Chapter 294

The Hidden Base

Around seven, Robertson awakened and went to use the bathroom. Their original cell had disposable razors, but there weren't any in this one. Fuck it, I guess they're still playing the 2214 game. No razors on some sort of supposed prehistoric planet, so no reason for us to shave this morning, either. Just more of their bullshit trying to convince me that this planet shit is real. Well, I'm not buying it.

Back in the main cell a few minutes later, he walked over to look at the MRE's on the shelf, then turned to where he thought the camera was located that supposedly watched his every move. "What the fuck is it with you guys?" he yelled. "When we get to a real court, my lawyer is going to get the case thrown out because of the way you've treated us. This is cruel and unusual punishment ... even before we are tried. MRE's! Shit, no wonder our army isn't worth a fuck. Who wants to eat this crap?"

Robertson grabbed up the last two MRE's and slung them across the room. Morales, who had been napping on the range, heard the commotion and came running in. Seeing the two MRE's on the floor at the other end of the room, he hurried over and grabbed one up. "Destroy your own stuff if you want to, but leave my breakfast alone," he snarled. "I don't want to get dumped on that planet with an empty belly. Chances are we're gonna have enough of that once we've been there any length of time. They're only giving us a week's worth of MRE's. After that, we have to either kill something on a regular basis, catch some fish, or whatever the planet has instead of fish, or try to find some kind of fruit or vegetable to eat. And ... in case you haven't thought about it, who says there will be anything ripe? We might get there in the middle of winter, as far as that's concerned. I, for one, want to have a full belly when they come to get us this morning."

Robertson spun to point at the other man. "You idiot. This is all bullshit. They're just trying to scare us, and it damn sure looks like they've succeeded with you. Besides, even if they do have a spaceship, it will be months or years before we could get to another planet."

"I don't know. The way they talk, we'll be on the planet this morning."

Robertson belched out a derisive snort. "Bullshit! Do you think they have a transporter like Star Trek? Guess what, Idiot; that was fiction. Ever heard of fiction?" he snarled. "It's make believe. Entertainment for the masses, and ... idiots like you."

Morales didn't respond, but picked up the other MRE. "You not gonna eat yours, then?" he asked, the MRE held out.

"Hell no. I'm tired of playing their little game. Have at it, Dumbass. I am damn sure not eating another one of those things."

Morales grabbed a bottle of water, and with both MRE's in hand, went back through the door onto the range. A few minutes later, with one of the MRE's propped against the wall beside him heating his breakfast, he delved back into the books, this time, reading about making arrows. After a moment, he stopped to stare in the direction of the other room, then back at the MRE that was heating. Thanks, Asshole. I'll eat this one now, and the other one about nine-thirty. I'll have a full belly when they come to get us.

Morales read or practiced with his bow until nine-fifteen. Stepping back into the main cell, "You sure you don't want your MRE. If you don't, I'm going to eat it."

"Ah, fuck you," Robertson said as he stretched out on the bunk again.

I guess that means I can eat it, Asshole, Morales thought as he went back to the range. A couple of minutes later, he had opened the second MRE and propped it against the wall for the heater in it to warm the scrambled eggs. From time to time, he could hear Robertson screaming obscenities at their jailers.

The Retreat

Jeff and Lieutenant Mayfield stepped through Ship's hatch a little after 9:30 A.M. with Mayfield a bit nervous after Ship's little joke the day before. Before he could take two steps, "Good morning, Lieutenant Mayfield."

"Uh, good morning, Ship," Mayfield responded, hoping his voice sounded normal.

"I apologize for my comment yesterday, but your reaction was rather amusing."

Mayfield heard his Colonel choke off a snigger behind him.

"Good morning, Ship," Jeff greeted.

"Good morning, my Prime. The Base?"

"Yes, please," Jeff responded.

Seconds later, they were high above the mountains, and then not there as the Ship translated.

The Hidden Base

Jeff, Lieutenant Mayfield and General Whitworth sat in the General's office drinking coffee and chatting. All of them had been avoiding mentioning the distasteful event scheduled to happen in a few minutes. Finally, Whitworth sighed and said, "We've been watching the prisoners' preparations for 2214. Oddly enough, the one we thought was the smarter of the two has his mind locked into thinking that we're playing some kind of hoax on them. He still expects to have his lawyer straighten all of this out, then sue us, I suspect.

