Chapter 415

The Prison Planet

... Cursing the General for not sending a timer or a watch with him, he set about cooking their evening meal while he waited for the bread to bake in the heated oven.

To verify the baking time, he read the last part of the article on baking bread yet again. “Yep. Four hundred and fifty degrees for twenty-five minutes in a Dutch oven. Dutch oven? What the fuck?” he snarled. “I didn’t notice that before? I vaguely know what one is, but I damn sure don’t have one. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he snarled out, but there was desperation in his voice. Then to himself, Calm down. I’ve seen Mom put her bread into bread pans to make loaves and also in a big ball to bake in the oven on a baking sheet. The big flat rock in the bottom of the mud oven is my baking sheet, so it will just have to do. The guy who built the oven on the vid baked some beautiful bread in it. If he can do it, so can I. I’ll keep on until I find the right recipe, and I’ll eventually learn to gauge the temperature correctly – I hope. For now, I’ll just check frequently until the bread looks right.

With a sigh, he began work on a log that he had dragged in earlier to add to his wall.

With the bark stripped off and the sides flattened, he started to drill the holes for the pegs when he stopped to reconsider. Lining the holes up is a bitch every time I do it no matter how carefully I measure, and the nearer I get to the top the less room I’ll have for the drill. Surely there’s a better way. Then it hit him. One of the woodworking videos he had watched featured a jig. Although that particular jig was used for something entirely different, he belatedly realized that he could use a jig to make the holes in the log he was working on match the ones in the log below and do it a lot more accurately without the endless measuring or trying to drill through the top log and into the one below at the same time.

On a long board, he carefully measured and marked where he wanted the peg holes to be, then drilled them with his hand drill. Placing the board on the new log, and using the two end holes, he drilled holes into the log. When he had driven end pegs in only far enough to secure the board, he then drilled the rest of the holes using the guide holes in the board. When he had finished, he secured his new jig to the top log on his wall, lined it to the end of the board properly, and drilled matching holes there. Grinning, he dragged the new log into position and pegged it to the one below. Everything matched perfectly.

“Well, Lobo, that speeded things up considerably. Too bad I didn’t think of that six logs ago, and I still don’t know how I’m going to secure the top log without room to drive the pegs in, but I’ll figure out something.”

He had peeked into his oven several times while he was working on the log. Finally, his creation looked done, at least what he could see of it, and he hoped it was fully cooked on the inside as well. He had no precise way of measuring, but he guessed the baking time to have been around forty-five minutes instead of the twenty-five the article called for when baked in a Dutch oven inside a normal oven at four-hundred and fifty degrees. In addition, he had no idea what temperature his oven was, but he began to suspect that it wasn’t anywhere near the temperature in the recipe.

With a piece of hide to protect his hands, he rolled the flat rock away, then with his “T” stick, slid the loaf onto a short board he had sanded smooth just for the purpose. “Well, it damn sure smells like fresh-baked bread,” he told Lobo who was staring over Morales’ shoulder as he knelt to retrieve the bread. The top where he had cut an “X” just before he put the dough in the oven was spread open more, and he leaned closer to better smell the fresh-baked aroma. “Well,” he said as he glanced at Lobo, “I don’t know how it will taste, but it damn sure smells like bread. In other words, it smells wonderful.”

He cut a slice off, discovering that the bottom was a bit too dark where it had contacted the rock, and there was a piece or two of ash embedded in it, but he had expected that. Fully aware that he knew little to nothing about baking bread, his best hope was that it would be at least somewhat edible. His sharp knife removed the crust, and he tore a piece of the hot bread and popped it into his mouth.

He had to move the piece around in his mouth and blow past it to keep his tongue from being singed, but a second later a grin spread across his face. It was a bit overdone, he supposed, but, to him, it tasted wonderful, anyway. From his kneeling position, he plopped back on his ass, just sitting in the dirt as he savored the taste. “Oh, shit, Lobo, if I only had some butter to go on this while it’s hot. But it’s delicious, anyway. Here, Boy,” he said as he cut Lobo a piece. “There are few things better than fresh baked bread.”

Lobo, with his sense of smell, could already taste the bread, so he didn’t need any convincing. Hot or not, his piece was gone before Morales could cut another one. The two ate half the ball of bread before the man sat back with a sigh of contentment. “Well, no doubt Mom’s bread was better. This has an ... intense, slightly odd, taste that I suppose comes from the sourdough, but wheat bread or not, it hits the spot, huh Boy?”

Lobo moved closer and stared at the remains of the round loaf, but Morales chuckled and said, “We have two eggs for morning, so we’ll have eggs for breakfast. Tomorrow, they’re going to be sunny side up instead of scrambled. And... we’ll have bacon, toast and some blueberries on the side. How does that sound, Boy?”

Lobo grinned at him before returning his stare to the remains of the loaf.

Laughing, Morales wrapped what was left in a piece of hide and put it aside for tomorrow, then checked on his sourdough starter. He had kept half of it out when he made the bread, so he stirred in an equal amount of flour, adding water as needed until the consistency looked right. Lobo came over to sniff as Morales spoke. “If I keep this going, I think I can bake bread every two or three days. I just hope I can somehow get faster with the baking.”

