Chapter 290

Deep within the hidden base, General Whitworth, Colonel Matthews and Lieutenant Mayfield stood looking through a big floor-to-ceiling window at the portal and its assorted support equipment thirty feet below and some forty feet farther along the chamber that was hewn from living rock. The three main consoles that controlled the portal were manned, and the hum of power and the acrid smell of ozone were predominant because the portal had just flung a team of scientists halfway across the galaxy and several dimensions upstream.

A tranked Mazarella was brought in on a stretcher, and his sleeping body deposited within the confines of the portal. When the troopers had returned to safety, the lead tech looked over his shoulder at the General for permission to proceed. With a nod from him, the tech quickly turned back to his boards. Massive generators charged equally huge capacitors, the sound quickly reaching a crescendo as a swirling gray field built within the confines of the portal, then gradually expanded until Mazarella was no longer visible. With a "crack" of temporal energy, the portal area was empty and the scream of the generators diminished as they began idling down.

"Now if I could just get my hands on every top level crook and slaver in this country, we might get somewhere," Whitworth commented as he turned to the two men beside him. "Sorry about fucking up your day with this shit. You're both welcome to watch the other two leave for their new home tomorrow, if you like."

Lieutenant Mayfield turned to the General. "If you don't mind, Sir, how long do you think they will last on 2214?"

Whitworth stopped to think. "Well, as you know, some of them manage to get themselves killed in the first few days, but I suppose the average is about six months. We have several who have stayed alive for more than five years, though. No reason to think that they won't continue to do so. A lot of the ability to stay alive on 2214-XR depends on how serious the prisoner is about the briefing and documentation that's given to all of them before we put them on the planet. And ... their willingness to work toward making themselves a safe environment. The only intelligent life forms on 2214 are the prisoners. But intelligent or not, most of them are too lazy to spend the time and energy to construct themselves a safe haven, let alone have the patience and common sense to hunt efficiently for their food. Of course, there are a number of different vegetables there – wild, true, but edible – and we send seeds with them as well. If they get off their lazy asses, they can have a decent life – or die. Their choice. I damn sure don't care which.

"They'll have compound bows and crossbows with them, and an assortment of arrows and crossbow bolts, plus a variety of heads for each. Also, they'll have extra bow and crossbow string/cords – whatever the hell you call them – when the ones on the bows wear out or break for some reason. They'll have hardened books with them that will last through most anything, and the books will show them how to make more bows of all types as well as arrows, how to live off the land, how to survive, even how to tan hides. As far as equipment is concerned – well other than firearms – they'll have a much better chance of survival than our early pioneers did. All of these criminals we've been sending to the planet lived off the misery of others. Hard work has never been their strong point. These two, just like all the others, will be put down at least a couple of hundred miles from any of the others we have dropped off on 2214-XR, so getting a group together is going to be a bit iffy, should they trust each other enough to even consider it. Some of them will eventually run into each other, but considering what type of individuals they are, I doubt if they'll ever form any workable associations. Again, I don't really give a shit one way or the other."

"Have you located any more big predators, other than that thing that looks like a cave bear?" the Prime wondered.

"Only the lion looking animal that we discussed before. Someone managed to kill one of the lionesses, but no one has ever managed to kill a cave bear, or if they have, our probes haven't recorded it. Both animals seem to like human flesh really well, and ... appear to realize it upon sight of their victim. Must be the smell or something."

Mayfield barely concealed a shiver. "The vid of that cave bear is enough for me. I'd hate to go up against one of them with anything less than a pulse rifle. That fucker on the vid was huge."

"Well, I don't intent to send the bastards on a vacation," the General said with a grin. "Let the assholes see how it feels to be on the receiving end for a change." The General shrugged. "Enough of that. Let's go have a cup and you can tell me how the fortress is coming along. I still have a couple of days' worth of catching up to do before I can come home again, and I really miss my wives, too."

"Are you going to tell those two that there aren't any women on the planet?" Jeff asked semi-seriously.

"Nah; haven't told any of the others. No reason to change now. Let them figure it out for themselves. They can fuck each other in the ass or jerk off for the rest of their lives, whatever floats their boat. I couldn't care less," the General said as they turned down the corridor toward the chow hall.

A little later, Lieutenant Mayfield and Colonel Matthews walked down the corridor toward the hatch of the alien vessel. "Nothing like having a tame starship give us a ride to the base and back," Mayfield said with a laugh.

"And what makes you think I am TAME?" Ship snarled in a deep, rumbling voice, the last word loud and very strongly emphasized.

"Oh, shit! I didn't mean anything by it," Mayfield responded, trying to suppress a shiver as he stepped through the hatch.

"Sorry, Captain. I just could not help it," Ship said with a mental chuckle.

The Lieutenant was waiting at the bottom of the ramp as Jeff came down. "Colonel, I apologize. I..."

A laughing Jeff put his hand on Mayfield's shoulder. "She was screwing with you. She's been studying humor. A little rough around the edges, yet, but you should have seen the look on your face."

"Wasn't funny to me," Mayfield mumbled, but wouldn't look his Colonel in the eye.

Jeff slapped him on the back. "Want to go see Robertson and Morales off in the morning?" Mayfield hesitated, and Jeff quickly went on, "Ship won't fuck with you – maybe," he finished with a snigger.

"I'll, uh, let you know, Colonel."

As they walked toward the Retreat and Mayfield's vehicle, he unconsciously put a hand to his ear as his Sergeant spoke to him on his implant.

