Kris Longknife 13.5: Among the Kicking Birds

  Kris Longknife: Among the Kicking Birds

  A novelette by

  Mike Shepherd.

  Published by KL & MM Books

  February 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Mike Moscoe

  All right reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or any other information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction set 400 years in humanity’s future. Any similarity between present people, places or events would be spectacularly unlikely and is purely coincidental.

  This book is written and published by the author. Please don’t pirate it. I’m self-employed. The money I earn from the sales of these books allows me to produce more stories to entertain you. I’d hate to have to get a day job again. If this book comes into your hands free, please consider going to your favorite e-book provider and investing in a copy so I can continue to earn a living at this wonderful art.

  I would like to thank my wonderful cover artist, Scott Grimando, who did all my Ace covers and will continue doing my own book covers. I also am grateful for the editing skill of Lisa Muller and, as ever, Ellen Moscoe.

  Final Draft

  Note to long time readers of Kris’s saga. Due to the limitations that impact self-published books, the small caps that has highlighted talk on Nelly Net has been replaced by bold italics words.

  Chapter 1

  “If I wake you up, will you hit me up side the head?” brought Kris Longknife back to wakefulness.

  Without opening her eyes, Kris took stock of her situation.

  Pregnant. Check.

  Exhausted. Check.

  Tummy upset. Check.

  Want to roll over and go back to sleep? You bet.

  “Consider yourself hit up side the head,” Kris managed to croak at Abby.

  “I got some milk. Even got a straw so you won’t have to get your head up.”

  Kris sipped cool milk that quickly coated her queasy stomach.

  “Do I smell something heavenly?”

  “Fresh ginger cookies,” Abby reported. “Cookie’s hired himself an Ostrich for a table boy who’s doing double duty as a runner.”

  “He knows it’s life or death if I don’t get my cookies,” Kris said, reaching for one and nibbling at it. It was warm, chewy and delicious. Just what her tummy wanted.

  “I have to get up,” was more a question than an order.

  “Sorry, Baby Ducks, but you’re the only one that can negotiate land use permits with the locals, or so you insist. Jack’s plane is two hours out of the guano mine. You’re due to meet him there, then go puddle jumping all over the veldt to make the acquaintance of some really kicky birds. You want me to come along?”

  “You thinking my ass might need saving today?”

  “Kind of. Also, Pipra thinks I’d be the most acceptable person from her staff to look out for their interests while you’re pulling this particular miracle out of your hat.”

  “So, you’ll serve two masters, huh?”

  “Saving your neck is always job one,” Abby assured Kris.

  “Be sure to wear your spider silks.”

  “Already got them on.”

  Three hours later, two longboats loaded with Marines, Abby, Amanda and Jacques and a dozen Ostriches were on final approach. Parked off on the apron waiting was a large, four engine transport. The Marines’ three gun rigs and one armored gun truck drove off the longboats and right into the transport.

  Kris took a walk across the apron to a welcoming committee made up of Jack and the former Navy frigate skipper who now oversaw the shit farm for his crimes.

  “We have a minor problem here, Kris,” Jack said, still bandaged and wrapped but offering Kris a pinky finger for a hug.

  “And my new problem is . . .?” Kris said, hugging the one finger.

  “Sampson and Mugeridge began a hunger strike yesterday,” the mine manager said, naming the two officers responsible for Kris’s present uncomfortable condition as well as the child under her heart.

  “I don’t know how they found out that ships were headed back to human space, but they did and quickly declared themselves on a hunger strike until and unless they get a ride home.”

  Kris suspected that the scowl on her face was at least as bad as Jack’s. Kris shook her head. “There may be a lottery for a few slots open for that run, but those two will not have their names in the hat.”

  “I’ll pass that along to them,” the former Navy officer said.

  “Would you like to get your name in the lottery?” Jack asked.

  “No, sir,” he answered immediately. “All by myself I screwed up the best job a man can have, skipper of my own ship. It’s hard to believe I was that stupid. Anyway, no. I’m doing good work here. Truth is, I’m hoping that you might find a garbage scow you need a skipper for,” he said, nodding toward Kris. “I know I don’t deserve it, but maybe the next time you have to put a sub under the ice of that moon to shoot Hellburners at base ships, you’ll consider me.”

  “That was damn near a suicide mission,” Jack pointed out.

  “I doubt I’ll get a better command,” the ex-skipper admitted.

  “Keep your nose clean and stay squared away and I’ll think about that,” Kris allowed.

  “Thank you, Admiral. Now, about my two problem children?”

  “Any idea how they learned what was happening up on Cannopus Station?”

  “No ma’am, and that bothers me. We don’t get a lot of news here. What with our long work day, we could care less about anything not at the end of our noses. I admit that them knowing what I didn’t does make me wonder where the grapevine is.”

  “Find out,” Kris said. Maybe she did have more troubles on the Constellation than she wanted.

  “And about the two?”

