23

“Did you get my love?” Tomiko asked.

Rev resisted patting the MF-30 in his pocket. He knew he was being overly cautious, but with more than half of his life hiding even just his thoughts about Punch had made him very reticent to say things aloud that might be overheard.

“Yes, Punt Six gave me your love.”

“Well, you just take care of yourself, you hear?”

“I will.”

One of the good things about having the Galaxy Explorer in geosynchronous orbit above them was that they could use their wristcomps to communicate. If they were really paying attention to regulations, then anything related to their jobs needed to be scrambled. But out here on the ass end of the galaxy, who was actually there to listen?

So it didn’t surprise him that Tomiko jumped right into the FC.

“What’s your take on the Zfthu?”

Rev hadn’t quite made up his mind on them yet, so he just said the first thing that came to him. “They’re browbeaten.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t say for sure. But I get the feeling that they’re second-class citizens at best, slaves at worst. They were wary around the guide.”

“Wary around the guide, or wary around you?”

“Who knows? But the dragons don’t seem to mind us talking to them, so maybe we’ll find out.”

“And then what, Rev? We’re not here to lead a slave revolt. You’re sounding like the gennies when they were talking about Punch.”

“That’s not the same at all. Punch was never a slave, no matter what they said.”

“And maybe the Zfthu aren’t slaves, either. Did you consider that? Maybe they’re just not used to being invaded by a bunch of humans.”

Rev grunted. Of course, she was right. They knew nothing of the two races here, and he was really jumping to conclusions. And now that she mentioned Punch and the Genesians, maybe that was coloring his perceptions somehow.

He wanted to change the subject.

“How’s the reaction force?”

“Bored as hell, Rev. What do you think?”

“I don’t care about bored. Are they going to be effective?”

“As good as they can be, given the circumstances.”

Rev knew the sharp edge of the Marine sword was getting dull. Back about a million years ago, when Rev was shipboard on a deployment, there were plenty of planetary landings and cross-training with local forces to keep their combat ability honed. But during the expedition, only two teams had faced a real enemy, that being the BG bots. For most of the Marines, soldiers, and Legionnaires in the ground force, with the exception being the buffalo, which were not an organized foe, they hadn’t faced an enemy. They’d faced wind, and they’d sat on their asses while the sailors fought the BGs, but that was far different than the training they needed to face opposing combat forces.

Neither the Po nor the Zfthu were the enemy. But as long as Rev was responsible for the civilians on the ground, then he needed a way to intercede if necessary. So, while he and Randigold were planetside, Tomiko was trying to train a reaction force that was ready to head to the planet at a moment’s notice.

Her mission requirement was to get the entire thirty-six-person force on the shuttle and launch within twenty minutes and to be on the ground in an hour with full combat capability.

Thirty-six Marines and karnans weren’t the most robust force the Marine Corps had ever deployed, but if the shit hit the fan, they might be enough to support a localized extraction.

“And the timelines?” Rev asked.

“Everyone’s in Condition 2-Alpha. We can get on the Charon or a shuttle in the twenty. But after that, it’s up to Nyad, and he’s being a dick.”

“He’s probably pissed that he wasn’t with the FC party,” Rev said.

It had been obvious that he’d expected to be part of history, but with both Rev and Njuguna on the deck, that sort of boxed him out. Not only that, but Lieutenant Zybar, the Navy’s low officer on the totem pole, was the only sailor on the ground at the moment.

And if he was pissed, then that might keep him from fully cooperating with Tomiko and the Reaction Force.

“Do I need to talk to him?”

“I’ve got it,” she said.

He fought back a smile. Tomiko could get a little bristly when anyone questioned her ability to get things done. He hadn’t exactly done that, but . . .

“Is everything else OK?” she asked.

“Combat rats suck. And these bozos didn’t bring down any real food.”

“Half of them are just tourists. I know for a fact that at least eight of them have never left the ship before. The rest of the real team’s coming down later. They’re used to the drill, so the chow should get better.

“And speaking of that, when do you think we can do a switch?” she asked.

“You and me?”

“No, you and Nyad. Of course, me. And I’d like to start rotating more of us down before they all go stir-crazy and kill each other.”

“I haven’t really talked to Njuguna about that yet. She’s only been on the ground for a couple of hours now, and that’s been with her meeting the dragons and Zfthus.”

“What’s there to talk about? The fierce, fire-breathing dragons and the . . . whatever you call the Zfthus. A slave revolt? Sounds like enough of a reason to have ground security.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

“So, how long, then?”

“Let’s let things settle down here. A week, maybe?”

There was no real planning for that figure. He’d pulled it out of his butt.

“Don’t forget, the girls are asking for you. They miss their daddy.”

