Last Ship to Darius

Chapter Eleven

Stacy took a deep breath as she leaned back against the comfortable cushions in the Queen's older standby waiting room.  It was a quiet spot, totally out of the realm for vid cams and the media.  It offered food and drink at the touch of a button, full control of lighting and music, as well as a level of privacy a girl of seventeen could find no where else on planet.

She sighed wistfully, holding Belson's hand.  At times Stacy knew Belson was testing the limits of his desires, perhaps more so than her own  She made sure he wasn't ignored in that respect, but the focus was intended to meet his requirements to wait and her desires to do just the opposite.  It was for this reason that the Queen had invited the use of the old waiting room as a place for them to meet.  Her Magjesty supported Belson's reasoning and also respected the need for young people's privacy. She herself had been wed at age 16 and that after much exploration more serious than Belson intended.  Thus there was certainly no prejudice for a young girl's choice and her suitor's mature and wise limits.  The fact that the Queen trusted him meant much to Stacy and also helped temper her desires.  In fact, it squashed dead her plan to plead and tempt him into taking the steps he heartfully refused.

She had, in essence, decided to just go along with his program, trusting him completely. It was a reversal of sorts, trusting him to keep her from going too far.

It was wonderful this teasing and exploration.  Some times they tickled each other mercilessly causing peals of laughter and at others the caresees grew languid or passionate.    She realized what Belson was attempting to, and in the process was making her into an accomplished and patient lover, all with a limited exploration of actual sexual intimacy.  All of this, now, was fine with her since they were no longer pretending not to notice each other.

Of course, the on the edge activity also built some rather incredible visuals and wonderful feelings in her head and body.  But in response to Belson's advice, she stored it all away for later when she would be allowed to work through these in a proper fashion.  For now she continued to simply follow his lead and go with his program.  So far, she had no reason to regret that decison and her only worry was for poor Belson.

Sergeant Sims came struggling into the old rendevous camp with high hopes but which died almost immediately as he noted the abandoned area.  He had a few hopes left, but the band of stragglers he was moving were at wits end.  He helped them get comfortable as he explored the camo areas, discovering some nice shelter and water left behind.  That would be helpful.  Where there were these kinds of supplies, he would expect to find a cache of arms and food.  So after settling his people, most of which were the remaining scientists and a few of his team,  he began to look around in the likely spots.  It took an hour to find the food, and he gave up as the light began to fade.

He'd open the canned, ready to eats and that would go along way to getting the crew back on their feet mentally.  In the morning he'd let them sleep a little late as he continued his search for weapons and the very likely opportunity to find a link. His had suffered from the EMP pulse.  No one else had brought theirs, the flight from the center being a calculated escape with only seconds between them and reaching the minimum safe distance in time.  The had left the fallout zone early enough and they had been sheltered from the radiological effects of the initital blast.  But the scared people, many of which were not in the same physical shape he was in, were not doing well in surviving the harsh woods.

It wasn't like climbing through bramble or anything like that.  It was just hot, muggy, and just a little scary, not knowing what the hell was going on outside their confined environment.  The lack of food and water supplies -- they had been down to some health bars one of the profs had managed to scrounge before their panic flight -- had been helped by Sims' killing of a wild pig, the bastard had almost taken Sims with him but turned at the last second to attempt to gore Frankie who had screamed to distract the charging beast. 

Frankie had taken him full on, but fortunately, Sims' shot collapsed the pigs legs at the final moment and Frankie's panic grab for the tusks had saved his life, if not the tendons in his left hand.  The med kit had cleaned the wound adequately and although there was still a slight infection, the boy hadn't come down with gangrene nor was he in danger of fever or worse losing his hands.  This was always a possibility when dealing animal induced wounds in the wild, especially if you were unable to get professional medical treatment.  But Sims' battlefield medicine was more than practical.  He had "studied" the F.I. courses on field medicine and his early military training had him qualified as a field medic.  Fortunately the med kits had antibiotics and several sizes of sutures to close wounds to the harsh conditions.