  “Tell them they’ve still got to produce their work quota. If they die, they can rest assure no one will bother to read their obit here. There’s no media to carry it. Work and eat. Don’t eat, they still work.”

  The former officer grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “The plane is loaded, Kris. We’re burning daylight,” Jack pointed out.

  They jogged toward their plane. It was taxiing out to the runway as they belted in. Once airborne, Kris went forward to the flight deck to get a better view of this land she was dickering for.

  They were flying up a broad river that slowly meandered through a land flatter than any Kris had ever seen. In some places, the river opened up into vast marshes. The flood plain went on forever as it slowly rose to bluffs miles away on both sides of the main course. Trees dotted the land as it rolled away in breaks that led to uplands where a sea of grass covered rolling hills that went on as far as the eye could see.

  But what roved that grassland was mind boggling.

  Herds of four legged critters of every size and shape, from small and fast to huge and ponderous. Here were more of the things the colonials called elephants, but even bigger.

  “Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Kris asked the pilot.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea. I’m told this is the time of year for great gatherings among the Ostriches. The orbital take has identified two large ones. One on each side of the river. I’m headed for the larger of them.”

  “Can you land down there?”

  “I took your man Jacques to visit a lot of these folks a bit ago. I didn’t wreck the plane then. I suspect I can manage now. We got nanos to take the measure of any landing strip I think is too risky, ma’am.”

&nb
sp; “I apologize for asking,” Kris said.

  You should have asked me, Kris. I could have told you.

  You’re right, Nelly. I’ll try and keep my foot out of my mouth by asking you next time.

  They continued to fly up river, but now the plane was bearing toward the left-hand bank of the river. Finally, the pilot banked into a turn that had Kris tightly gripping the handholds on the overhead.

  A couple of minutes of flying over the sea of grass, dotted with tree lines that marked of small streams or medium size river, and the pilot said, “I think we’ve got our first tribe.” He pointed at widely spread out groupings of grass huts along a river valley just coming up ahead of them.

  Kris went back to her seat and left the pilots to go about their business.

  Chapter 2

  The village was too close to a small watercourse and its trees and marches; the big transport settled down several klicks away, leaving a long trail behind it of crushed grass that stood at least a meter high around them.

  The Marines mounted up and drove their three light, six-wheel drive gun rigs off the cargo deck. Kris and her team, with five Ostriches, drove out last in the armored gun truck.

  Five more Ostriches were from the tribes on the other side of the river. They stayed in the plane. Kris had noted half the Ostriches sat on one side of the plane, surrounded by Marines, and the other five sat on the other, equally under guard.

  I could have told you, Kris.

  I didn’t make a fool of myself, so that was something I didn’t need to know.

  You humans are not nearly curious enough.

  We humans have our limits. We learn to live with them.

  Enough said, Kris stood in her gun truck, trying to see everything at once.

  She needed to.

  There were a whole lot of things to see. Herds of herbivores dotted the land around them. Most looked more interested in chewing grass. There was an exception.

  One beastie thing wasn’t quite as large as the so-called elephant, but it made up for its lack of size by having three tusks on its nose, each bigger than the next.

  And a nasty disposition.

  One male took a dislike to these new intruders. First it got several females and young running away, then it turned and trotted toward the lead Marine gun rig.

  They could have blown it apart with the main chain gun on the rig, but one Marine leveled one of the hunting rifles they’d made for the locals as the Marine rigs came to a halt.

  The three-horned nightmare stopped for a moment. Then it bellowed rage and charged.

  The Marine fired once. Kris would have sworn he hit the thing, but it kept coming. He worked the bolt and fired again. Then a third time.

  Only then did the monster rumble to a halt. It bellowed a second time, blood flowing from its mouth. Even then, it stumbled forward. The Marine took a fourth shot.

  The huge thing keeled over, bellowed once more, then breathed its last.

  The Marines formed a security perimeter, and Kris went forward to examine the thing.

  Even dead and on its side, it was as tall as her. “Good Lord,” was all Kris could find words to say.

  The five Ostriches were delighted. They bit large chunks of meat off the mountain of flesh. “Good eats. Good eats even if dead,” one told Kris.

  “Is there any way we can get this dinner to the village?” Kris asked Gunny.

  One of the gun rigs backed up to the carcass. A tow chain was wrapped around its three horns. A moment later a bar of Smart Metal TM was converted into a sled. The beast was pulled onto it and everything attached to the gun rig.

  Minutes later, they were on their way, only now, the Ostriches insisted on running along beside the meat. Occasionally one of them would take a bite out of it and chew the bloody mess.

  “No accounting for tastes,” a Marine was heard to mutter.

  They rolled over a low hill and down into a shallow valley. In the middle distance, a river clad in green growth meandered along. Beside it, spread a large collection of grass and reed huts. “This is a lot larger than any of the villages I visited,” Jacques told Kris. “I think you may have a spot of luck.”

  “I could use some. What kind of luck might I finally be having?”

