Peggy Sue (The T'aafhal Inheritance) by Doug Hoffman

than three and a half years ago. As with most polar bear romances, it lasted for only a few torrid weeks. Then Bear disappeared and Isbjørn was left to fend for herself.
    “Who’s this clown?” asked a confused and angry Umky. The small male tried to insert himself between his mother and the large stranger. Bear’s response was simply to swat the smaller bear aside.
    “I take it he’s one of yours,” Bear said to his old flame. “Isn’t he old enough to head off on his own?”
    “Yes and yes,” she replied with a hint of exasperation, adding “and he’s also one of yours.”
    “What?” the startled Bear snorted. “He’s my son?”
    “Yes, this is Umky,” she turned to the small male who had regained his footing and was again headed toward them. “Umky, meet your father, Pihoqahiak.” In Inuit poetry, Pihoqahiak means the ever-wandering one.
    “I just go by Bear, nowadays,” Bear said. “I’ve been hanging around with a bunch of humans who mostly speak English. Besides, that name was from my carefree youth, I’ve grownup a lot since then.”
    “Really?” Isbjørn said in a skeptical tone. As she spoke, Umky again tried to wedge himself between the old paramours. “I don’t care who he is, I don’t like him!” Umky said. This time it was Isbjørn who cuffed the younger bear, sending him sprawling on the tundra despite the fact that both mother and cub weighed around 275 kilos apiece.
    “I heard you disappeared with some humans in a flying machine. I figured you ended up in a Zoo or as a rug in front of some human’s fireplace.”
    “Oh hell no. You know me better than that, babe.”
    “I was wondering how you went from hunting Inuit with a rifle to palling around with a bunch of talking monkeys.”
    “Why does nobody pay attention to what I say!” whined Umky, who had again picked himself up off the ground and now sat on his hindquarters, safely out side of paw-swipe range.
    “Son,” said Bear, looking at his new found offspring, “when you have something to say worth listening to, people will listen. Until then, it would be best to shut up and keep your ears open.” Turning back to Isbjørn, he added, “he’s big for his age, but I think you spoil him.”
    “Yes, I probably do,” she said, looking down, “I lost his sister early on, to an orca while crossing some open water.”
    “Sorry to hear that, babe,” Bear said awkwardly. He felt no pang of loss over a daughter he never knew, but the pain in Isbjørn’s eyes was obvious. “Listen, I have a proposition for you, and Junior here as well. In fact, do you know if there are anymore of our kind hanging around?”
    “I saw Tornassuk and Snowflake east of here a few days ago. Why do you ask?”
    “Let’s head that direction, maybe we’ll run into them,” he said, standing up on all fours. “You are going to think I’ve lost my mind, but come with me and let me tell you about this human I know called Captain Jack…”
     
    Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
    Every morning the captive Marines were allowed to shower and fed a simple breakfast, before being taken off to seemingly endless interrogation sessions. In windowless rooms, voices from the shadows asked meaningless questions while spotlights glared in the prisoners’ eyes. Their captors asked the same questions over and over, perhaps trying to catch one of the Marines in some deception or obfuscating lie. Why the government would suspect they were hiding anything remained unanswered.
    The captives had also been issued new work uniforms, devoid of any rank or other insignias. Basically, everything they had on them or with them at the time they were captured at Parker’s ranch had been taken away. Well, almost everything.
    GySgt Rodriguez was in the head for the purpose of changing sanitary napkins. Before she disposed of the old one, she pealed back some of the padding and removed a small black object about the size of an apple seed. “You want the old one?” she called