Chapter 14: Excitement Upon Arrival

Overnight Flight LA To Peru, Then To The Mountain

July 10 - 11, 2008

Thursday evening, July 10, I travelled with Resha, Irene, Frida, and Estella on the Red Eye leaving LA for Peru. The flight was nine hours nonstop from LAX to Lima in a commercial jet that was less than a year old. In Lima we switched over to a chartered Caribou passenger/freight plane that was at least a decade older than me for the flight the colony - meaning a total of over 12 hours in transit. The two flights were a marked contrast.

For many, a long night flight means a date with a sleeping pill, booze, or the combination of both. Sleep is the most efficient use of time. But for me, sleep was not an option. I did not realize that Resha had never flown as an adult. In her childhood she flew long distances to Nigeria and India with her parents, but they could make sure she was sleeping. On this trip Resha was scared, curious and a little bit anxious, she needed constant attention. I could not get her to settle down. Since I was responsible for her being there I really felt the need to keep her company, so I told her the history of my two peoples: the Indians on the mountain and the Spanish in the colony.

I suppose that, during the final leg on the Caribou I could have arranged some privacy to comfort Resha in our usual friendly manner, there was sufficient private space behind the cargo, but with the others alert neither one of us was really in the mood.

I was very thankful when the two-engine bush plane finally passed over my mother’s birthplace in the mountain while descending to the colony. I was able to point out to Resha the tribal grounds where my maternal relatives like Zar, Brisk and Nia were from. A few minutes later I was able to point out the colony.

When the plane was on final approach the fault line was like an impossibly high wall on one side of the plane. The runway ran parallel to the Wall, less than a quarter mile away, but because of the height the Wall looked closer than it was. It was like some immense being had placed a straight edge on the surface of the earth and pressed down, creating a cliff that was straight and very long, stretching as far as the eye could see. At one point the cliff was about 1,500 feet high. The fault line formed a sheer wall for almost 20 miles of it’s total length.

The plane set down on the grass runway the Patron had finished since I was last here. It was an improvement that should allow larger aircraft to land. The runway was really a series of buried lights in a large field that had been closely-leveled in sections, there were no painted lines or paved areas so it just looked looked like a normal grass field from space. Sections roughly 100-feet long were leveled and sloped for water runoff, with ground lights installed.

The problem with a dirt, asphalt or concrete runway was that on Google Maps or a recon flight a perfectly straight line of any length was a sure sign of human activity and would attract attention. This field had been here since the ice age and only two or three sections were done at a time, so once the grass grew back in each section it wasn’t noticeable from above. If noticed, the short bare sections being leveled looked like plantings of native Amazon indians, not the actions of white men.

I should mention that, when a straight long runway surface shows up suddenly in an agricultural area with very few people around, both Brazil and Peru militaries have a tendency to bomb first (they need the practice, so they might make multiple visits) and then send in helicopters full of troops. They don’t take prisoners. They have to practice somewhere to keep their “kill-the-pesky-civilians” skills up. The feeling is that only foolish drug folks have enough of a need to build a runway in such a region. Such people are bad for business unless they bribe all the right military officials.

The Patron avoids notice by using small float-equipped planes. These tend to have relatively short range and limited capacity but are useful for high-value cargo. He needs to charter planes like the Caribou to move large loads. Passengers are booked in excess space. On this flight we had two freight pallets and a bulk fuel container on board. Passengers like me were a free extra.

The length of the grass runway was supposed to be as smooth as gravel but without the dust. The grass grew quickly so the work was not likely to be noticed, but with enough time he had a long runway. Once it was established the tropical grass was resilient. He wanted to get a large jet, like a 737, but I had my doubts about that working on grass. Also, even with drainage, grass becomes a mud field when it rains, and there is a reason the Amazon basin is called the “rain forest.”

We taxied toward a shaded/camouflaged tent currently used as a temporary hanger keeping eyes in the heavens from seeing any activity. We taxied in that direction. The canopy was large enough to cover a C-130 plus a few smaller planes. The Caribou would pull under to unload cargo then take off again. It would return when we were ready to leave.

Crews were blasting into the face of the cliff to carve out a cave big enough to serve as a hanger that could not be seen from overhead and was safe from any tropical storm. The opening was camouflaged. But the mountain did not yield easily and the material had to be trucked away or somebody would compare satellite pictures and we would get visitors.

I was looking forward to a bath, a bed, some tickles and shared quality time all with Resha, but no such luck. Duty called and my plan for a nice day got complicated.