  “I think this is a gathering of tribes. It happens every spring. They get together to have races and other contests. Women look for husbands, that kind of stuff. Any disagreements among the different tribes are settled. Usually by some kind of physical contest that likely won’t result in someone becoming dead.”

  “Likely.”

  “You can never tell when these birds go at each other.”

  “Gee thanks, oh mighty guesser about strange customs,” Kris said, dryly.

  “Coming from a Longknife, I’ll take that as high praise,” Jacque answered through a chuckle.

  The four Marine vehicles drove slowly into the valley. Two Marines gun rigs led the way, including the one towing the dead three-horned beast. Kris in her gun truck followed with one rig pulling up the rear. They cautiously approached the central village of the many stretched out along the river.

  The five Ostriches running alongside dinner were joined by many others taking bites as well.

  “I think they’re praising your gift, Kris,” Nelly said. “Either that, or the tastiness of the chow.”

  “I think it’s the gift,” Jacques said. “At least, it should be the gift if they were getting it from a hunter of their own.”

  They came to a clearing and the four rigs halted. In front of four of the largest huts in the villages were poles with different animal skulls on them. None were very large. If Kris stripped the skull of her kill and call it her totem, she’d outweigh all of them combined.

  “Two of those totems are like gazelle and zebra. The other two are critters that root in the ground and have nasty attitudes.”

  “And I am big horned meanie that stomps things,” Kris said. “I hope that’s a good opening.”

  It seemed so. Lots of Ostriches, several with the fewer, but longer feathers of elders, gathered around the meat and joined in chomping off bites and praising its taste. Others were bumping chests with the five returning workers from the space station.

  “Most questions seem to center on why they’re back,” Nelly said. “Everyone knows they signed a half year contract. They’re telling anyone listening that they brought the sky walkers home to talk about a range for the sky walkers to feed on. Yes, I think I got that. They say everyone can eat as well as this everyday if the sky walkers are around.”

  “Are they doing our bargaining for us?” Kris asked Jacques.

  “Not so much bargaining as laying the ground work, I’d say. Oh, that’s what was in the duffle bags.”

  One of the returning workers pulled a rifle from a bag he’d left in Kris’s rig. Soon the others had drawn like weapons. They looked like Colonial rifles but had a much longer stock to get it against the big bird’s shoulder. The sights were on the far side of the gun, not along the top. This allowed them to fold their long necks over the top and still get a solid sight picture. The trigger was well up toward the middle of the rifle, although the bolt action was further back.

  The Ostrich would have to take the weapon out of his shoulder lock to work the action. It would be a slow process until they got semi-automatics rifles.

  That told Kris that an Ostrich or Rooster could not have been yesterday’s assassin. She was busy just now; she’d have to mention this later to the general she had investigating that bit of misbehavior.

  No surprise, the rifles were a great hit among the Ostriches.

  “Kris, they want to go hunting. I foresee a problem, though, if they do,” Jacques said.

  “If they hunt out the area around here, they’ll have to move camp sooner, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Gunny,” Kris shouted.

  “Admiral.”

  “Hold one gun rig here with half your troop. Have the gun rigs go hunting with our five
and as many of the other hunters as you can cram into the three rigs. Go at least ten miles out before you shoot anything.”

  Gunny’s, “Aye, aye, ma’am,” was neutral. Apparently, this was no great idea, but not one of her worst.

  Jacques went to tell the returning hunters what Kris was offering, and soon four of them piled into the three rigs with others hanging off every hand hold available and riding on the hood as well.

  The fifth yard worker, rifle in hand, came to stand beside Kris as four groups of elders strode out to meet with her in front of the gun truck.

  “My egg warmer is the mightiest hunter of the plains. He is meeting now with the strong hunters. They make a hand of fast walking people.”

  That’s tribes, Jacques provided on Nelly net.

  “He whose path I follow with many others would have words with you,” the worker Ostrich said. “He would see what you want all to see. You may speak true words now to him.”

  The four groups squatted down, quietly eyeing Kris.

  Kris squatted down, too. When she spoke, it was eye to eye.

  “I am the hunter who leads hunters among the stars,” she began and quickly took them through the space battles she’d fought with “those who will stomp all heads. All eggs. Even walk off with the air you breathe.”

  That caused an uproar.

  It only ended when the Ostrich who had come home proclaimed that he too had fought this enemy. He had worked among many to shoot a laser on one of Kris’s ships.

  It took a while to explain that, but when he finished, the others were back squatting and eyeing Kris.

  Kris then took up the tale, describing the gifts that came to those who worked for the sky walkers. The rifles were already in evidence. Marines behind Kris started showing pots and pans for cooking meat and knives for butchering it. Kris tried to explain that cooked meat fed more people. That got blank stares.

  When the Marines brought out communication gear and TVs, things got more interesting. Kris had several of the elders talk to Ostriches in the hunting parties that had left earlier. They bragged about hunting plenty of good meat.