Last one. This is the most popular parody story. The Betas and Rea loved it. I had fun writing it.
*M*A*S*H*
PG7-167 Uijeongbu, Pi sector
The colony had a single S-shaped main continent with a series of islands around it. The main continent was connected to a northern wasteland, which was mostly steppes and tundra.
Initially, the colony had been a multispecies affair; that was up until the pirate plagues had hit. The population had been decimated.
There had been no central government. Two competing governments had been formed to fill the vacuum when Federation ships began to ply the jump line more frequently.
The government of the north was a military dictatorship that did not want the Federation there. The south was a democratic republic and did want the Federation’s presence. They wanted membership into the Federation. It opened them up to issues with legality since there was no central government. Legally the planet could not apply for membership until they had a central democratically elected government.
The agrarian star system was six jumps from the main north to south jump line in Pi sector. The first three jumps were through destroyed hyperbridge star systems so it was no surprise that regular traffic didn’t go into the region often. The jump line had only six inhabited star systems left in it. Four of those were purely agrarian colonies.
The branch jump line was twelve jumps from the recently conquered and repurposed Dante's Playground pirate base and eleven jump points from PR52-190, which was the doorway to the Omicron sector. There were a series of space colonies along the main north to south route that were prime potential customers for agrarian worlds to supply food and materials to.
Once the navy had cleared the branch of pirate activity, they had largely left it alone. The Federation State Department had sent in envoys with the hospital ship several years ago to make the rounds to each of the inhabited worlds in order to encourage them to rejoin the Federation.
The envoy to Uijeongbu had found that the colony world had broken out into a civil war. The north wanted nothing to do with the Federation, while the south did. The north was busy attempting to conquer the south, which was made up of primarily farmers in the central part of the country and peaceful city and fishing folk along the coastline to the south.
Legally the Federation couldn’t intervene other than to end the violence and send humanitarian aid. A battalion of Peacekeepers, a platoon of Army Engineers, and a single MASH unit the 4077 were sent in by troop transport with a cruiser escort.
The colony lacked an ansible.
Unfortunately, the cruiser was drawn away from the planet by ghost signs. The branch was supposed to be cleared of pirates, but the possibility of one lurking was too much to ignore. The ship haunted the outer edge of the star system, attempting to hunt the ghost signals down.
With the cruiser in the outer star system, there was no possibility of orbital strikes, and orbital monitoring was limited to the dozen satellites in orbit.
The northerners refused access to the Federation and wanted them to leave. The southerners invited them in. Initially the Federation just landed forces to perform humanitarian aid; however, when the northern army attacked Peacekeepers, Colonel Yangongo authorized a fire if fired upon ROE. The Federation people began to openly support the southerners.
*M*A*S*H*
First Lieutenant Kelani Nakahara came up to Captain Ben “Hawkeye” Pierce and showed him the X-ray results. He scanned them with a practiced eye and then nodded. “So, he’s got a couple buckets of scrap metal in his side and gut. Typical,” the surgeon sniffed as he looked down at the patient. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get you fixed right up,” he said.
The kid in question was a teenage soldier barely conscious.
“Get me another bag of plasma and a tub of surgical glue. I think I can get all of it,” the doctor said as he turned to the waiting tray.
“Hurry up, Pierce, we’ve got a line outside,” Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blade scolded.
“Coming, mother,” Hawkeye said with a simpering mocking voice. “Now this won’t hurt me a bit,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Put him under,” he said to the anesthesiologist.
The medic behind the head of the patient nodded and adjusted the gases and then put the mask over the patient’s face. The patient’s eyes closed, and he began to breath slower.
“He’s under,” the medic stated.
“Good. Now for some fun,” Hawkeye said with a grin.
“Pierce,” the colonel scolded.
“What? I can’t have any fun?” Hawkeye mock grumbled as he got to work. He pulled off the dressing and immediately ran into a bleeder. “Clamp,” he ordered. A nurse dropped one into his hand. He used it to clamp the bleeder and then got to work with his tools to extract the metal that had caused it.
There were five gurneys in OR in a row. The colonel held the one by the admission door. Hawkeye had the second in line, Major Burns the next in line, then Captain Chuck Jones, and finally Captain McIntyre. They were all at work.
As soon as his patient was cleared, Hawkeye took a step back, flicked his gloves off with practiced ease and then checked on the other surgeon’s work as orderlies pulled his patient and two new orderlies carried in the next in line. Hawkeye gave a few tips to Fred Burns, but the major snarled to leave him alone.