"Anyway, the other one, this Morales character, isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he believed what we told him and has worked diligently for the last twenty-four hours – other than taking time out for brief naps – to learn what he can about the planet and his weapons. I think the sentence will be a life one for him, but Robertson's sentence is likely to be an early death. He's going to have one hell of a shock when he realizes we weren't kidding about 2214."

The General drained the last dregs of his coffee and glanced at his watch. "It's time, Gentlemen. Want to go see them off?"

The two troopers, one armed, one not, stopped just outside the prisoners' cell. "It's time to go, you two. The portal awaits," the unarmed trooper announced. "But first you need to put these on," he concluded, beginning to push fatigues and boots through the leg port of the cell. "The pile on the left there is yours, Robertson," he said, pointing. "The other is yours, Morales."

"Portal?" Robertson asked with a frown, not bothering to pick up the clothes, but Morales was already changing.

"Get dressed," the armed trouper said. "Otherwise, we'll trank you and dress you ourselves, and I can guarantee you will wake up with some bruises if we have to do the job for you."

"You didn't answer me," Robertson snarled as he quickly pulled his shirt over his head and dropped his pants. He had enough of being tranked, and didn't want it done to him again. "What's this 'portal' you're talking about?"

"The portal that will put you on 2214," the trooper responded. "How else did you think you would get there?"

"You're still fucking with us," Robertson blustered.

"Well, fucking with you or not, get your boots on and back up to the bars so we can get the two of you cuffed. We'll show you the portal and see if you believe us then."

"What about our bows and books?" Morales, now dressed in fatigues and heavy boots, asked as he backed against the opening in the bars and shoved his hands through to be handcuffed. "You sure we shouldn't take them with us?"

"They stay here in the training cell. You each have a cart with all new equipment waiting for you at the portal. We'll let you hold your bows and you'll have your arrows with you as you go through. We have sensors that will check for life signs of anything of any size within a hundred meters of your exit point, but in case the equipment doesn't detect something that's there, it will only take you a couple of seconds to take an arrow from your quiver and have it ready in your bow. We've watched you practice, Morales, and you're doing pretty well for a newbie."

Hands now cuffed behind him, Morales sat and shoved his feet through an opening so the troopers could safely restrain his legs. "I wish I had more time. I'm not much of a reader, so it takes me a while, and there's tons of information in those books."

"We've watched you and you've hit the highlights. Most important for the first day is to know what types of animals are in the area, where you could expect to find them, how to hunt certain of them, and which ones to avoid, how to build a shelter or find a cave, and how to find growing things for food. Those are some of the things you studied, so you should be okay for the first day. The Tribunal gave the two of you life sentences. If you don't mind a little work and you study and pay attention to the suggestions in the books, you can make it a real life sentence, instead of a quick death one."

With both prisoners now dressed, handcuffed and restrained, the troopers opened the cell door and escorted Morales and Robertson to the ATV even as the trooper continued, "I suspect that you, Robertson, are going to find out that the Tribunal gave you a death sentence. You've failed to study anything about 2214-XR, and you have put forth precious little effort in learning even the basics of bow shooting, and I don't think you read anything about hunting. I strongly suspect you won't last through the first twenty-four hours."

"Ah, fuck you," Robertson replied, stopping near the ATV to glare at the trooper, only to have the other trooper bump Robertson in the back of the head with the muzzle of the pulse rifle.

The second trooper motioned for Robertson to get on the ATV, but as Robertson balked, the trooper smiled and said, "If I have to shoot you – well, you won't be the first. The only thing that makes me hesitate is that we'll have to clean up your blood and brains, then throw your ass in the incinerator. We keep this place clean, and I don't fancy scrubbing up your shit when I could be sitting on my ass, but I will if I have to, so best you get on the ATV and sit your butt down."

Robertson started to run his mouth again, but the other trooper, afraid that his buddy was serious, shoved Robertson onto the ATV. "I'm beginning to think that the Tribunal could have made it easy on us and just sent you with Mazarella. Now sit the fuck down so I can cuff you to the vehicle."

Morales was already seated and ready to be secured. He hadn't said anything, but turned to stare for a moment at Robertson.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Robertson groused.

"A fucking idiot," Morales said under his breath.