Before we got to the parking area the plane stopped next a very small helicopter, a Hughes 300 with tribal markings. I had been in it before and never liked it. One of the ground crew came aboard to get me. I did not bring my bag or my suitcase, as weight was critical in the small copter, especially when climbing to “angels 15.” In moments I was too damn high in something to damn small to feel comfortable.

I hated the long air flights I needed to return home. However, I hated helicopters more, it just seemed unnatural to me. I also knew this particular model of small helicopter was designed with the expectation that it would crash. Large parts of it were intended to survive any crash, so it could be reassembled easily. As for the people aboard? Not so much, the nearest doc was an hour away ... by helicopter.

I guessed that I was headed up the mountain to the Tribe for some home-cooked bad news. The pilot did not even take time to make introductions, as the noisy engine started before the Caribou stopped. I got in, fastened my harness, dreamed of a better tomorrow with Resha, and we were off. The tiny helicopter did not have much of a com set so I wasn’t going to get answers while we flew.

I saw the pilot was a female indian, a cousin of mine. She looked about a decade younger than me. I did not recognize her. Still, I was glad to see that the program of uniting the two populations and bringing the people into the last century was making headway. Most people of the tribe have a heavy frame, they are bred that way, but the pilot was slimmer than most, looked roughly as tall as me, with a face that was very ‘ethnic’ in its features, more so than even Marta or Zar. That was not a problem for me, and in fact I would say it added to her appeal.

When we landed we talked, briefly, while the helicopter was winding down and secured by the ground crew. Her name was Kwool, she spoke Spanish and English. Her first personal comment came while she was unstrapping me, and had her hands on my chest. She mentioned that she would be glad to take me to the cave if I had time. She was not married, but within the tribe any woman of age, married or not, could invite any man into the sand caves to share pleasure. It was ladies choice, she had to invite him in and men (even me!) did not have the same options. The only restriction was that a husband and wife were supposed to be faithful and fruitful while the wife was fertile.

I gave her an appreciative look, she responded by flashing her nipples in a subtle manner. She had small ones that looked good. I showed appreciation, but didn’t quite touch. I would bed her sometime. I thanked her for the very attractive offer, then mentioned my time was not my own, my two grandfathers directed me and they left me little time for personal pleasures. Still, I would keep her in mind, especially if I wound up spending a cold night on the mountain.

Kwool sobered up and wished both of my grandfathers would continue giving me orders. “Some of my happiest memories were those few times when your Grandfathers each took me to bed. It was always giving with them, never demanding. I hope ... well, I hope many things, but seeing the Chief as a man again, in bed, aroused and awaiting my attentions, is my first wish.”

Her comments about the Chief were a new red flag to me.

Beyond that very personal thought, she was sure that when our Chief died her life would change. She was asking me to say something about what I might choose. Because of his age and health there was a high level of apprehension in the tribe.

I learned later that Kwool had considered going into the military, like men from the colony did, but since it would likely cost her the ability to live at altitude, she and the Council decided it was not yet time for that. She did live “down the mountain” for short lengths of time, but never more than one month in any year. She started flight training early (14) by successfully lying about her age. She flew like a natural, but even with her training she was never out of sight of the local helipads and the Patron’s radar net. She knew her limits and respected the trust placed in her.

Two more red flags came to my attention. Kwool had set down in the center of the mountain village, not at the usual helipad further away. Then two teenage girls, with baby fat still showing in their features, stepped towards me. Kwool gave them respect and deference, which was unusual given their relative ages. There was an urgency in their movements, they did not take the time to introduce themselves but addressed me as “My Prince” as they took my hands and led me on.

Their touching me before introductions, and Kwool’s reaction, were bright signals. Not promising ones. I had the feeling I would see these two scamps again, with fewer clothes.

Grandfather was in his bed and he did not look well. However, clearly he was in better shape than the teenage girls expected. They were visibly relieved, as if they expected to find him dead. There were about a dozen other people gathered around his bed, most of whom I knew my entire life. Still, I went straight to the Chief, who was my true maternal grandfather.

I noticed the medical equipment nearby, including a breathing rig and heart monitor, but nothing was active. The tribe had a crude electrical grid using batteries, solar panels, a 2-decade old Honda generator, plus a long wire from the Patron’s meager hydro-electric plant.

Grandfather caught my glance at the equipment. “I had a close call an hour ago, and made arrangements to fetch you, in case ... but Grisha tells me it seems I have avoided the abyss for another day. Seeing my grandson’s smiling eyes I agree with her,” Grandfather said. Still, looking at him it was hard to believe that 6 months ago Nia had spent an active night in his bed, cheerfully wearing herself out several times on his cock.