Lobo sniffed the starter and grinned at the man. Morales was positive the wolf now knew exactly what the sourdough starter was for. He certainly didn’t turn his nose up at it anymore. Smiling, Morales covered the concoction and put it aside.

The massive amount of fish had not dried completely, but he dared not leave it out overnight, and had already brought it in, temporarily storing it in his rolling cases. He would put everything back out to finish drying the first thing in the morning.

In a good mood, he took one of the big clay bowls he had made yesterday, filled it with dampened sand, rounding it into a small dome so that the lid he was forming over it would have the desired curvature. “Dammit, I really need a potter’s wheel,” he griped. “If I ever manage to make one and get it working properly, my hand-molded pottery is probably going to look pathetic beside the pottery I should be able to make with a wheel.”

With the lid made for the first bowl, he began work on the second while his mind continued to worry at the idea of bearings for the axle of the spinning wheel. The only thing I have to work with is wood. Oh, I suppose I could use an axle and wheel assembly from one of my rolling cases, but I need the cases too much to do that. Using one to help bring a log in doesn’t permanently tie up the axle and wheels, but it would have to be a permanent part of the potter’s wheel. I have a vague idea, but I guess I need to do some searching in the database to see if I can come up with something better. What was it that old engineer at the end of the block said that day? Oh, yeah, “No need to reinvent the wheel every time you decide to do something. If you can, use an idea that’s already proven and adapt it if need be.” You can bet that somebody has already figured this out. I just need to check my idea against what I can find in the database. I might come up with a better way.

Afraid to move his newly-made lids for fear the clay wouldn’t retain its shape, he left them on the sand-filled bowls to dry overnight. Tomorrow, he would move the lids into the sun to begin drying with the other pottery.

Enthused because of how well his homemade arrow had performed, in addition to having been able to retrieve it without damage, Morales worked on more arrows until late in the night. Because of his exceptionally good mood, he probably would have worked even later, but Junior finally hopped onto his lap and cheeped insistently at him.

“All right. All right. I get the hint. Guess it’s way past your bedtime, huh?” As if it understood, the chick jumped down while flapping its wings, then hurried to Morales’ bed. Shortly, the cave was dark and the man was drifting to sleep with the little chicken snuggled against his side.

Morales woke with the dawn, a grin on his face as he thought about the long-awaited breakfast. One of the big eggs was almost the equal of two normal hen eggs, but with the work he did on a regular basis, he could eat two with ease – if he had them. But he shared everything with Lobo. They worked, hunted, fought and ate together. Besides, Morales thought, Lobo has more manners than most of the guys I used to work with, although he does eat a bit hurriedly, he thought with a grin.

As he took the eggs down from their shelf, his thoughts continued, I guess I really need to concentrate on increasing the protein in the hens’ diet on a regular basis – if I want eggs for breakfast routinely. Hmmm. Either that or trap more hens. But I would be amazed if the trap worked again. The chickens are just too fucking smart. Oh, well. A year or so from now the chicks should be old enough to lay eggs on a regular basis. Then a negative thought hit and he spoke aloud. “Shit, what if they’re all roosters? There’s no way to tell now; the chicks are all yellow, and if there’s a way to tell the gender, I damn sure don’t know it. From what I’ve read, there are some varieties of chickens where the chicks’ sex is distinctive because of coloring, but that sure doesn’t seem to be the case with these guys.”

Lobo seemed even more interested in breakfast than usual this morning. He was always ready to eat, but Morales kept talking about toast to go with the eggs, and it was obvious the wolf didn’t know what he was referring to, but his curiosity was definitely up.

“Damn. I wish I had some butter,” Morales muttered yet again as he put a few drops of grease into the hot skillet, then put in two pieces of the bread. “How do you like your toast? Light or dark?” he asked the wolf with a grin.

Turning his head a bit to the side, the wolf looked a question back at him.

After digging out the spare plate that had once been Robinson’s, he explained to the wolf. “Can’t put over-easy eggs on a board; the yellow would run off.”

Shortly, there was a big fried egg with toast, bacon, hashbrowns and a small amount of blueberries in front of each of them. Morales tore Lobo’s toast in pieces before cutting his egg up a bit, too. “You swipe the toast in the egg yolk to clean up the plate,” he told his friend. “Try it; it’s the best part of eating fried eggs.”

To demonstrate, Morales took one of the pieces of toast, swiped it around in the yolk and held it out for Lobo. When he swallowed it and grinned back at the man, “See. I told you. They make a great combination. Now you try it, yourself.”

Lobo just looked at Morales, then the egg.

“You don’t have hands, but you have feet that have long nails. Use one of those,” he said, tapping Lobo’s right front foot.

Lobo hesitatingly raised the foot, and with Morales encouraging, dragged another piece of toast through some yolk, then snapped the piece up with his tongue.

“Excellent,” Morales said around a mouthful of food. “Now if I can just teach you to wash dishes...”

The wolf looked over at the hens. He had already demonstrated that he would fight for them, but Morales suspected the will to protect them had just gone up considerably.

“Now, if we just had two of those eggs every morning...”

Lobo chuffed back at him as he finished off his meal and licked the plate clean.