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Six months and three days later, the U.S.S. Saratoga eased into orbit over Devon. Four times the size of the Letanya, this, by all accounts, was a battleship. It bristled with armaments, including lasers, space cannons, and heat-seeking rocket-torpedoes designed to work in airless space. The lasers could cut through a planet's atmosphere and destroy structures—or people—on the ground. The Saratoga normally carried a crew of 25, but the addition of the Marines brought the total to 40.
Unlike the Letanya, this ship had two large shuttles, each capable of carrying ten people. Both shuttles would be used in this mission. Nine soldiers would fly down in the first shuttle, followed closely by the second, carrying six soldiers. The remaining space on board was reserved for the hostages, as they had come to call the former crew women of the Letanya.
"Listen up, soldiers," barked Sgt. Dale Baker once the Marines had shaken off the effects of cryosleep and gathered in their staging area in the shuttle bay. The beefy Black sergeant spoke with the authority that fifteen years in the Marines had given him. "You've had your beauty sleep, now it's time to earn your pay. The lieutenant will be in shortly to give us a final briefing, but I just want to remind you: You know you've all been hand-picked for this mission. I expect you to honor the code and use your heads. I don't want anybody to get hurt out there."
Lt. Carl Nystrom opened the cargo access doors and strode in. Immediately, the group jerked to attention. "At ease," he said as he walked up the steps to the platform to stand next to the sergeant. "Everything OK?" he asked.
Baker nodded.
"All right, listen up," Nystrom said. He eyed the fifteen Marines, dressed in full battle gear, their heavy-duty phase rifles nestled in their arms. "This isn't going to be a bug hunt or a weenie roast. We're dealing with intelligent beings, not unlike ourselves, only these guys are big and aggressive. We don't want to be the Ugly Americans, but we're not going to be pushed around, either. We're going to go into the village where we picked up the transponder signals and ask politely for our astronauts back. Only if they refuse will we get medieval on their asses."
The Marines cheered upon hearing that. They didn't come all this way to pussyfoot around with the natives, regardless of what the mission parameters were.
"You all have pictures of Dr. Reyes and Lt. Commander Smith, but my advice is, look for the only good-looking women on the planet—from what I hear, these native gals are hairy as apes," Nystrom said.
There was derisive laughter all around. "The Letanya reports both Reyes and Smith have U.T.s, so presumably we'll be able to communicate with the people, who call themselves the Baktu. That's what I'll be doing—talking. You soldiers are to back me up. That's it. I don't want anyone to be quick on the trigger. All weapons will be set on stun. And no one fires his weapon unless I fire first, understand?"
There was reluctant nodding all around. A couple of them winked at their buddies, and one showed his fingers were crossed.
Nystrom looked at his watch. "All right. We're dropping down to a lower orbit and should be ready to go in about ten or fifteen minutes. If anyone has to take a leak, now's the time," he said.
He strode off the platform.
"All right, you heard the man, maggots! Let's check those weapons. All must be kept in the safe position until you hear from me or the lieutenant. We don't want to start an intergalactic war with these guys," Baker said.
The men—and a few women—milled around, trying to hide their pre-raid jitters. Corporal John Sisco caught the eye of his friend, PFC Joe Henderson, and they eased away from the group.
"You think we'll see any action?" Henderson asked his buddy.
Sisco shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on the humanoids. They're supposed to be big motherfuckers. They could tear your arm off," he said.
"Is it true they keep women as slaves? On leashes?" Henderson asked, his eyes giving away his overactive imagination.
"Yep. That's what I hear. Pretty cool, huh?" Sisco said.
They guffawed together. "Hell, instead of fighting 'em, I may join 'em," Henderson said.
Across the room, a different conversation was taking place between Private Jane Emerson and her friend, PFC Luisa Rodriguez, two of the three female Marines aboard.
"I'd like to get one of those slave-owning bastards in my sights," Emerson said. "I'd blast him to hell."
"Yeah, but I hear those big fuckers have cocks the size of firehoses. Be a shame to waste that," Rodriguez said.
"Maybe we can find one for you to fuck before we shoot him," Emerson said.
They both laughed.
Soon, the ship was in position. The shuttle bays opened. The Marines stowed their weapons and strapped themselves into the jump seats. Sisco would pilot the first craft, Corporal Ben Asmor the second.
"Listen up," Nystrom said once the soldiers in the first shuttle had settled in. "We're going to be landing just outside the village for maximum shock value. When we come to a stop, we want to come out strong and tight and secure a perimeter. Just like textbook, OK?"