In any case, the pig had been good eating and he had made jerky from some of the tougher, less savory meats, and that had got them this far.  Tonight they'd have "heated in the bag" pasta with a light sauce that wouldn't threaten their delicate under fed stomachs, as well as small chunks of the famous military pound cake.  This would prepare them for more edible meals tomorrow at lunch time and then a "real dinner".  Perhaps by that time they would find themselves inbound on a carryall.  He could only hope.

For now, he passed out several bedrolls he had found and they all shared the space, a prof and his assistant who had been snuggling together over the last six nights making lots of room as they remained very close.  A young female Corporal was likewise spooned with Sims, however the remaining twelve men were sleeping back to back as he would expect.  Still with a half dozen bedrolls unzipped and spread out under the huge camo cover, it would be the most comfortable night they had had yet.  The first real sleep Sims would have gotten that was for sure.

Oh certainly, he had cat napped, like any solidier was wont to do.  But a deep sleep was beyond him. Here, however, one of his men sat up on watch and he was going to get some nice sleep, the lady corporal promising to keep her hands off his package for tonight.  He really needed that rest.  He doubted the other couple's ability to cease and desist, however, and fully expected them to find a corner of their own.  It would be okay since the odd man out, whoever was on watch, didn't use the bedroll.  And somehow, when he woke to relieve the guard, he was sure the young man would be happy to take his in his bedroll. Corporate Sandra Daily was a very comfortable bunkmate even without any active participation on her part.

He resisted the desire to give her a nice kiss on the check and she murmured, already off to dreamland, having pulled his hands into her groin area.  He sighed and left them there, unmoving as he dozed off, trying not to think of the possibilities of rescue versus another night in the sack with Daily.  His dreams were pretty vivid before he finally began to sleep the deep sleep he needed.

Duo had been up all night looking over the maps.  A new plan for harassment was turning over in his mind and with regret he had turned to thinking of the lost souls, Sergeant Sim coming immediately to mind.  That man had been indestructible, and through Duo's orders had fallen victim as surely as if he shot him himself.  He should have given the man more flexibility or for that matter ordered him to flee immediately. 

It wasn't the first time he had gone over the incident in his mind, and he remembered looking out the door at the Sarge's arm raised in a 90 degree wave, looking competent and confident.  Left to die by his officer. Disgraceful.  It wasn't the only such event in Duo's history, and yet it continued to tug at him.  More so then any of the other horrible things in war.  He wondered why.  Perhaps he had grown too close to the erstwhile professional Sergeant.  He had steadfastly declined a commission, opting unlike his friend Duo, to remain THE Sergeant Major -- the top dog in Darius' almost laughable military.

It was Duo who convinced Sims to spend this last cycle with him, rather than go back into deep sleep and wait for a more professional era in Darius' military history. Like maybe two or three years from now, if they survived these off planet assholes.  How great it would have been to awaken his old friend and tell him he was top dog for a real cadre of ass kickers.  That would really have been nice.

A nice warm pair of arms encircled his chest from behind, and the warmth of two very large and firey breasts pressed nicely against his back.

"Come to bed, Duo.  I'm getting cold in there."

"Oh yeah, doesn't feel that way to me.  Don't move, that is far too nice for an old soldier like me."

"You old letch.  Why should you get all the fun" but she stayed there for a few minutes and he relished the strong hug and her face next to his.  Finally he relented and went in to warm her bed up.  Another week, and he would be gone. As usual, he drove himself to taking his pleasures seriously in these last hours.  A real tough job that.

The Queen sat her bed alone, still punishing herself for excess, reading a novel about two star crossed lovers, murder, deceit and finally the murder's come-upance.  It wasn't all that entertainining, but the books were printed from a library of nearly a million of each genre, and she had read much better ones.  The classic authors like Agatha Christie or Arthur Conan Doyle had been highly recommended and she had enjoyed these.  She had tried some of the more modern hard porn novels, but found them devoid of art and reminescent of animal fornification.  She had experienced all herself and in person, so reading it in a book was hard pressed to match up to the real thing. 

Romance, on the other hand, when written cleverly or with art, was always interesting.  She had tried a number of series of those and come away satisfied.  So she continued in those two Genres, romance and mystery.  The stuff of life, she realized, and was amazed at how urban and predictable she had become.  She needed a good man.  This Colonel Stewart sounded like her kind of man, tough, rugged, and hopefully not prone to being ruled by a woman.  She'd like a good spanking, come to think of it.

