hands back at his brother.

  Gajrup smiled hard and laughed along.

  “Dewey jokes you,” Huey said to make sure everything was OK.

  “I get it,” Gajrup said. “I’m sure it can’t be pleasant for you to watch Humans eat, either.”

  They chattered among each other for a few seconds, and it was Dewey's turn to take a swipe at his brother, which only seemed to increase their amusement. Right before Gajrup was about to feel left out of the joke, Dewey said, “He say of your mouth; ‘pink hole, too many teeth.'”

  The engineer’s eyes went wide and then he almost doubled over with laughter. It was true. The Insectoids also found certain aspects of Human physiology disturbing. Tara hunched her shoulders and dropped her head in embarrassment.

  “Boys,” she said, making sure the translator picked it up for Gajrup’s benefit, “Not be rude to new friend.”

  The “boys’” laughter died down, but only slightly.

  Gajrup recovered himself, said, “If you please, Tara, I’m not offended. In
fact, this is a sign of friendship that I welcome. Humans also joke like this. It means they are comfortable enough with me to give me a hard time. Believe me; I will reciprocate.”

  “Human boys, Insectoid boys,” Tara said, shaking her head. “Very much same. Silly.” and she rattled her wing covers lightly.

  The observant security guards hanging back 20 feet from Gajrup’s left shoulder didn’t know what to make of the group. They had very little experience with Insectoids as well. Gajrup had almost forgotten about the security detail. Tara did not. It was impossible for the guards to tell, but she focused lots of attention on the three Humanoids.

  Tara’s eyes allowed her to see around her head in a nearly 340-degree radius. She allowed part of her vision to perceive heat and discovered that these security people were heavily armed and equipped with many implanted electronic devices. She hesitated to use more active forms of vision for fear of setting off security alarms.

  She doubted her children were aware of the threats. She made a mental note to herself to discuss it with them later. If there were to fulfill their obligations when fully grown, they would need more lessons. For now, she let them play with their new friend. Tara was becoming very fond of Gajrup. To protect him and the rest of their new hive, her children would need to grow up quickly. It was a prospect she was not looking forward to. Much like any Sentient Mother being, she wished to preserve their innocence as much as possible.

  ***

  Samuel was surprised when the Reptilians abruptly left the table and their beer. They gave every outward sign of wanting to score some tobacco. Drexler also wondered what just happened. He leaned forward in his seat and looked around. What little patronage left in the lounge was thinning out rapidly. In a few seconds, he and Samuel were alone.

  “This looks bad,” Drexler muttered under his breath to Samuel. They could no longer subvocalize on local comm implant channels. Communications to the ship were blocked. Now Drexler understood what Reggie meant when he said that the station “operational security” was “another matter.” These blokes were not playing around. For whatever reason, they were willing to violate high Trade Protocol permitting personal communications.