Chapter 4 – The Good Old Hockey Game

The stands in Windsor's McLaughlin Arena were, predictably, filling fast. It was a Thursday night, after all, and four games would be played here tonight. The home teams, all McLaughlin Mosquitoes - a minor atom, peewee, minor bantam and minor midget – had been having a hot season, all playing over .500 hockey.

Dave Wilson was present with his pre-pack, as usual. He would sit with his wife Angela and the younger of their two dependant-aged kids, a widowed cousin (by marriage) named Barbara Wilson, and Barbara's three young daughters, eight-year-old Sarah, six-year-old Sheila and four-year-old Shirley. He was certain that if his cousin had not died in that industrial accident when he did, she'd have another aged two. Babs loved kids and she loved sex – with both Dave and Angela.

His elder son Billy was a Minor Atom, in his first year of competitive youth hockey. Donny was his second son, a six-year-old playing house league at the Tyke level.

Dave himself had been a competitive-level player in his youth, and now worked at one of the local automotive plants. Although car sales had fallen precipitously after the announcement of the Swarm, employment levels had not suffered a whit. Automobile production had been replaced by dramatically-expanded weapons production. His plant was now frantically producing armoured vehicles of varying types under emergency contract to both the American and Canadian governments. Some of their production was heading down to Central America under the provisions of Canada's Planetary Defence Financing Act - “Pay up if you survive”.

He was quite aware that in this era, there was no way his kids had a hope in hell of becoming professional-league hockey stars – the Swarm were due to be here long before then. He only hoped to keep their minds occupied until his lottery ticket came up “extraction”. It made him and his fellow hockey parents a uniquely tight-knit group.

He took out his wallet to pay for his brood's tickets, but was waved in by the young girl in the ticket booth. Rather than taking his money, she merely stamped his hand, stating, “We've got a sponsor for tonight at the last minute. The ice is paid for.” He looked at her more closely – he could see the fear in her eyes. Beside the woman who normally guarded the entrance to the hockey shrine within, a rather large gentleman stood calmly. The middle-aged woman, like her co-worker in the ticket booth, looked like she was just holding on.

Quickly he hustled his eldest son down to the dressing room. The corridor in front was filled with other parents and tons of kids – this was the first game of the night, and the youngest were still rambunctious and full of energy. Many of his son's eight-year-old teammates were beginning to dress. The coach, Matt Hancock, was already there with his own daughter Charlene.

Dave caught Matt's eye. “So, we're going to win tonight, right?” he kidded the other father.

"Oh, guaranteed,” Matt nodded. Dave thought he heard Matt add under his breath, “Both home and visitor teams.” While Matt could have been displaying his usual good sportsmanship, Dave doubted it. His deportment indicated that the remark was yet another hint that this was not the normal night.

As the teams hit the ice, Dave led his wife up to the stands where the rest of his pre-pack were waiting. The Wyandotte Warriors Minor Atom AA were warming up at the far end. Dave recognized several of the parents from there, giving them a friendly wave. Some of the peewee Mosquitoes and their families had already arrived, as had their competition for the night, the Tecumseh Tornadoes. He recognized fewer parents from those teams, which was to be expected.

The first two periods went by enjoyably, but between the second and third his bladder advised him of his need to use the washroom. In doing so, Dave noticed more tall, powerful strangers – not all of whom were men. He also noticed a fuzzy grey colour overlaying the emergency exits. He thought he could recognize the containment field. It didn't startle him, but rather confirmed what he suspected already.

When he returned to his seat between his wife and cousin, he found he was just in time to watch Billy score, giving the Mosquitoes a one-goal lead. Everyone rose and cheered, even his youngest. When they sat down, he grasped both his future concubines by the hand.

"When this game is over, we're all going down to the dressing room.” He drew the ladies in close and whispered into their ear. “Stay quiet, but I think we're about to be extracted.”