“That’s not playing fair, Miko.”

“Who said I play fair?”

Not me. I know better.

“Let me talk to Njuguna, and I’ll give you a firm timeline.”

“OK. I’ll let the—Aspen! Give that back to Willie right now,” she shouted. “If you can’t share, I’ll take Foomee, and neither one of you will have her!”

“I’ll let you go, Miko. It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear one of the girls crying in the background.

“Miko?”

“I said share!”

With a sigh, Rev cut the connection. Maybe a month down here would be better than just a week.

* * *

The next two hours were a cluster, and Njuguna and Hyung met again with more of what Rev thought might be Po leadership. Some of the “tourists,” as Tomiko had referred to them, were scrambling to get their facetime in with the Po. Rev wondered what their guide, who was getting almost all of the attention, was thinking of selfies.

But just like a goyam rock star making time to please the fans, their guide seemed to have the patience of a saint. Hopefully, things would settle down as the serious work got underway. With two separate races, the civilians would have to split their party. Even so, Rev didn’t envision them leaving anytime soon.

“Are your people always this way, Strong Bough?”

Rev hadn’t noticed the Kanter coming up beside him.

Situational awareness, Reverent. Keep on the alert.

“You mean the selfies?”

“Is that what you call them? Accurate, accurate,” Tiktik said.

Rev didn’t know where in the Kanter hierarchy Tika-impossible-to-spell-the rest—so now, “Tiktik”—was. For all he knew, given the Kanter’s lack of decorum, Tiktik was the equivalent of the village idiot. That would fit.

“Have you met it yet?”

“With that press of humans? No. I’d be crushed flat,” he said with a trill.

I can take care of that.

“Punt! Come over,” Rev shouted to Punch.

They’d been keeping a bit of a distance between them. It was probably unnecessary, especially when Wolf knew who Punch really was, but that same wariness that kept them using table talk for so long was still in effect here.

Punch had been standing on his own against the wall, but at Rev’s invitation, he strode over.

“Since you two are here representing your people, I think it’s about time for you to meet your first dragon.”

“Yes, ‘my people’ would like representation,” Punch said.

With TikTik and Punch in tow, Rev made his way to their guide. “Bulled” his way would be a better description. He might not have his IBHU, but Rev was still a big, powerful human being. The civilians grudgingly made way as Rev approached the Po.

“I’d like to introduce you to two more of our combined expedition. This is Punt Six, who is representing a different group of humans,” he said, then felt guilty the moment the last word was out of his mouth.

It was one thing to hide Punch’s real identity, but now he was interfering in the FC process by interjecting a lie. But the lie was so embedded that he didn’t know how to extract it.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Punch said.

Their guide stared at Punch for a moment, the red eyes lasering into him. “Forgive me, but you are obviously mechanical. Yet, other than the limbs of the two of you, no other human is the same way. Have you suffered a catastrophic injury that needed intervention to stay alive?”

Punch was not good at lying, and it showed. This time, he simply sidestepped the situation.

“Genesians are fully human cyborgs. Most of the nervous system and vital parts of the rest are kept in life-supporting capsules. Those are encased in these mechanical bodies, which are called shells.

“The organic organs that are retained are fully human without genetic modifications. It is biologically possible for Genesians and other humans to have children together.”

What the . . . ?

But Punch was right. Rev had just never considered it before. It made sense, though, given that the Genesians had wanted their DNA. But using snippets seemed different than actually making whole babies together. The entire Genesian reproductive process was still a little shaky in his mind, and while he wasn’t sure about the mechanics, he knew it came down to a sperm cell fertilizing an ovum, just as with the rest of them.

“Thank you. Now I understand. I am surprised, though, that you go through the process when regeneration seems to be a much easier path to take. Or don’t you have that capability?”

“No, we do,” Rev said. “I could have had this arm regrown,” he added as he raised it. “But it takes time, and then we had the IB . . . we were testing new innovations.”

No reason to give up the IBHU program just yet.

“The Genesians were developed more than two hundred years ago to be . . .”

Once again, he was stuck. He didn’t want to get into the entire sordid history of what was done to the early Genesians, which might lead to them trying to explain the Corolla Wars. He didn’t need his FC training to know that would be a bad idea.

Crap. Maybe having Punch here really is a bad idea.

“. . . a new process going forward, and then after that, it was culture more than anything else.”

Which was true. The Genesian young could be raised as any other human, but they had a culture now that they wanted to keep alive, and they saw advantages to their current condition over what they called “meat.”

Time to get out of this discussion.

“And this is Tiktik, a representative of the Kanters.”

The diminutive lemming-like alien stood on his hind legs to face the much larger, much fiercer-looking Po, which seemed like it could swallow Tiktik in one bite. But like all Kanters, he was fearless.

