Chapter 3: Welcome to TERRA – Cowboy 101

“O-Dark-Thirty” Monday Morning 7 October 2019

I was awoken by my alarm at 0445 hours (fifteen minutes before five AM). I rolled out of bed, shut off my alarm, and put on a pair of ‘silk-weight’ polypropylene long underwear, wool socks, corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and grabbed my stable jacket and a pair of work gloves. I padded down the hallway, following Jerimiah Talon. When he sat down on the bench to put on his boots, I noticed he had a steaming insulated mug of coffee.

Jerimiah saw my look, and said, “if you hustle, you could grab a mug of coffee from the kitchen. If you don’t have your own mug, there are several without names, grab one. We’ve got time.”

I range walked to the kitchen, Duke, Mr. Valesco, and Malcomb Campbell were just leaving the kitchen, each had their own mug of coffee, Duke said, “don’t worry, we left you some.”

An insulated mug was standing by the coffee maker, the lid off. I filled the mug, and turned off the coffee maker. I dumped the last ounce into the sink, rinsed the pot, and sat it on the counter. I opened the lid, but someone else had already dumped the grounds. When I got back to the inner mudroom, Mr. Valesco was heading out the door, and Duke was still putting on his boots. Quickly, I put on and laced my boots. We put on our coats and hats, and headed out to the stables.

Outside in the pre-dawn darkness, the only lights were in the stables. It was possible to see well enough to follow the concrete pathway to the barns and stables. The sky was clear, and the stars were bright. It was chilly, and a brisk wind was blowing, heralding the approaching dawn. By the time we got to the stables, I had consumed a third of my mug of coffee, and managed to kick-start my brain. As soon as I entered, Mr. Valesco pointed to a rack holding some rakes and shovels; I grabbed one of each. He gestured to a row of stalls, and soon I was filling a wheelbarrow with horse apples.

Odors in a stable or barn are unpleasant to many people. Often those people don’t seem to notice the stench of vehicle exhaust, overflowing trash bins, and gutters, stale piss in doorways, cigarette smoke on peoples’ clothes, and the miasma endemic in urban sprawls. That’s just the shopping districts and downtowns of moderately well managed Western cities. My heart rate would amp up as soon as the doors of the aircraft opened, somewhere in a Third World Shithole. There is a particular stench of rotting garbage, burned with diesel fuel, baked sand, and unwashed bodies that could be smelled before we exited the aircraft. Given the choice, I vastly prefer living on a farm or ranch.

After we had mucked out the stalls, we began feeding the horses, while Mr. Valesco and Mr. Lopez checked their hooves and general health. Duke went inside to begin preparing breakfast. For the next hour we completed the various chores listed on the white board. Mr. Valesco taught me how to milk a cow, but several of the other guys were much more experienced than me. Some other new experiences were collecting eggs, and slopping the hogs.

About zero six forty five (quarter to 7 AM) we went inside to shit, shower, and shave. I tossed my dirty clothes in the hamper, and put on some clean work clothes, before meeting the guys for breakfast. As I padded down the hall, I regretted not having a pair of slippers, I felt awkward walking around in my socks. We enjoyed a hearty breakfast of eggs topped with cheddar cheese and pico de gallo, bacon, hash browns, wholewheat sourdough toast, fruit, and yogurt. Plenty of coffee, milk, water, and fruit juice was available. We had all worked up an appetite sufficient to clean our plates; nor was anyone left hungry.

Malcomb Campbell and Jerimiah Talon cleaned the dishes, and what little Duke had not already cleaned in the kitchen. The rest of us enjoyed another cup of coffee, and chatted; Mr. Makatozi and Mr. Lopez read books. About a half an hour after breakfast, we all trooped out to watch me saddle a horse. They selected a seven year old buckskin quarter horse, imaginatively named Buck. This particular gelding wasn’t the gentlest horse in the stable, but he wasn’t particularly cantankerous either.

When I finished saddling, and tacking Buck, Mr. Valesco and Duke inspected my equine skills, then Duke said, “Well ... a teenage girl can saddle a hoss, let’s see what happens once you’re up on the ‘Hurricane Deck’ and ‘mongst some cattle.”

While I was demonstrating my basic competence, the rest of the guys had been saddling up too. Joseph Makatozi was clearly the best horseman, he and his mount moved as one. Mr Lopez was also a skilled rider Mr. Valesco was a distant third, and Jeramiah Talon was a near fourth to the Ranch Foreman. Not to say any of them lacked skill, all were reasonably talented horsemen. None of them demonstrated the abilities of a rodeo rider. Most of them had only been riding, and herding cattle for a few months, or a few years; although some of them had worked on ranches before they joined the Army.