Both looked at him in wonder. In the stands around them, they could see most were concentrating on the game. Most of the parents and players of the other two Mosquito teams had arrived by this time, and almost all of the 980 seats were full. They didn't really clue in to the grey fields over the exit doors, and there were enough strangers from the other six teams playing here tonight that they didn't realize there were Marines in the audience.

The game came to a close to thunderous applause. The McLaughlin Mosquitoes Minor Atom AA had just held off their opponents, winning by a single point and earning their goalie a shutout. Although disappointed, the Wyandotte Warriors' fans could console themselves that the game could easily have gone either way. Both had played hard and well, with less than six penalty minutes total.

Above them, they failed to notice two forms in the crowd. It might be excusable, as the pair were two sections away.

"So this is a normal extraction?” the petite blond asked her hulking companion. “I thought there'd be more sex.”

"No, this is far from a normal extraction,” Whitefeather advised Sandy. “Pretty well everyone here is already in a pre-pack, so they don't need to do any more test drives. Anybody who knows there's an extraction going on here is more interested in getting aboard ship than creating an instant family.”

In the dressing room, everyone was congratulating Billy and his linemate Kathy, who had gotten the assist on his goal. Matt nodded at the large stranger in the washroom at the far end of the dressing room.

"OK, everyone, as soon as you've gotten changed, go get your parents. I need to see each of them, right now! Hurry up!”

Dave and his harem were waiting in the hallway when Billy poked his head out of the dressing room and bid his family enter. They quickly found that most of the kids were almost finished dressing, and were excitedly chattering about the large man with sergeant's stripes on battle armour standing in the doorway to the ablutions room.

Matt shook Dave's hand. His farewell of, “See you on the ship,” was clipped from suppressed excitement.

The sergeant regarded the tall brown-haired auto worker gravely. “CAP cards, please.” He examined the three adults' cards for a few seconds and looked back up. “David Wilson, do you volunteer for service with the Confederacy?”

Dave nodded, but the Marine advised him, “I have to hear you say it.”

"I, David Wilson, volunteer for Confederacy service.”

"Recorded,” advised an emotionless voice. Everyone in the room jumped a bit.

"Relax, everyone, that's the voice of the AI. You'll be hearing a lot of that. Welcome to the Marines, Private Wilson. Are these two your intended concubines?”

"Yes, they are.”

"Private David Wilson, do you accept Angela Wilson and Barbara Wilson as your concubines?”

"I do.”

"Recorded,” the AI reported calmly.

"OK, ladies, repeat after me,” the sergeant requested. “I, state your name...”

Angela was more than a little nervous. “I, state your name... I mean....”

The audience dissolved into laughter. Even the sergeant was chuckling.

As she blushed, she added, “You can tell who's the concubine.... I, Angela Wilson.”

"Do consent to be the concubine of Private David Wilson.”

"Do consent to be the concubine of Private David Wilson,” she repeated.

"Recorded,” advised the AI.

As the kids cheered, Babs shook her head. “I'm not even going to try to top that.” She turned to the sergeant. “I, Barbara Wilson, do consent to be the concubine of Private David Wilson.”

"Recorded.”

The sergeant had one additional question. “Private Wilson, are you taking your concubines' children?”

"Absolutely, and they are all here. At least all that I know of are here. Ah, would either of you have a kid I never heard about before?”

Angela rolled her eyes and Babs pretended to be indignant. Unfortunately she was laughing too hard for anyone to take her seriously.

The sergeant gave a theatrical gesture toward the shower, where a glowing nexus sat on the floor. “This way to the stars, Private. When you get to the ship, immediately step off the nexus and follow the instructions of the ship's crew.”

Led by Billy, Dave and his family walked into the green circle and started their journey to Thule.

The nexus room they arrived in had a large sign affixed to the far wall: “AMP027 – GEMINI CLIPPER”. Underneath that, in a much smaller font, the legend boasted that the ship was “Twice as Nice”.