"Stand by one," he responded before turning to Colonel Matthews. "Sir, the two troopers who were the primary escorts for Lieutenant Fisher and Selina when they went to pick up the kittens have asked to speak with you privately."

"No problem, Lieutenant. Send them up."

After Mayfield left, Jeff waited near the back door, casually watching the boring crew set up their support buildings. One of Security's black SUV's pulled up and the two troopers got out. Marching over to Jeff, they came to attention and saluted him. Jeff could see the tension in their faces and mannerisms. After he had returned the salute, "At ease, Gentlemen." Then, "Come on, guys; I'm not in uniform. What gives with the salute?"

"Sir," the first trooper began, "we have a matter..."

Jeff waved a hand slightly. "Wait. Hold that thought. Let's go on inside and have a cup of coffee, or a soft drink if you prefer. No use standing out here if we don't have to. Have either of you been inside the Retreat before?" he asked as they followed him through the mudroom.

"No, Sir," they responded in unison.

"But you've reviewed pictures, I assume."

"Yes, Sir," the first trooper responded. "Memorizing the layout of the Retreat is part of everyone's training."

Since they were both wearing environmental fatigues, neither had on coats. As the three continued down the first hallway, Jeff instigated a conversation about the flying cranes, realizing that the two were still uptight for some reason.

After turning into the kitchen, "Is coffee okay, or would you rather have a soft drink?"

"Sir," the first trooper said, nervously, "we just need to..."

"Sit," Jeff interrupted to say, then turned on one of the smaller coffee makers that Diana or one of his wives had already set up in case it might be needed. Taking down cups, he put them on the table, then seated himself. "We'll have some fresh in a couple of minutes."

The Prime looked at the two nervous men. "Now what's so important that it makes the two of you so uptight?"

Handley, the second trooper, looked at Jacobs, who shrugged and began. "Uh, Sir. Well, I guess you realize that we've only been here a couple of months, and we – all of us – study all of you, and ... I mean, well, respectfully, Sir, you're wealthy and all, and we know you help out a lot of people..." Frustrated, he tried again, "Well, Sir. We saw something we thought you needed to know about. Sir, if we had the money we wouldn't be here asking you..."

Jeff got up and brought the newly filled carafe over to the table and poured for each of them. "Cream or sugar?"

When both troopers responded negatively, Jeff put the pot back and resumed his seat. "Let's cut to the chase. What do you want me to do?"

Jacobs took a sip of his coffee, glanced at his buddy and continued. "Well, while we were at the pet lady's house waiting for Lieutenant Fisher and Selina to conduct their business, we decided to shovel off the lady's stairs and walkway."

"Well done, but I don't think you came up here to tell me that."

"Uh, no Sir. We discovered that the small door to her garage was unlocked, so we went looking for a snow shovel. We found a shovel and a big bag of salt in the garage, but well, we noticed something else when we turned the garage lights on."

Jeff raised an eyebrow, but waited. "Sir, she has an older Jeep Cherokee. I really don't know what model year it is, but it shows the mileage without turning the key on. It's just north of two hundred and fifty thousand miles, and ... there's oil on the garage floor all around where she's parked the Cherokee. She has a case, well what's left of a case, of oil near the vehicle, so with the evidence of the engine leaks, it's obvious that the old Jeep is on its last legs. Uh, Sir, if we had the money we would ... but we don't, so we had the idea to ask..."

"Yes," the Prime responded before the trooper could go any further.

"Yes?" both troopers said as one.

"Yes," Jeff assured them.

The troopers looked at each other.

"You mean it, Sir?" Jacobs asked.

"I assume you two will want to deliver the new vehicle. I'll call my accountant and have him meet you at the Jeep dealer in Denver. Get her the top of the line Grand Cherokee with everything on it, and I do mean everything. Her husband is dead, and from what Kayla tells me, she's having a hard time making ends meet. Make sure the best snow tires are on it, and buy her an extra set of wheels with top of the line tires already mounted for use in the warm months. I'll also have the accountant put a prepaid Visa card in the glove compartment for gas purchases. Make sure you buy the maximum extended maintenance agreement, too. The accountant will take care of the tags."

Neither trooper knew what to say, but Jacobs finally managed, "Uh, Sir, we were just going to ask you if you could have the engine rebuilt and her vehicle fixed up a bit. We didn't expect..."

Handley broke in with, "Thank you, Sir."

"Uh, yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Jacobs quickly amended.

"All right, now to the serious stuff," Jeff said as he walked over and opened a refrigerator. "Apple or peach cobbler?"

The troopers looked at each other, grinned and barked, "Peach, Sir."

An hour later, now dressed in civvies and driving one of Jeff's Escalades, Handley and Jacobs made their way down the mountain heading to Denver and the Jeep dealer. Not long after that, two of Dave's people were busy steam cleaning the floor of Mrs. Kimbrel's garage while her old Cherokee was being loaded onto a wrecker. She had been led to believe (lied to) that Jeff knew someone who would rebuild the Jeep's engine at low cost, and she expected to pay for it with the money she had received for the kittens.

The Hidden Base

Robertson and Morales had not been returned to their cell. Instead, they had been released into another larger room, with an adjoining short bow range. Their guards were still just as careful with them, but their environment, though no less secure, was quite different. Now free of the handcuffs and leg restraints, they stood looking around themselves as one of the guards instructed them over hidden speakers.