Mostly this was just an orientation for me, and a chance for us to get to know each other. We rode around the periphery of several clusters of cattle, and beefalos, I was told to keep some fifty meters away from any concentrations of the fickle critters. Mr. Valesco, Lopez, and Makatozi rode in to check on particular specimens. I was told that we would be moving a couple of herds from pastures furth east, to locations nearer the ranch headquarters.

Duke indicated the lariat I had been given, and was hanging from the left side of my rig, and asked, “D’ ya know how t’ throw a Rope?”

“Not really Duke. I had practice throwing a lasso back when I was in Four H, and I even participated in some junior rodeos, but that was more than twenty years ago.” I told him.

He convinced me to try roping a yearling steer that had wandered well away from the herd. The first two times I missed completely. On my third try I got the loop around one of his horns, and that annoyed him quite a bit. I kept in the saddle, despite a bit of dancing around by Buck! Joseph Makatozi speedily got a loop around him, and swiftly brought the steer to the ground, and got him under control. Once the steer was back up, he shook his head, and I did a better job of using my horse to drive him back to the herd.

Well, I seemed to have passed the first day of ‘Cowboy 101’ without making a complete fool of myself. Although, perhaps they didn’t guffaw at me, because they didn’t want to spur a stampede. Joseph Makatozi and Jerimiah Talon headed off to the east, while Vincinte Lopez and Malcom Campbell patrolled to the north. Mister Valesco, Duke, and myself headed back to the Ranch House. We stabled, unsaddled, groomed our horses, and then put away our saddles and tack.

1000 Hours (10:00 AM PST {Pacific Standard Time}) Monday Morning 7 October 2019

Thirty minutes later, after a quick shower, changing into slacks, a button down shirt, and grabbing a jacket, I met Duke in the garage. He was putting on a well worn, yet still highly polished pair of cowboy boots. His office attire was a white shirt with an open collar and the top button undone, a bolo tie, black jeans, and a buckskin jacket. He topped it off with a black “Boss of the Plains” Stetson. As I was lacing my shoes, I was wondering if he too had his EDC (Every Day Carry), like J.B. Brooks, Nolan Clancy, Ben Gottlieb, and I. His buckskin coat was loose enough that a .44 Magnum might not print; it came down to mid-thigh so I couldn’t see what he might have on his belt.

Before I finished tying my shoes, I reconsidered, and asked, “hey, Duke, should I wear boots too?”

“Nope. We should be inside for the rest of the work day. If plans change, they’ll be enough time to come back here and change. Later, after you get settled in, you might want to stash some field clothes and boots in our office.” He said.

Duke was driving us to the TERRA Headquarters building in a “runabout” (appearing to be a cross between a large golfcart and a compact car). As we drove to the HQ, he told me a bit about the vehicle. In the front where an engine might be was the primary battery compartment. It was all wheel drive, with a small electric motor for each wheel. There were three sets of shoulder and seatbelts on the front bench seat. Following Duke’s example, I didn’t put mine on either. In the back cargo area, there were also three fold down seats directly behind the front bench, facing backwards.

Duke explained that the vehicle’s shell was mostly to permit the air conditioning, and the heater to be effective; the vehicles were not “street-legal” lacking “crumple zones” airbags, or other safety features to protect passengers in the event of a collision. Similar to some king-cab pickup trucks, the runabouts have “suicide doors” (the front doors open like most vehicles; the rear passenger doors open back). Some runabouts have a split rear hatch opening to the left and right; others have a hatchback similar to a minivan. They also have an AM/FM radio and a CB radio.

At thirty miles per hour, the ride was smooth on the paved roads of the Aeneas complex; while he was driving, I asked him, “Duke, are we going have problems? Between you and me?”

He turned and looked at me, a puzzled look on his face, and said, “I don’t expect to. Why do you ask?”

“I’m having difficulty reading you. You seem to be sending me mixed signals. You seem jovial, however, several times you have mentioned that I am trying to take your job. What’s up with that?” I asked.

Chuckling, but perhaps with an edge of nervousness, Duke then replied, “you will only be my assistant until you are prepared to take over the Training Division, and I hope that is soon. I’m not upset about it. I’ve been champ’n at the bit for them to recruit someone like you.”

He continued, “mebbe twenty to fifty guys, and a few gals leave the service each year with your unusual combination of talents and experience. We’ve tried to recruit about a dozen or so each year, for the last few years. All of them took more prestigious jobs, or ones closer to their homes. Few got offered a better compensation package. Most officers with your ability remain in the service for twenty years or more.”