“He’s the head surgeon, Fred. Behave,” the colonel said in exasperation as Hawkeye ignored the snarl and went on to Chuck. He assisted with a tear in the abdominal wall, which uncovered fragments of metal in the patient’s intestinal track. “You’ll have to go through him centimeter by centimeter looking for holes,” Hawkeye warned.
“Just pull the metal out and move on,’ Major Burns said as he threw some metal into a bin.
“If you don’t patch the intestines, the patient’s guts will dump into the abdominal cavity, which you should know, Fred,” Hawkeye said testily.
“He’s right,” McIntyre growled. “We’ve had to reopen a dozen of your patients in the past month to fix those mistakes,” he stated.
“Do it right, Burns,” the colonel growled.
“Everyone’s ganging up on me,” the major pouted but kept working. “Give me a clamp, no the other one. Can’t you do anything right, nurse?” he demanded, taking his ire out on the nurse.
Major Margie Holohan stepped in to relieve the nurse and assist the major. He knew better than to snap at her.
Hawkeye ran his hands and apron through the sterilizer field, put new gloves on and then turned to the next patient as he was settled in. “So, who is the next winner in the metal extraction club?” he quipped as the nurse came up with the x-rays once more.
*M*A*S*H*
You Don't Know Jack
Jack felt the burn as he got to eighty but pushed it until the pain started to distract him from his count. He got to one hundred and then stopped and laid in a low plank position, breathing through the pain.
Getting soft, Jack, he thought to himself in annoyance as he climbed to his feet.
He grabbed a towel and wiped his face and shoulders of sweat. The good thing about being in the Fed brig was that the Feds had better facilities.
He rolled his shoulders. His pecks were burning. He got a drink of water and then looked around. Half of the people in the compartment were either asleep or pretending to be asleep.
He looked at the room’s ceiling. There was no good place to do pull-ups. Damn. His eyes wandered over to the rack. He flexed his hands. He’d need to find a way to get a good grip, probably with the minimum amount of padding. And tucking his long legs up would be a hassle.
“Don’t even think of it,” Earl growled from his seated position. “Why don’t you call it a day, Jack?” he demanded. “Geesh.”
“I’m out of shape,” Jack grumbled. “Besides, can you think of anything better to do? It isn’t like we can go for a stroll or play cards or watch a movie,” he pointed out.
They were in orange jump suits. They had been given the jump suits when they’d come on board. They had gone through a thorough cleaning and deep scan. He’d wondered about that but hadn’t said anything to the medical personnel. They had been in full decontamination gear. The robots had handled direct contact initially.
It had seemed a bit thorough for an investigation, but Jack hadn’t complained like the rest. After all, they’d been in Xeno contested space, and the Feds were probably wary of changelings. And rightly so, he estimated with a mental nod.
One point for them in their favor, he thought in amusement.
Earl grunted, bringing him back to the here and now.
Jack rolled his shoulders again. That set made for his third of the day. He couldn’t lift anything; he was stuck doing basic exercises in the confines of the brig. His left hand drifted to his abdomen. He wasn’t certain he wanted to do any more abdominal exercises. He’d done them the day before. Too many and he got the shits. As much as he liked losing weight, getting stuck on the crapper in the brig was not fun. He didn’t want to get dehydrated either.
He shook his head in annoyance and leaned against the bunks. He should be use to confinement. He’d been stuck in the brig many times and that damn prison el Institution up until two years ago.
That hadn’t been his only escape of course. But it had been … challenging. Once he’d determined that he’d need support, he’d recruited Wire, Cyrus, Earl, and Casey. Together they’d managed to build a 3D printer, build suits and tech they needed, and then escape the supposedly escape-proof space station and get on board the Sweet Boni Blackheart, a Cleveland class light cruiser that had been in the star system to do a bit of trade.
He had sweet talked the skipper and more or less seduced her. He’d kept on her good side and in her bed and helped guide her into accepting them.
They’d probably would have made a good team if not for the Xeno invasion, he thought. They’d been lucky to escape to Tau sector when so many other ships hadn’t survived the journey.
He broke off the wool gathering again with some difficulty. The space really forced you into self-reflection. He glanced over to Wire. He couldn’t tell if the guy was asleep or not. He looked up and around. He spotted the cameras and glowered at one. You’d think someone would have done something by now.
~~~@~~~
Jack felt time melt away, and he was back as a scrawny adolescent working out in junior high school. He’d skipped a few grades so he was behind the physical curve in PE and it showed. He was big for his age but the testosterone of puberty hadn’t kicked in yet.