"Yes, sir!" the men—and three women—shouted in unison.
"We're not going to fuck this up, are we?" Nystrom asked.
"No, sir!" they shouted.
"All right. Let's go hunting for some lost lesbos!" he said.
The shuttles launched one after another into the silent vacuum of space. They turned and dipped down toward the planet below. The soldiers couldn't see where they were going in the windowless aft section, so they just waited, staring at the walls or grinning at each other to show how brave they were.
Soon, the telltale buffeting began. Sisco adjusted his trim and rode it out as if he had done this a thousand times before. After several bumpy minutes, the craft broke through into blue sky and glided down. Sisco and Asmor extended the wings, increasing the glide coefficient. The ships fell uneventfully until they hit 25,000 feet, then encountered more turbulence. A soldier turned green and vomited quietly into a barf bag. Others hooted at him. In minutes, the turbulence ended, and the crafts straightened out.
"Eight thousand, prepare for landing," Sisco barked into the intercom.
There wasn't much the soldiers needed to do except hang on to their shoulder straps. The twin crafts swooped in to picture-perfect landings, nearly side-by-side on the dusty plain less than a kilometer from the village. A donkey, strapped to a cart holding two men, brayed and reared up. The men jumped down from the cart and watched as the donkey fled in fear, dragging the cart behind it. They appeared stunned as the crafts slid to a stop not two hundred yards away.
As soon as the dust settled, the doors opened, and the soldiers jumped out and surrounded the crafts. The humanoids knew they were outnumbered and outgunned and ran for their lives out into the plain, away from the village.
The soldiers watched them go but did nothing. Weapons tracked their movements across the plain.
"All right! Remember, I want all weapons on heavy stun only. You got that?" Baker barked.
Everyone nodded reluctantly. "Jones, Emory, stay with the ships and monitor the radio! The rest of you maggots, follow me!" he ordered.
Led by Lt. Nystrom, the remaining twelve men and women jogged east, toward the village. The heat baked down on the group. Loaded down with equipment, they were soon gasping, despite their extensive training in preparation for the mission. Six months in cryosleep can take a lot out of a person.
When they reached the edge of the village, Nystrom stopped them and began deploying the soldiers with hand signals. The streets here were strangely deserted. Up ahead, the soldiers spotted some natives running away from them down the dusty avenues. The group split up according to strict deployment protocol—three peeled off and began to run around the village to approach from the south. Two more went left, and two went right, to cover their flanks.
"Stay frosty, people. They're inside watching us, you can be sure of that," Nystrom said.
He punched the button on the radio. "Emory! You read me?" he asked.
"Roger, sir. Loud and clear," Emory replied.
"We're going in. Keep your eyes open," Nystrom said.
"Roger," Emory said.
They entered the village, guns up. Soldiers ran from dwelling to dwelling, watching for any movement. They had been told these natives had no sophisticated weapons, but they were taking no chances.
They approached the main square. There were a few dozen men and women there, milling around. Beyond them, Nystrom could see the three soldiers driving other natives from the south side of town into the square. The men wore animal skins as loincloths. They stood proudly, defiantly watching the soldiers. The Marines could see the narrow ridge on their foreheads and the flattened ears. Otherwise, they looked quite human. The women, cowering behind them, were all naked.
One of the soldiers whistled.
"Remember your orders," Nystrom said evenly and pulled out his U.T. Fastening it around his neck, he strode toward the crowd.
"We come from Earth," he said.
A man detached himself from the group. He was tall, nearly seven feet, and broad-shouldered. He easily towered over the six-foot-tall lieutenant. Nystrom held his ground, though he wanted to step back. He guessed this man weighed more than 300 pounds.
"Why are you here?" the humanoid said.
"We come for the Earth women," Nystrom responded.
"They wish to stay," the giant said.
"We'll be the judge of that. Where are they?" Nystrom asked.
There was a sudden movement in the crowd. A figure came forward. All weapons immediately swiveled in that direction. Nystrom was the first to see that it was a woman. Short and dark, she was dressed in animal skins around her waist and breasts, with a thin leather collar around her neck. The lieutenant could also tell she was very pregnant.
She approached the soldiers, stopping to say a few words in the melodious language of the planet to the giant. Nystrom's U.T. registered it as, "I'll take it from here, Klasdor."
Nystrom frowned. The picture he had memorized flashed into his mind. "Lower your weapons, soldiers," he ordered.
Confused, the men complied.
"Dr. Reyes, I presume?" Nystrom asked.
The woman nodded. "Lieutenant. I'm surprised to get such an extensive rescue party," Beth replied.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes, although I have a little backache now and again," she said, rubbing her swollen belly.