“You’ll get Read-On later today, and that’ll explain more. Suffice it to say that like most NCOs, I figured that I could get around alright without an officer looking over my shoulder. Officers mostly act as Shit Shields, protecting the guys doing the Actual Work from officers stricken by the Good Idea Fairy, and other bullshit. I’ve been adequate, so far, planning and coordinating with the Big Chiefs. But ... mostly, it’s a matter of Temperament. I’m better at implementing. Being the ‘Top Kick’ for someone like you.”

I considered what he said; before I said, “You make this sound like some kind of Paramilitary organization?”

Duke pursed his lips, then replied, “We are. Partially it’s because we recruit so many veterans. Another aspect is because we anticipate having to conduct operations in hostile environments. We are Not unionized employees, where seniority is a determining factor, and no hourly employee may order another. None of us are hourly employees. We have a flexible chain of command, for now, because many of our people are cross-training, or temporarily working outside their primary field of expertise. Some of it is just habitual terminology.”

That was a not completely satisfactory expiation, however, Duke was parking in a lot in front of the T.E.R.R.A. headquarters building. It was late morning, yet the parking lot was mostly empty. There were less than three dozen vehicles parked here, many of them runabouts of various colors. There were no people walking around outside. I noticed a few of the vehicles were connected to chagrining stations that projected only a few inches above the pavement.

As we walked towards the sidewalk leading to the front entrance, I saw there were no vehicles parked in the lot closest to the building; the one between the half-circle drive to the front of the building, so I asked Duke, “aren’t any of the bigwigs here?”

He glanced over and replied, “huh? Oh. Those spots are reserved for guests. Elders of the Colville Confederation in particular.”

There was no landscaping, other than “rock gardens” that Duke mentioned also functioned to help rainwater and melted snow drain away from the building. There were also “rock gardens” around the parking lots, as well as small trenches a couple inches deep and wide, covered by perforated covers. Duke explained that the lot was not quite level, it was designed to drain water to the northeast, rather than collect on a flat non-porous surface. The runoff is collected in a “grey-water” holding tank, where it is filtered and used in the building, or elsewhere for irrigation.

The path from the parking lot intersected with a broad pathway going around the building fifty feet from the base. Up close, Cory MacLeod realized that the building was somewhat larger than his first impression yesterday evening. Other than the solar panel arrays on the roof, the only other distinguishing feature he could see was the entrance to the building. He estimated the entrance projected approximately thirty feet (10 meters) from the front of the building, and appeared to be thirty feet wide, and nearly twenty feet (7 meters) high.

There were two sets of large double doors. The entrance doors were on the right. Signs above, and printed on the glass doors indicated the doors on his left were the exit doors. The pairs of doors were separated by a slightly sloping, dun, featureless wall of concrete or whatever the building was made of. There was an overhead projection of six feet (2 meters) with glass sides. Under the overhang were thick black rubber (or synthetic) mats with deep treads, and to the side were boot scrubbers.

Attached to the outermost pillar was a card scanner. Duke scanned his ID card, hanging from a lanyard, and he indicated I should do the same. Many high security military, and other government facilities use similar procedures; so too do many corporations. It did not seem abnormal to me; actually, it was more comfortable than the disorder commonplace in the civilian world. Discretely, I tried to locate other security features, but there were no obvious silver half-domes (concealing a camera) {such technology is more than forty years old}, nor other indications of video surveillance.

Here the doors opened inward, we walked through a short corridor seven foot wide, and fifteen foot long, to another set of double doors, and another card scanner. The glass doors were tinted, making it difficult to see inside the building. Similar to the ranch house, there is a double “airlock” the second set of doors opened into a vestibule some thirty foot wide, and fifteen foot deep. In the center of the far wall was an automated information kiosk, flanked by what appeared to be blank computer screens about three foot (a meter) above the floor.

For a third time we had to use our ID cards to exit the vestibule to enter the lobby, more like an intersection of hallways. Directly in front of us the hallway continued toward the back of the building, with elevators on either side of the wide hallway. We took the hallway to our right. Above the doors on the right side of that hallway, I saw signs proclaiming Public Relations, Fund Raising, Philanthropy. On the left the first office was for Personnel. Training was the second office on the left side of the hallway. Between the two doors with signs over them were a pair of doors with “Authorized Personnel Only” and ID scanners; ours was the second of the pair.