Well, maybe she'd get her chance.  And Anna's discovery of Royal adoration had essentially killed the lewd playfulness in her and her Queen, although she talked up a good storm.  The two of them talked the subject of sex to death, and Anna had forged long loving relationships with several responsible and suitable men over the years.  But none had wanted to step into the role of consort to a ruling Queen, and Anna had been long in line for that job.

But if the Queen suddenly chose to annoint Stacy Op for the throne, Anna could easily step aside in favor.  The other 10 between the two were already deemed unsuitable, unbenowst to either Anna or Stacy.  So Stacy Op would simply glide into the role and wreak havoc on centuries of practice and rule.  For the better perhaps.  And while the young girl had been spared most of the training, the Queen thought much of it nonsense anyway.  The young girl had balls that none of the men in her cabinet or for that matter, the fops she had fired on her military counsel.  And her instincts were good too.

Anna had told the Queen of her brief conversation with Stacy and their burgeoning friendship afterwards.  The younger girl, Stacy had also become confidant to both Queen and heir.  And at times showed more maturity and resolve than either. The Queen assumed it was the constant exposure and mentoring of Duo Formsley.  Once, one of the chamber maids had come to the Queens lady in waiting and complained that Duo had forced the girl to make her own bed.  The Queen had sneaked a peek at the girl's room one day and liked what she saw.  Order, discipline, and yet, a personal touch here and there that made her yearn for her own lost childhood.

The chamber maid was told to take notes and then all the girls under the Queen's household were "adjusted" to the same standards. Some had gone home unwilling, some had brought boys  to their bed at ages like twelve and thirteen.  But their bedrooms look like well behaved young girls, not harlots and certainly not like common slobs.  One tough young thing had taught her boyfriend the art of keeping clean, and soon it was a new fashion. How clever.

Yes Duo Formsley had plenty of positive effects on the Royal household, and that while living mostly in the Royal Barracks or afield protecting the 12^th heir while she, probably due to his influenace as well, flaunted her defiance of the court.  And he may have produced the future Queen in the process.  It tugged at her mind, this dilemma, making it hard to follow the fantasy world of murder and pursuer.  Tough indeed.  For the millionth time, she dallied with the idea of finding a young stud in the palace, but then reminded herself of the pain.

She snapped shut the book, not carrying to mark the page with the three thousand credit Darian Gold book mark, and went off down to the Royal library in her night clothes to look up the genetic manipulations of the Royals.  She had an inkling that there was more to this than simple mental health.

Colonel Stewart had also studied his maps that evening.  The General had passed back a message through their go between, Too Tall.  The Sergeant Major had returned with a clear eye and that strong glow that indicated his woman friend and he were still an item.  Fine.  He was glad someone was getting some.  In any case, the General left him at it until they had enough recruits to bring in the teams to begin the hands on training.  For now he was to entertain, round robin style, the latest graduates from Duo's special F.I. training.  Stewart knew about Duo's version, he had run through it at review speed and found it quite impressive.

While the FI wouldn't build Duo clones, which wouldn't be bad if they did, they did come out of the training with some really good habits, a slick tongue and competent tactical skills.  Something his teams lacked gracefully but utterly today.  24 Duos with their own personality traits on top would bring some fire breathing excitement and creativity into the ranks of his teams.  He was toying with the idea of pulling a couple of his lesser skills first johns, and sending them back to the Barracks.  It would definitely do them good. 

He'd check with Frosty, see if he could get some priority and a few of his new brevets for replacements.  That would work out nicely.  He could give the brevets some real world experience leading a team or two, and receive back some better leaders who could also grow up quickly to fill his empty G2, S2, and L2 positions; Intelligence, Strategy, and Logistics. He had admin people coming out his ears, the dropoff in trade when the gate closed had them virtually swarming in as volunteers from the commerical world.

Soon, he hoped, he'd get some volunteers from the technical world, despite the rather stupid lack of scientific progess on Darius. What he needed were experts in technical uses of computers and especially communications types, both data fusion from sensors as well as comm guys to help him lash up some interop gear for his people, himself, and his managers.