“I am honored,” Tiktik said.

“I am honored, too. I am sure our current leadership would like to meet you as well.”

“What’s your name?” Tiktik asked with typical Kanter directness.

Rev had been wondering the same thing, but their FC training mentioned that various aspects about alien contacts, even something as innocuous as names, might be culturally insensitive and that they should wait until the contacted race volunteered information in that vein.

Leave it to the lemmings.

But he was glad Tiktik had asked. He was getting tired of referring to it as “their guide.”

“Name? I understand that you label each other as identifiers. We have no need for that. We know each other.”

“Wait a sec,” Rev said. “We know each other, too. I know Punt Six here. I know Tiktik. But it helps to be able to address them.”

“If you are communicating with one of your people, and you want to refer to yet a third person, how do you indicate that third individual,” Punch asked,

Several of the civilians who’d been listening in crept closer to hear the Po’s response.

“This is difficult to explain in your language. You either don’t have the concepts, or we don’t know your words for them yet. The best I can say is that we all have markers, signatures, if you will.”

“What kind of markers?” Punch asked.

“This is where it gets difficult. Your race has DNA, as you label it, as chromosomal building blocks, the best we understand it. We’ve been observing you and are learning more about your physical beings, but that will take some time.”

That immediately made the hair on the back of Rev’s neck stand up. How were they “observing” human DNA? He took a quick look around the large room, wondering if there were scanners of some sort built into the walls. And could they really discern DNA?

But their guide was continuing. “So, call it identifiable differences that are embedded in our DNA analog.”

“DNA analog?” one of the civilians interjected.

“We developed differently and a long time ago, so no, we do not have your type of building blocks. But if it helps you to understand, I will use the term. So, if you are able to imagine that our DNA is coded with our individual signatures after our birth, we always know who each of us is at all times.”

Which implied that they could see “DNA” somehow while just talking, and that blew Rev’s mind.

“What about Punt Six’s question if you’re talking about a third individual who’s not present? How do you identify that person?” one of the civilians, Dr. Jorge Demillion, asked.

Rev knew Jorge from many missions, so not every civilian on the planet now was a tourist.

“Once again, forgive me for a lack of fluency in your language. But when I communicate with another of us, if I want to indicate yet a different individual, I embed my communications with that individual’s signature.”

What the hell does that mean?

Jorge seemed to be getting a grasp of what the Po was saying.

“So, you somehow make reference to this signature. Isn’t that the same thing as a name?” Jorge asked.

“No. I embed it. It’s part of the background to what I’m saying. This is extremely difficult to explain. Maybe someone else can do a better job. I apologize.”

Their guide seemed distressed, and Rev wanted Jorge to back off for now. This wasn’t the time nor place, and their guide might not be the right Po to press.

“No reason to apologize. It’s just that for us, we can’t embed anything, and it’s easier when we use names for each other. But that’s us.”

“You are not alone in naming protocols. The Zfthu use names in the same way that you do. So do others. If it makes it easier for you, you may so label us.”

“What, just give you a name?” Rev asked.

“That is what you call a nickname, correct? Just as you call us dragons.”

Rev felt his face redden. He had no idea that they knew the nickname. And now he wondered just how much the Po were finding out about them.

“You and the human Randigold are the first humans I met.”

From halfway across the room, his fellow IBHU Marine, with her augmented hearing, looked up at the mention of her name.

“I think it would be appropriate for you to give me a nickname.”

Everyone’s attention turned from the Po to Rev. He could see Jorge’s expression that said, “Don’t mess this up, Jarhead.”

Rev suddenly felt nervous. Punch had asked him the same thing all those years ago, and without thinking, and what he thought was jokingly, he’d offered “Punch” more facetiously than seriously. But his battle buddy had accepted it, and there it was.

If he was supposed to name this Po, then it should be something worthy of the historical significance of the contact.

But what?

Their guide stood there, looking like a demonic dragon raised from the depths of Hades. Its three red eyes bore into him, making him shudder. Should he keep with that powerful demon motif? Or maybe something a little gentler, as if a nickname could tame the appearance.

How about something positive? Justice? Honor?

But then it hit him. Just before he left, the last thing he and the girls had watched on the ship’s entertainment system was a documentary on the wildlife of the Rocky Mountains on Earth. The girls had fallen in love with one of the animals.

And just as when he pulled “Punch” out of seemingly nowhere, he had the answer.

“Your new name is Pika.”

Jorge rolled his eyes.

“I accept the nickname, Sergeant Major.”

Small and cute, the pika had reminded the twins of Blue, their gerbil. And maybe with such an innocuous name, Rev could quit imagining the Po breathing fire and burning him to a crisp.

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