Free T'aafhal Legacy 1: Ghosts of Orion by Doug L Hoffman Page B

cloud above her head. 
    The thug nearest Bobby lunged at him, throwing a roundhouse right. At the same time, the thug nearest Mizuki produced a knife from behind his back and stepped toward her.
    Bobby seized his assailant's arm, pivoted and used the man's momentum to execute a hip throw. The man landed heavily on his back, his head striking the floor and rebounding. His face was traveling upward from the rebound when it met Bobby's fist descending in a straight armed strike. Bone and cartilage crunched audibly. 
    Meanwhile, Mizuki reached over her head and drew the bokken she always carried when roaming outside the ship. The heavy wooden stick had the same weight and balance as a katana, the traditional long sword carried by samurai. The wooden practice sword was a blur as she first broke her attacker's wrist and then struck the side of his head. The knife clattered to the floor as the second thug dropped like a felled ox. 
    Mizuki and Bobby stepped clear of their fallen foes only to see a third Ukrainian holding what looked like a pistol. They jumped in opposite directions, forcing the man to chose between targets. Mizuki ended her roll to the right in a crouch with her weapon held before her, ready to strike. Bobby came up low with a small stunner in his hand. Before either could take out the gun wielding thug he was enveloped by a flock of angry butterflies, flashing reds, oranges and yellows.
    The man with the gun cried out as sparks flew from the winged creatures alighting on his person. He crumpled as the smell of ozone and cooked meat permeated the area. The butterflies circled above their victim showing more placid colors. No additional targets appeared.
    “I think your pets cooked that guy, Mizuki-chan.” 
    Bobby moved forward and examined the third gangster's dropped weapon. Nudging the pistol with his foot, he grunted.
    “Looks like a plastic pistol made in a 3D printer or other low-end fab unit. I don't think it would be very accurate.”
    “Still a threat of deadly force, as was the knife, Bobby.” Mizuki was intent on justifying the actions of her flying pets. Bobby nodded absently and brought his foot down on the plastic pistol, breaking it. 
    “I think we should head back to the ship,” he said. “We can call this in when we are well away from here.”
    “Hai.”
    Man, woman and butterflies moved off down the corridor in the direction of the docks, leaving one dead and two badly injured Ukrainian gangsters on the floor behind them.
     
    Colonization Board Office, Farside
    Imam Mustafa, Rabbi Menaheim, and Brother Abraham were seated in front of a bespectacled, balding bureaucrat. The official was telling them of the final arrangements for their upcoming emigration to Gliese 667Cc, a matter of grave importance to all three religious leaders. 
    “As you can see from the manifest, we are sending six cows, six horses, twenty-seven sheep and thirty chickens with you. All of the quadrupeds will be female and there will be three roosters among the chickens.”
    “Why no bulls, stallions or rams?” asked Imam Mustafa, “How are we to breed more animals without male stock?”
    “All of the large female animals will be impregnated before the voyage. Using gender selection during the insemination process we can ensure that half of the births will result in male livestock. You can keep the best as future breeding stock and use the others as food animals.”
    “And how long do we have to wait for delivery, so to speak?” asked Bother Abraham.
    “The average gestation period of a cow is 285 days, a mare 342 days, and a ewe 152 days. Also note that we are sending frozen sperm for each species, prefiltered by sex, and insemination kits for each group of settlers. Using the provided material should allow you to build flocks with enough genetic diversity to be viable on their own.”
    “Why no goats? We asked for goats,” said Rabbi Menaheim.
    “We do not have sufficient breeding stock on hand to send