The class mocked him as he struggled to do pull-ups. He kicked and tried to pull himself up until the coach told him to hang and do it right. “Reach for it, Jack!” Reacher, creecher, creeper …,” Owen mocked.
“No it’s creeeacher,” another voice mocked. Jack turned his head and saw Bill making a snarling face and curling his hands like a ghoul as he kept saying creeacher over and over.
“Congratulations, Jack, you managed two pull-ups. That is better than last week when you could only do one I suppose,” Coach Carter said dryly.
“You aren’t going to be on the team with that sort of body,” Jillian, one of the popular girls, mocked dismissively.
Jack flushed. He had a crush on the girl.
When he got home that evening, he found a bar and tried to practice pull-ups. He managed to do one but was exhausted. He also managed three pushups. His ears burned from the strain as much as his displeasure in his ability to exercise.
The following day his body burned with aches he hadn’t felt since Robert had kicked his ass on the playground two years prior. They didn’t have PE but he still tried to do a pull-up at lunch in the gym. And he managed four pushups.
When he got home from school that evening, he managed another pull-up and five pushups. His body burned under his armpits and his arms but he felt good.
~~~@~~~
He’d hated the creecher nickname growing up. He’d hated the Reacher nickname almost as badly, but it had stuck when he had bulked up and the old name faded. But what didn’t kill you made you stronger he reminded himself firmly. He’d turned that negative energy into incentive to improve his body.
The bullying had worked. He’d eventually bulked up to the point where he could go toe to toe as a tight end on his high school football team. And this was when most of the teams had Neo players on them. You didn’t want to wrestle a bruin or a Gashg if you were sane.
He’d done it on a regular basis and come out relatively intact. No one in their right mind called him creecher when he hit the eighth grade.
When the meals came, the others complained, but Jack ignored the gripe session and just ate quickly and mechanically. He was famished from the exercise. His body wanted to replace the calories he had been burning.
“Be glad we’re in the Fed brig. Remember the crap we got in prison?” Earl finally reminded them.
That shut them up.
Jack kept his observations to himself. The food was okay. It wasn’t replicated, which was something. Most likely it was being pulled up from the planet. No doubt that once they were underway the squids would switch them to replicated rations and keep the good fresh food for themselves for as long as possible.
Then the griping would really begin, he thought with a mental grunt.
“Beer would be nice. Better than water,” Casey grumbled.
Earl glowered at him.
“I’ll stick to water,” Cyrus said. The others glanced at him. He was usually a lightweight with the sauce. “I’d hate to see some of you drunk and throwing punches,” he said.
Jack snorted softly as he licked his spork clean thoughtfully. He then policed his dishes quietly with the others, sticking them back through the slot in the cell door for the guards to recover.
“What do you think they’ll do with us?” Hammed Leguin, the chief engineer, asked.
“No clue,” Earl said with a shake of his head. They’d all asked that question every day.
“Just stay frosty. We’ve been through worse,” Jack reminded them.
Earl glanced at him and then away.
~~~@~~~
Like many of the stories in Winds of Change this story will have an impact on the future...
Trailer Trash
Sibiu
Giaro had an air of innocence about him that he thought was good; however, it apparently wasn’t good enough. He and Jonas had been scouting the general store under the guise of playing when the shopkeeper saw them and chased them off.
The Django kids slunk away annoyed at being turfed out. They rounded the corner and ran right into the arms of the Gardia. Giaro found his left arm grabbed roughly, hard enough to bruise. He cried out, but more in theater than in anything else.
“What did you steal this time?” the Gardia demanded as his partner grabbed Jonas by the scruff and shook him.
“Nothing! We were just playing!” the boys insisted as they were forced to turn out their pockets. The pockets had some paper trash, some minor credits, some washers, and a set of jacks and dice but little else.
The lead Gardia glowered at them. The duo took on an air of sullen and quiet denial. They knew that they were in the right … this time.
“We don’t want your thieving kind around here anymore,” the Gardia stated with a growl. “If we see any of you tinkers in town, we’ll take the cane to you. Mark my words!” he snarled as he roughly pushed the kid to the road. “Now git!”
The kid shot back a dirty look but brushed himself off as Jonas was pushed to him. He caught his little brother and then moved on. The girls joined them further up the dirt road as they made their way back to camp. They were quiet and annoyed.
It was a long walk back to the camp, over six kilometers up and down some hills and across a covered bridge. The kids tried to find something to bring back but only found water crest, a turtle, and a frog to bring back. They knew their mother would be annoyed.