He only had three combat vets in charge of his two dozen teams, so it was foolish not to be able to direct  and counsel the remaining novices remotely.  Once he could fax them a marked up map and calmly talk them through it and answer any questions,  they'd gain the experience needed to do it on their own. Espeically as the fluid situation screwed up his carefully laid out plans.  

So far he hadn't been too impressed with what he had to work with.  His expectations were high, he knew.  But he was also just as sure that they weren't too high given the dire need.  If anything, he was hoping for the best rather than driving to beat the best -- a dramatic position change from what he was used to.

He sighed and turned out the light as he lay back on the canvas bunk with fairly comfortable down sleeping bag unopened and acting like a matress.  His aide would be waking him in a few hours, and he'd also pick up a cat nap during the course of the day, assuming their asses weren't being chewed by something new and unexpected.  He pushed that from his mind and nodded off to sleep.

Oddly enough, he dreamed of the General and Sergeant Sims.  It was errie and the kind of dream that haunted you when you woke.  But for now, it faded and he slept pretty peacefully.

Sims awoke with jolt.  With a sigh, Ciroiral Daily moved in her sleep, causing Sims to hastily get out of the sack and heading off to the latrine he'd dug.  Coming back, he told his sentry to enjoy the warm bed he left for him and then sat up to watch the sun rise.  After he was certain that either the two Corporals had established a new relationship and that he wouldn't be interupting if he did arrive at the wrong moment, he used the flashlight from the food kit to see if he could find any coded messages leading him to the weapons cache.  It only took another hour.  He remembered a Frosty trick - leaving a coded message inside the clamp area of a collapsable tent pole, only this was one of the camo cover poles. He'd had to drop off into a light slumber to key up the hypnotic key to unlock the code in his head, but then was able to decode it quickly.  That was a reference to a big pile of rocks they had passed on their way up to this summit, and he quickly back tracked to check it out.

Sometimes an enemy found a weapons cache and the booby trapped it.  He wanted to make sure this wasn't the case, and certainly didn't need a bunch of lead foots tromping around.  He found the cache and then carefully searched the ground and area around it before returning to camp with the little radio, leaving everything else undisturbed.  If the radio worked, and the rescue ship arrived, he'd hot foot  back down there with some new batteries from the ship and restore the radio for the next time they might need it. The radio was useless without their particular battle language, and this was Navaho, long ago established as undecipherable by most outside Duo's well taught and well kept secret brotherhood.

He returned to camp and after verifying all was quiet, he moved back out of hearing.  He turned the little radio on and listened for any traffic.  He figured Frosty would have set up things for downlink request, but if hostilities were over, there might be uncoded broadcast activity.  He doubted that case, but was willing and patient enough to wait it out. After about half an hour, he filled in the display with the battle language request for a download, added his unique identifier and then sent the squirt off.  The satellite returned with a beacon, and he climbed a tree to get a clear shot at its laser head, then sent the okay to transmit.  After several trys he picked it up and sent the acknowlegement.  He sat down and then decoded the message.

While the war was surely not over, the good news was that it wasn't raging along either.  The Greenies has set up camp at the Arcadian Hill site, the Colonel had dug in some guys to keep an eye on them, and the rest of the teams were at condition three.  They were dug in positions spread out but in radio contact using the very same methodology as he.  For all he knew one could be really close to one or more of them.  That would be bad, because they'd have to hike away from them so as not to expose them during the pickup.  He'd know if friendlies or the bad guys were near, if hew was told to get away from there.  In either case, they'd have no choice but to follow orders if they wanted rescue.  And he'd be damned if he was going to nursemaid this lot much further, especially since the young male corporal had probably stolen the only available woman in the camp.  Rats and shit.  It could be worse, he guessed.

Now he keyed in a brief message to command - "Hi homies.  Fernando is back in town.  Grab your socks and your women and we gonna ondoleh outta here, chollo."