He shook his head slowly. "So it appears the species are quite compatible with ours," Nystrom said.
"Yes, I'd say so," Beth said.
"Where's Lt. Commander Smith?" he asked.
"She's at the training facility," Beth replied.
"Training facility?" Nystrom asked.
"Didn't your briefing include her training in karate? She's a big hit here, as you might imagine. She's teaching the men how to fight, Earth-style," Beth said.
Nystrom shook his head, as if to clear it. "Well, if you could lead us to her, we'll collect you two and be on our way," he said.
"Um, no, lieutenant. I want to stay. I think you'll find Jorja does too," Beth said.
Nystrom was taken aback. "We've come more than two million light years at considerable expense and effort to rescue you—and you say you don't want to go? I really don't think you have a choice," he said.
"I think we do," Beth said, patting her stomach again. "As you can see, I'm not in any condition for cryosleep. The baby won't wait. It will be another two months before I have it. Once it's born, I'm not about to take it away from its father."
She turned and signaled to a middle-aged man, who separated from the crowd. "This is Niktus, my, er, husband," she said.
She almost said "master," but caught herself in time. She didn't think the soldier would understand.
"Earthling," Niktus said in heavily accented English, nodding down at the smaller man. "The Baktu welcome you."
Nystrom was speechless. He expected to be greeted by two very grateful women, being rescued from a horrible ordeal. Instead, he found they were happy with their situation. Before he could react, a movement caught his eye. The group swiveled to the right, weapons came up again.
"Easy, Marines," Nystrom said.
"Ahh. Here comes Jorja now," Beth told him.
The tall figure coming toward them wore a loincloth, but her breasts were bare. Nystrom heard another whistle from the soldiers. She was drenched in sweat and had a cloth tied around her short brown hair. Smooth muscles rippled along her arms. She strode right up to the lieutenant. He tried very hard not to stare at her breasts.
"Our rescue party?" Jorja inquired—but not in English. Nystrom's U.T. gave the translation.
"Yes," Beth told her in the same language. "They say we'll want to go home now."
"We are home," Jorja said.
"Speak English, please!" Nystrom snapped. "You're Americans! Probably the most famous Americans in the space program. The papers call you, 'the Abandoned Astronauts.' Everyone is anxious to see you home safely."
"Thank the American people for me," Jorja said in English. "But I am home. I've got it made here. You could say I'm a VIP. So's Beth. She's the town healer, you know."
"You can't possibly want to stay in this backward environment!" Nystrom said.
"It's not so backward. Just different. We've come to like it very much," Jorja said.
"But, but—what about the Prime Directive?" Nystrom sputtered.
"Except for Beth's medical skills, we're not using anything from Earth anymore. We don't need the U.T.s, so we buried them, along with the radios that were left behind. We burned the pod. We're living just as the natives do," Beth said.
"I thought women were treated quite badly here, that no American woman could stand it," Nystrom said.
"At first blush, that appears to be true," Beth admitted. "But women have far more power than you would think. It depends on the woman, I guess—and their mast—I mean, man. In our cases, we're highly regarded, so we get extra perks. We're using that power to help all the women."
Beth decided not to tell him about how she was still led around by her leash when in public, often naked like the other women. He wouldn't understand. It wasn't humiliating; it was a sense of belonging, of acceptance, of being loved. And she did love Niktus. He was a kind and gentle man, despite his fierce appearance.
She thought of the women in the forest, whom she had been helping to return to their villages without punishment. Kate had radioed her from orbit to tell her about them. Beth and Jorja had used their influence to convince elders to educate cruel masters in proper slave-owning etiquette. In the last six months, slaves had been given more avenues to see problems resolved. They were making progress, but they weren't done. Beth wanted to stay and see it through. Did this violate the Prime Directive? Possibly. She preferred to think of it as gently steering the people toward a more humane way of life.
"Um, we're going to have to report in on this one," Nystrom said.
He looked around. The men were still staring at Jorja's breasts. The female soldiers seemed to be eyeing the loincloths of the nearest natives. Nystrom's face grew hot, but he kept his mouth shut.
"Why don't you all stay for dinner? We could introduce you to what I like to call roast beast," Beth said.
Nystrom nodded dully and excused himself. He stepped back a few paces and pulled out his radio.
"U.S.S. Saratoga, this is Red Leader. Come in," he said.
"This is Saratoga. Captain Richardson here," came the reply.
"Uh, yeah, captain. Tell Houston we have a problem. The astronauts have gone native on us," Nystrom said.