Dave and his family looked around, wondering what to do next. A voice from a blue-uniformed woman with lieutenant's bars drew their attention instantly.

"Welcome aboard the Gruesome Twosome, Private. Take your mob into the next room, find a space to sit, and for Gawd's sake keep them together and quiet. Move, c'mon.”

He quickly chivvied his clan into the next compartment, which proved to be a large, rather featureless cavern of a room. Another blue-clad form in there – a lanky sergeant – was likewise shouting at the new arrivals. “Find a place and siddown!”

Quickly the room began to fill. From the looks of the hockey bags, they were all families of Warriors and Mosquitoes.

"OK, we've got some time until the next game ends,” advised the sergeant. “First, all of you concubines, you need to strip right now. Move it. Sponsors, I need your and your concubines' CAP cards. If any of you have any medications, we need to know that too, as well as any medical issues. Once you've got that, then bring the CAP cards up here and we'll get your families off to the med tubes. Move it people, the sooner we get this finished, the sooner you get settled into your pods.”

The sergeant had to concede this for Tribune Whitefeather's plan: instead of taking the whole arena in one go, it broke the pickup into smaller, bite-sized chunks that were far easier to handle. Still, thirty-four families could raise a hell of a racket.

Down in the McLaughlin Arena, a few of the parents – a scant few – had noted that the stands were more empty now, what with the Minor Atom parents mysteriously still absent. During the third game, it grew emptier still as the Peewee players' parents failed to return from the corridor holding the change rooms.

As newly-recruited Private David Wilson emerged from the medical tube, he found that the rest of his family was just emerging as well. A voice in his head advised him, 'Private David Wilson, your assigned pod is Blue Seven. Follow the blue line.'

Dave looked out the open door of the medical bay to see a glowing blue line leading down the hall. “We all here and awake?”

They were. Billy lugging his hockey bag, little Shirley grasping tightly to her favourite teddy bear and Dave bringing up the rear, the group meandered through the halls to Pod Blue Seven. To everyone's surprise, the pod doors wouldn't open. The ship's AI had been through this often enough to predict the next question, and didn't bother waiting.

"Private David Wilson, only you have control over the pod's systems. For example, unless and until you explicitly grant permission to your concubines, only you have the right to order the pod door to open.”

"Thank you, AI. Open the pod bay doors Hal.”

The AI didn't laugh, not that Dave expected it to. Obediently the pod door opened to reveal the standard, shades-of-grey interior of the standard pod.

As they were beginning the exploration, the AI announced, “Private David Wilson, you have visitors requesting admittance.”

"Who are they?” Dave pondered.

"Tribune William Whitefeather and Fille du Roi class concubines Sandra Hause and Lyn MacDonald, Private David Wilson.”

Dave had no clue what a Tribune was, nor what a Fille du Roi was for that matter, but he politely granted access to whoever these three were.

William was wearing his duty greys. Sandy and Lyn both wore the shapeless grey concubine shift, and their feet were bare. Lyn had a device about the size of a Super-8 camera, complete with hand grip, mounted onto a shoulder brace that kept her shots steady despite her rapid movements. The device was that size for human hands' convenience, as it could have been made much smaller. Despite the size, it had more features and a better picture quality than that boasted by the commercial-quality behemoth she'd lugged into the CAP testing centre that morning. Underneath the shifts, both women's breasts oscillated delightfully. Dave didn't know a lot about military rank at that point, but the Confederacy rank badges were so similar to the American military version that he recognized Whitefeather as an officer immediately. He came to something approximating “attention” and saluted.

Tribune Whitefeather returned the salute and added, “Because you're in civvies, you don't salute. You just come to attention. You'll learn more about military courtesy in your sleep training.” He then indicated the two attractive ladies accompanying him. “Sandy here is a reporter, and Lyn is a TV camerawoman. They're out here doing a story on extractions – and have somehow gotten involved themselves.”