--*--
Mario Lupu made the rounds to the Hammerstein farmstead, hat in hand in hopes of finding more work. He was denied. Instead, he found himself meeting with the town fathers. The leader of the Gardia came up behind him, blocking a quick escape.
He knew the score but stood his ground. “It is time for you traveling folk to move on,” Mister Hammerstein stated coldly.
“I thought we still had business. You have another harvest coming up,” the Neocoyote whined.
Another town father shook his head. “We don’t want your kind here. You have been stealing. Thefts are up across the county. Leave. If you do not leave in two days, we will have the Gardia turn you out.”
“We will leave. See who you call when you need your fruits picked in the late fall,” the Neocoyote said as he put his cap back on his head. He turned and walked off without a backwards glance.
--*--
The camp was broken into three parts. The first part was the one facing the dirt road; it was the carnival of delights and oddities. Gepetto's puppet stage was there along with the acrobat ring, petting zoo, oddity show, maker’s row, and so on.
Behind them the kids passed through the vehicle park. Off to one side was an improvised pasture; it held the beasts of the traveler folk. The pasture had to be moved every few days because the beasts tended to eat up all of the grass.
Giaro checked the water with a keen eye and then waved for his little brother to get a pale and refresh it. Jonas grimaced but didn’t argue. Each wagon had three water cans to provide water if the plumbing wasn't set up. Many had brass plaques with the family name or crest engraved on it. It was the chores of the kids to fill and carry it from the water source to the wagon.
The most advanced wagons had a pump, filtration system, and hoses that could feed their neighbors.
Charity was there weaving on the family wagon, she nodded to them. “Didn’t get anywhere did you?” she asked mildly as he presented her with the cat tails and the little that they’d found along the road back. The path was well picked over from their frequent trips.
“No,” he said in disgust. “We got turfed out by the Gardia,” he grumbled.
“Figures,” she sighed.
“Think we’ll have to move?” he asked.
“Probably,” she said as her nimble fingers finished weaving the basket. She turned a critical eye on it, examining it carefully before she took out a pair of side cutters and nipped the final errant pieces of cane away. Those were gathered up to be tossed in the fire later.
“Best I check the wagon and the truck then,” Giaro said, trying to sound gruff and an adult.
“Best you do,” his older sister said. He stepped past her but couldn’t resist tweaking a braid along the way. She swung at him and caught him on the back of the thigh with a well placed swat. He snorted and kept going.
--*--
Mahler Ward finished his rounds with the local healer. There had been little work recently, a clear sign that it was time to move on. It was unfortunate; he rather liked the community.
The traveler folk made rounds all over the continent, frequently changing their route each year to keep things from getting stale. As long as the hands didn’t get too sticky fingered, they would be able to return to an area to do work in a year or so once the annoyance and anger over their antics faded into memory.
Sibiu was a terraformed agrarian world named for a Romanian city on long-lost old Earth. The colony had initially been settled by East Europeans and Irish who had paid for the terraforming project. It had been opened up to all species once they’d been established with the best lands and mineral rights.
The world was cold even during the height of summer, not many species liked the world. Only a handful of refugee ships had come to the star system during the Xeno war. Most of those had found themselves unwelcome and had moved on.
“Do you need anything from the pharmacists?” Mahler asked mildly. The healer shook his head firmly.
“I’m all stocked up. If I get anything else, it will just spoil before I need it.”
Mahler nodded. Efren had a point.
“Tell Z’ch’ll thanks for fixing the scope and the surgical tools. I think I can handle it from here,” the healer said dismissively.
Mahler nodded quietly as he saw the signs of dismissal. There was little work in the area for one healer now that they’d gotten past the rash of accidents that generally cropped up during spring and fall. If he stuck around longer, there wouldn’t be enough pay to support both families.
So, Efren was politely telling him it was time to move on.
“Well,” he said as he slapped his cap on. “Be seeing you around,” he said gruffly.
“Be seeing you, Doctor,” Efren replied with a nod.
That was another sign of dismissal. They were supposed to be equals; however, Efren had called him by the title. Mahler nodded and kept an impassive face as he took his bag and headed out to the street. He looked around and then headed to his bike. He strapped his kit bag on the back and then took off on the bicycle up the road, doing his best to avoid the ruts as he headed back to camp.
--*--
Finally! About: Seven stories of the Federation galaxy, from a lost convoy of sleepers trying to cross the void to corporate intrigue an...