He knew that one would go all the way to Frosty,simply because no one but he would be able to figure it out.  The Sat would have their exact positional coordinates, and the phrase to do with homies would make his request clear.  "Get me the fuck outta here, bro!"  He pretty well assumed Frosty would know who the only barrio kid on Darius would be.  And he could only assume the man would be happy to hear from him.  Always assuming he hadn't been fragged by the Greenies -- the silly ass was always putting his butt in the line of fire.  That's why he needed Andy. Sims around all the time.

The radio displayed an acknowlegement but no reply, so he sat back and relaxed, tuning his ears to the waking wildlife.  Like on other planets, the wildlife was cautious in the morning, least a night stalker were on its way home still and happy to snatch a last minute snack before hitting the den for a little shut eye.  But as the Sun cleared the horizon, they'd be a chirpin', buzzing and crunching around.   He smiled and realized that radio had cheered him up to no end.  His people could use a little of that.  Even if the two assholes were still doing the mombo in front of twelve "I ain't got mine" civilians.  Sheez.

He cruised back into camp to find the girls giving back rubs to two of the older men.  Well ain't that sweet.  Maybe there was something in the plant life around the site, or maybe they were all more cheery than he had thought.  He strolled into camp and quietly said, "I've got a new toy if anyone's interested," and then he sat down to get his own backrub.

Duo was awakened by the night ring on the phone, while Nusan slept blissfully on. He rolled over to the phone and put it on over his ear.  "Yep, Formsley."

"Sir, we've got a weird message down here from an in-country satellite squirt.  It's battle language, but we don't have a clue how to decode it.  We figure you might."

"Okay, give me a minute put my face on."

"Yes sir" came the chuckle.

He sighed and rolled out, went to the bathroom, washed his face and hands, did a really quick shave, and then headed down to the comm center in a jogging outfit he pulled on in seconds.  Sat squirts could be real trouble and he wasn't going to play headquarters Dan while he had people possibly dying in a fuckin' foxhole.

He took the full sized link pad from the Captain, and too a lookt. It was a shocker.  He knew immediately who it was.  "God Damn! :Let's see the map for this area."  He studied for just a few seconds noting, with interest, that the site was one of the rendevous given the men when they had gone out to rescue his sorry ass. 

Sims, like the pro that he was, had memorized the location and somehow had got out of the ill fated hidey hole and humped their butts across a mountain range.  It was damned close to the hot zone, but that was good news because he doubted there were any of the bad guys around.  Plus Stewart's people were way off to the west.  They could have a flitter in there in three hours without taking the chance on betraying one of Stewart's people's positions.

"Send this at next download request.  'L.A. beckon's eshay.  Bring Hey'sus and some modelo, man.  We'll catch you up in three hours.  Porque?'"

They waited for a few minutes and then they had a reply.  "You gunna bring the Corona, por favor?"

"Send at next request, 'Denied, eshay, my bitch is in heat.  But one of my guys will bring his Johnson."

The message confirmed the identity of the sender, "Naw, my Shiela is happy tank you very much.  See yas."

Formsley grinned and proclaimed "I'll be a Son of Bitch.  Dispatch a treetop mission to that number three rendevous, have them come in from the South -- that's Shiela by the way.  And Johnson is not my big dick but a reference to fire power.  They are not in a combat zone, the LZ should be cool and easy. Let's not take chances though, there were at least twenty five people left at that site when the last party lifted off, so let's make sure we have enough room for at least half that wounded.  You got that Major?"

The young major snapped back "Aye Aye, General" and ran off to make the arrangements.

"Send another message to the Colonel on his next request, "Downloaded from the taco, big doings in L.A. in six hours.  Bring the Corona, acknowlege.  The bitch is in a good mood."

They might wait a while for Stewart to check in, his sunset was a few hours off.  But his aide must have been awake and acknowleged the message.  They wouldn't wait long for a reply now.   Shortly the message came back, "Nah, tequila, white man.  See ya there."

"Gentleman, you are hereby invited to the mess all at or about 2:30 pm to watch me get myself good and stinking drunk. Invite Major Belson and her highny-ness Lady Stacy Op Davis Lee Crims to join us if they please. For that tootin' matter, invite the whole shittin FI team.  We haven't celebrated the new guys graduation properly.  Man that is good news.  Hee Hee.  Sergeant Sims is back in town.  God Damn!"

The General did a little jig before going back to his room .