"Yeah. 'Somehow',” Lyn muttered, shooting an amused look at Sandy, who had the decency to blush.

"Miss Hause would like to film you exploring your new home and later interview you and your family, if that's acceptable to you,” Whitefeather informed him.

"Certainly, Sir,” Dave acquiesced. When an officer makes a suggestion that isn't going to put you out, you tend to go along. Especially when he's two metres tall and built like a linebacker.

With that, Whitefeather proceeded to give a brief tour of the pod, pointing out the elevator pad in the corner of the common room, the roomy main bedroom, and the smaller bedrooms and the children's playrooms on the second floor, and what modifications were possible. He then encouraged Dave to have his concubines come up with a customized layout for the pod for their sponsor's approval (“They'll be more accepting if they have a say in it,” the Tribune advised) and told him to make his plans for body modifications before he went to sleep – once again, getting his concubines' input.

"After all, you want a happy pod, and if the concubines are happy with their modifications, then they'll be happy with you,” he reminded the new recruit.

Sandy compared the layout of the standard colony transport pod with that for the pods provided for the Filles du Roi. Unlike the family-oriented pods of the Kilos, the ones carried by the Arctic Princess were fairly utilitarian. The boring beige of the walls and chocolate-brown of the carpeting couldn't be changed, but at least wasn't as creepy as the shades of grey used in the unmodified family pods. The upper floor consisted of four pairs of triple bunks, each pair separated from the others by a floor-to-ceiling wall, providing enough space for 24 adults. Some individual bunks were split into halves, obviously for a pair of youngsters half of the average adult's height to sleep in, and a few, all middle-level, were divided into four baby bassinets. A common corridor running down the far outer bulkhead connected the bunk-lined cubicles, but provided precious little in the way of privacy. Beyond the bunks was a lavatory containing six toilets, but with zero dividers. At the back end of the pod's upper deck was a roomy six-headed shower room. The elevator pad was located in the space between bunks and shower, with a typical kitchen-sized replicator mounted next to the pad.

Each single bunk had a name (last name first, Sandy noted) and ID number emblazoned on the end facing the common corridor. Sandy and Lyn each got the top left-hand bunk of two adjoining cubicles. The bunks that had been subdivided held two or four names, with a “(D)” between the name and ID number. There was no storage space anywhere on the upper floor, aside from a towel rack right by the showers. There were also no doors into any compartment.

The main floor had a large common room nearest the front door, with a replicator-equipped kitchenette and a space set off for a children's play area. There then followed a sleep training compartment consisting of two rows of six sleep trainers for a total of one dozen. The far end of the pod housed a second, smaller, four-toilet bathroom. As with the upper level, there were no doors to provide any privacy anywhere, and almost no storage. Sandy's pod was unique in having the video editing station tucked into a corner of the common room.

The entire pod, with its monochromatic colour scheme, lack of windows and minimal privacy, bore an unnerving resemblance to a jail.

All of this Sandy pointed out to the baleful eye that Lyn hefted lightly over her shoulder. In order to finish her report, Sandy decided she would need to interview a few Filles du Roi, but as far as she was aware none – other than she and Lyn – had been brought on board yet. Maybe they had, though – it wouldn't hurt to ask. “AI,” she called out as Lyn continued to film her, “have any of the other Filles du Roi started to come on board yet?”

To her delight, the AI deigned to respond. “Negative, Concubine Sandra Hause. They are scheduled to start arriving at twenty-two hundred hours ship's time.”

"And what hour is it right now?” Sandy demanded.

"Twenty-one fifteen, Concubine Sandra Hause,” the AI responded.

"I'd like to report on their arrival, if that's possible.”

"The request has been noted and is being forwarded to Captain Hendricks.” There was a brief pause, and then the AI added, “In response, the Captain has ordered you to report to Fleet Auxiliary Sergeant Moretti in Nexus Centre B, compartment 2543, in thirty minutes.”