"What did you say?" Robertson snarled, trying to stand, but he was already secured to the steel seat.

The trooper bumped the back of Robertson's head with the butt of his rifle that time. "Keep on, Asshole, and we'll shove a dead body through the portal. Now both of you shut up."

"Fucking, stop that," Robertson snarled as the trooper chuckled. Robertson wanted to rub the back of his head, but he couldn't with his hands secured.

A few minutes later, they were in the portal room and the ATV stopped. Released from the vehicle, the two were marched within a few feet of the portal. The armed trooper stepped back a few paces to watch, his rifle ready. Three more troopers armed with pulse rifles marched in escorted by their Sergeant who had a holstered handgun on his belt. The troopers stopped, and at the Sergeant's command, brought their weapons to port arms. The Sergeant spoke up, his voice harsh. "Prisoners, if you so much as touch the trooper who is removing your cuffs and leg restraints, you will be shot. There will be no further warnings."

Even Robertson, beginning to sweat a little, stood absolutely still as his leg restraints and handcuffs were removed.

As the unarmed trooper stepped back, the Sergeant pointed to the two-wheel carts nearby that looked a lot like giant rolling suitcases. "Your equipment carts have eighteen inch wheels made of a light, but durable alloy. The hard cases are waterproof and the whole thing will float if the hinged top is secured. Properly cared for, the carts will last a lifetime. It's up to you how long that lifetime is. As you have already been told, each of you has the exact same things inside your carts and that includes MRE's for seven days.

"There," he said pointing to the side, "are your crossbows, compound bows and equipment belts. Among the equipment on your belts are two knives. One has a twelve inch blade and the other is a skinning knife. Your crossbow quiver already has twenty-five bolts in it and as you see, is already attached to your equipment belt to ride at your left hip. Also, your crossbows have a quiver of four bolts already attached to the bows. The bow quiver has a strap that will allow it to ride behind your left shoulder, and there are more arrowheads in your carts.

"You will not be allowed to cock the crossbow before we send you through the portal, but I suggest you do so as soon as you hit the planet. You can always de-cock the crossbow if there is no reason to immediately use it. I further suggest that you have your compound bows in hand, but again, do not touch your arrows until you are there. I warn you that any perceived aggressive act will result in target practice for my troopers.

"Now you may strap your equipment belts on, but taking a knife out of its sheath before you go through the portal will result in a quick death."

Robertson stood looking at the portal and all the equipment, finally believing, his face going a pasty white. "They're really going to do it," he whispered, but then bolstered his courage. "You can't do this to us. Cruel and unusual punishment is against the law."

Before the Sergeant could respond, the General pressed a button that turned on his mike in the viewing area thirty feet above, and said, "We've heard enough of your griping in your cell. Either shut up and put your equipment belt on as the Sergeant instructed, or your partner will be going to the planet alone." Then glancing down at the Sergeant, Whitworth continued, "Sergeant, if he opens his mouth again, kill him. He's been given a far better chance than the people he murdered." Then to Robertson, "The only reason you are alive is that the people you killed were criminals as bad as you. Now live or die; it's up to you."

Robertson almost made the fatal mistake, but he saw the feral look on the Sergeant's face as he drew his sidearm. Robertson clamped his jaws shut and walked over to struggle into his equipment belt. He almost bitched that the rig was awkward and heavy, but one glance at the Sergeant staring with pistol in hand, kept Robertson's mouth tightly closed.

Morales snapped the catch on his equipment belt and turned toward the nearest cart, but the unarmed trooper motioned him to the second one, instead. As he lifted the front of the cart by its pull bar, he guessed that he had the better part of a hundred pounds of equipment in or attached to the big case, but balanced, he felt little of the weight. From the list he had read, he remembered that there was an axe, hatchet, a type of carpenter's hammer, sledge hammer, a pick and mattock, and even a timber jack – whatever that was – the latter tools without handles and because of their size, were attached to the outside of the case. Prisoners' were expected to make their own handles for the larger tools. There were many other manual tools, including a drawing knife and a manual brace with an assortment of wood bits for it. Morales remembered some of the pictures about building a cabin and how to drill holes in the wood, particularly the supporting beams, to put in hard wooden dowels that would help lock the notched beams together. He wondered if he would live long enough to even attempt to build a cabin.