Grisha, the woman standing by his side, was holding a stethoscope as if it was a sign of her absolute authority. She was about 30 but looked older, as her distorted head was blessed with a perpetual grim face atop a slightly warped body. I should have noticed something else in her look when I saw her, but I was distracted by my Grandfather condition and the escorts he sent to me.

When Grisha was 8 she went with a group of colonists and a few other indians to a small Peruvian city - one that was actually at a higher altitude - for an education. It was one of the tribe’s first attempts at meeting the modern world. With her schooling she became a nurse and learned some medical skills, she was the closest the tribe had to their own doctor.

Grandfather got right down to business, he plainly felt he did not have much strength to spare and had things to say. It seemed that his medical issues were not his first priority.

First he signaled to the two girls to face me. Suddenly I had a very bad feeling about this and looked at the girls closer. Guessing age with female tribe members is tricky but I realized they could be about 16. They were both a about 6 feet tall, sturdy with a heavy, muscular build like Zar. I would not call them attractive by LA standards, they had too much baby fat for even a 12-year-old in LA. But I would not say they were unattractive to me, as I have broad tastes. The girls shared some facial features with my mother, which softened my heart a bit. Glancing around the room I had to concede that they were the most attractive, sexually, in the room. Still, their appeal fell far short of the women I screwed regularly.

Well, Princess Di was above average in looks but her Prince gave his heart to horse-faced Camilla. Di was relegated to being the breeder mare in that castle bedroom. I had to wonder how Di put up with the ugly mutt climbing on her at night, based on when a number of schedulers and advisors said her body was ‘ready’ to serve and do her duty for Queen and country to expand the royal population ... because the world needed more of them? Hmmm, on a second look the girls struck me as solid breeders.

Grandfather continued. “In case Grisha and I are both wrong, and this is indeed a good day to die, I wanted to introduce you to Mer and Pur, who are both 16. They have spent time with my Friend and speak your languages. They are very clever, which I know you care about. We have selected Mer to be your wife, with marriage in about two years; Pur stands as Marta stood by your mother. However, these are not sisters like Marta and your mother. Six girls were selected a few years ago, these were judged the best. They have solid papers thanks to my Friend.” He meant the Patron.

To get a reading on them I needed to ask them a question they did not expect. I recalled my trip with Resha - it was on my mind - so I asked. “Have you ever flown for ... say ... more than an hour?”

Mer answered in Spanish. “Helicopter and short flights in propeller planes, maybe an hour or so. I cannot say I enjoyed it, but it was the best choice at the time.”

“We did not get sick,” Pur added defiantly in English, showing only a slight accent. “I felt no discomfort while in flight.” I looked closer, Pur’s features had an oriental cast. Prior to about 1960 the Tribe sent out parties that made a practice of taking orphans when they found them in their travels, to expand Tribe’s gene pool. There are orientals in Peru, and a handful of orphans came to us. From my youth I recalled one family that obviously had some oriental blood in the line, just as my mother and the Chief had Portuguese blood. Mer looked like she was from the tribe for many generations.

They gave good answers, so I gave each girl a kiss on the cheek, which showed I was not rejecting them outright. The move surprised and excited them, my initial acceptance of the Tribe’s judgement was clearly a relief. Their body language after that suggested they expected a very different type of kiss. But there are some thing I don’t do with underage girls.

I turned back to Grandfather and saw he definitely looked more relaxed, my response had him worried. It was pretty clear that he hoped to see me spend some time with them, he considered seeing my marriage to a woman chosen by the Tribe as the first and last major task for his life. Since I had taken a step towards acceptance - the best he could expect at this stage - he was pleased.

A marriage in two years, when I was 30, was about what I expected if not what I hoped for. (I hoped to stretch things to 34, but that was not going to happen.) I was sure the selection was advanced in consideration of Grandfather’s condition, but he knew I would require my bride to be at least 18.

With that introduction out of the way I raised my voice and spoke in the ‘command’ form of the tribal tongue. First I ordered all but Grisha to give me and my Grandfather the room. I told my girls (Mer and Pur were now mine, they were bound to me by the Chief’s words) to stand in the doorway, both in and out, so they could hear but nobody else could eavesdrop. All obeyed without objection, when I spoke in the Chief’s presence I spoke as the Chief unless he countermanded me - which had never happened, even when I was five years old and commanded all women in the room to remove their tops for my careful inspection. I was a curious kid and Grandfather was well entertained. I saw his delight in hearing me speak that way, it showed how his youngest, brightest daughter Zoam, my birth mother, still lived in my heart, and his.