Duke waved his card in front of the ID scanner, then punched in a four digit code. He told me to scan my card, then to tap the zero key four times. He told me I would be able to pick a four digit PIN code later today, for routine access. Some locations required a specific code. He explained that the four zeros code would trigger an alert, no sirens or anything, but security would be aware of it. He told me in the security posture the event would only be logged, and there would of course be no consequences, because I didn’t have a PIN, yet.

Past the door was a short hallway, a fold down bench on the right, and an alcove to hang coats on the left, with twenty synthetic hangers, but no coats. We emerged into an open office space with a dozen desks; it looked like only three of them had ever been used. No one was in the space. To our right, running across the front of the space was a counter separating the desks and other office equipment from a small lobby area and a door to the hallway serving the other administrative divisions. Along the left wall were several monitors, framed as if they are windows, projecting a view of a grassy field with evergreen woods in the background; Duke told me it depicted a location in the nearby Methow Valley.

At the back of the space were doors to three offices, a couple of what I was told were closets, and a hallway to some shared spaces, in particular a conference room. Duke led us back to his office, which was now our office. A second desk had been inserted next to Duke’s desk, which had obviously been shifted over to make room. In front of the desks were several comfortable chairs, and against one wall was a leather couch. The walls were covered with wood paneling, and there were several more monitors depicting the vista of the Methow Valley.

“Where are all of the people Duke? It’s like something out of a zombie apocalypse movie, or something. Although most of what I have seen so far, it seems that little of this complex has ever been occupied.” I asked.

“You are correct. Construction of this building was only completed a couple of months ago. Most of this headquarters building has not yet been occupied. TERRA is still recruiting many of the people who will one day come to work here. It’s a process that will take years. For now, all of us, is you, me, and Ronald Sundown. However, he is also one of our liaisons to the Colville Confederation. We had two others, but they have been transferred to other duties.” Duke said.

I’m sure that I must have looked perplexed, because Duke continued after a short pause, saying, “until we have enough personnel living on, or near the Aeneas Complex, there isn’t much of a point to having many personnel in our sub-division. We are taking advantage of many of our recruits’ educational opportunities using the GI Bill and other external funding sources. We anticipate having quite a few more people on site next Spring, and our job is to have our sub-division prepared to conduct training and cross-training of our personnel, and select local civilians.”

“Civilians?” I asked.

“For lack of a better term. We could say non-employees, or a dozen other terms. Even our personnel who didn’t serve in the armed forces, now use that term. At least between fellow members of TERRA. Obviously, we don’t use that to their faces. We have several educational centers and outreach sites established locally. For now, we are trying to let the locals know our public goals. Later we intend to provide various educational programs.” Duke said.

“A ‘Hearts and Minds‘ campaign?” I asked.

“Sort of. Our pro environment ideas, and in particular the new technologies we intend to introduce will require an educational campaign. You might even call it Propaganda. Advertising toothpaste or for a fast food chain, or a brand such as Starbucks, is basically a propaganda campaign. It was a significant part of many the duties you, and I performed while serving with US Army Special Forces.” Duke said.

“Okay, I understand and accept those analogies. What are my duties to achieve those goals?” I asked.

“You will review our various training programs, and suggest modifications and improvements. You will also be participating in many of the training or apprenticeship programs that other recruits to TERRA will participate in when they are assigned here. Ronald Sundown will advise us on his perspective on local attitudes, and possible resistance to our programs.” Duke said.

“As soon as possible, I want to meet with some of these locals. I want to understand their perspective before I begin preparing a training program.” I told Duke.

“That sounds reasonable. We will coordinate with Ron, and try to make that happen sometime this week, if possible.” Duke said.

We spent the next hour reviewing the layout of the office; from the number of mostly empty filing cabinets, and other office equipment in the main office, I concluded this would not be a “paperless” office. Duke assured me that nearly all of our daily activities would use digital, not printed materials. Printed forms were only a backup redundancy that could not be hacked. Of course, it is possible to manually alter printed records, but TERRA had security procedures to prevent that; or at least make it more difficult.

A bit before noon, Duke led me to the cafeteria in the back, or southern side of the building. He introduced me to Maurice Nightlinger, the Dining Facility (what we used to call a Mess Hall in the Army) Manager, and also the Chief Cook. Today Mr. Nightlinger was assisted by Emma Tuck, one of his assistant cooks, as well as several members of TERRA who were cross training (or what we used to call KP duties in the Army). The food was tasty, and Maurice spoke with pride about how nutritious the meals he prepared are, and nearly everything came from here on the Aeneas complex, or from select local sources.