Anticipation,

Realization,

Joy!

Squish squish,

Squelch squelch,

Convulsion!

Sigh,

Snuggle,

Sleep.

**** Chapter 179 – Sirius Rising ****

By: Emmeran, 22 July 2021

Editor: nnpdad 17 Aug 2021

You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.

Budapest by Jethro Tull, Written by Ian Anderson

Bugaha.

What was known as Fort Atkinson in the year 1822 would eventually be a part of a city called Omaha in a state called Nebraska; the city which eventually gained the affectionate or disdainful nickname of “Bugaha.” So much so that at one point their college sports teams were called the ‘Bugeaters’ for a short while; that particular nickname was dropped but was still a huge fan favorite in modern times.

With the ‘Dog Days of Summer’ fast upon us the conditions in Bugaha were almost as unbearable as they were in deep winter. It was also a good reminder of how little time we had left before the frost and hard freeze would arrive to deal with the bugs. Slow water, vegetation and heat made for happy, horny insects. Which meant we had more of them then we could possibly desire and they got into everything a person could possibly imagine.

The worst of these pests were the incessant gnats and the chiggers. Neither of these pests were life-threating, but both provided unwanted levels of annoyance and both were found in almost horrifying quantities in Bugaha. A smoky fire was always your friend this time of year along the river. The Pawnee, of course, had some salves to keep most of them away or at least to treat the rash but the sheer number of them made it impossible to avoid all of them short of becoming a shut-in recluse - not really an option in the oppressive heat and humidity of summer in the very Heartland of America.

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Well the 'now' was currently 1822 for me and this was not the Heartland yet. This was actually an outpost on the far distant edge of the fledgling American nation. Fort Atkinson was in the territories and the tussle over whose land this actually was still had a long way to go. On top of all that the chiggers had gotten to me and I was a tad bit irritable; the salves provided to me only gave minor relief from the rash created by those annoying mites.

I was in a fairly grumpy mood when I approached Fort Atkinson on foot. I did my best to hide that and tried to be as cheerful and chummy as possible. Brin kept perfect heel the entire way and I spent most of the walk observing the shrinking camp town and cursing the humidity. The bustle of the camp town had diminished significantly with the draw down of the rifles regiment and there seemed to be an excess of unemployed men loitering on the streets.

All of these sudden ex-soldiers idle in the area was not a good sign and they were sure to amount to trouble as all of the factors were added up. Growling bellies and empty wallets were a route to violence and discontent. I knew I would have to prod Leavenworth a bit with solutions to avoid violence between the active troops and recently released.

I would probably see a sizeable portion of these men show up in Rulo, particularly as the weather started to turn; it would be a challenge to sort through the desirables and riff-raff. We simply couldn’t afford to be as blind-eyed as the military at this point and a good chunk of them would be sent on downriver to St. Louis or New Orleans.

Rain hadn’t been as plentiful as one would hope at that particular moment and place. Rain clouds in the heartland can be like that; a few miles away they might have it made with desired amounts of moisture and the resulting bounty while you suffered in dust and heat. A few weeks later that Bugaha area would get its fair shar of rain - finally - and the crops would jump right back to life, but for now the crops slept and the dust was everywhere. When those rain clouds decided to drop in to visit, the dusty roads would turn into mud streams and everything would be covered in a different form of dirt.

As it was though, I walked into Leavenworth’s headquarters caked in dust. Caked because walking with wet clothing up a dusty street tended to create that effect and while you could easily beat most of the dust off, caking was an entirely different situation. I decided not to care and simply show up as I was. This meeting wasn’t to be a ‘Full Dress’ event after all and hell, I wasn’t even sure that Leavenworth would be in. I was fairly sure he would be because he wasn’t renowned for venturing beyond his desk, but even desk drivers got out and about on occasion.

Henry was in, of course, and importantly so was his Sergeant clerk who had proved so useful during my last visits. I spent a goodly amount of time chatting with the Sergeant while Leavenworth decided he was doing something better, and it was time well spent. I needed more men but I only wanted good ones; the Sergeant seemed to have the inside track on who was worthwhile and who would be trouble. I also learned that the Sergeant would be retiring soon and he was looking for some place to take his family, too.

Somehow I wasn’t surprised to find out that the Sergeant's name was actually Johann de Klerk. I knew enough about the hilarious attempts of Napoleon’s administrative directorates to force surnames on the Dutch and while amused by it I wasn’t inclined to comment out loud. To be truthful ‘John the Clerk’ was far less dubious and amusing than ‘Harold the Flatulent’. Sending low level administrative functionaries into the pubs to take a census was probably a really bad idea from the get go.

In retrospect I decided that growing up as ‘The Narrater’ wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it had been.