Bootstrap Colony (14 page)

“ED perimeter detail,” he called,
and then checked the area as he reloaded the rifle, then switched it for the
Bushmaster. The robot took up position nearby, turned on its hips from time to
time.

“KITT pull both vehicles up to
the first kill.” The trucks lurched, and then drove side by side to the kill.
It took a bit of grisly work to gut and toss the offal, then winch the carcass
on top of the security truck. The second juvenile was easier, smaller it had a
slightly different crest, but not as much mass.

Mitch took a moment to look over
the feathered covered creatures. From the ankle down they were bare skin like
the books and museums had it, but the rest of the body was covered in feathers.
The muzzle was more beak then muzzle, tipped with horn. A peacock array of
colored feathers was on the back of the neck. “Going to have a hell of a time
plucking this over sized chicken,” he muttered, grunting as he pulled it up. He
was going to need the extra protein, more for the cheetah to supplement their
diet then for himself.

He finished cinching the second
one to the roof of his back up hummer and was climbing in when the brush off to
his right started to shake. “Warning, Hostile class red predators detected,”
the ED said turning it's torso to the threat. Hastily he got in, and then
ordered ED to load up.

Mitch watched as one Rex, then
another came out of the trees. Softly they growled, turned their heads back and
forth. Their nostrils flared, sucking in the scent of blood. “Scavenging
obviously. Biggest damn turkey vulture I have ever seen though,” Mitch observed
softly as he pulled out. One of the animals looked up and roared, it took some
steps after him.

He thought he was going to have
to order ED to shoot it until it turned its head to see one of the juveniles
greedily sucking up the offal. With a roar it turned, then chased off the
juvenile to take over the spoils. “Get away, stage right,” Mitch snorted,
putting words to action.

Days go by and he didn’t think
about the Amazon village. He completed the entrances, even hung the doors. The
kitchen entrance will need something different, either a ramp or a drawbridge,
or both.

He had been forced to do the
change over after seven days. The lower caverns had flooded, right up to the
rim of the Great Hall floor before he had returned the flow back to normal.
Getting things sorted out had been a race.

It had been a wet, almost back
breaking and sometimes terrifying experience to redirect the water back to the
exterior waterfalls. Now that its natural course had returned it was turning
the turbines beautifully. He now had enough power for the entire base.

Setting up the sewer processing
center had been a smelly job but someone had to do it, he thought to himself
with a smile. There had been a few leaks, but eventually everything had been
ironed out. Now the sewage from the base would flow through tubes to the
processing plant to be either fed to the tilapia or processed into fertilizer.
The waste water was partially cleaned, then dumped downstream or sprayed over
the compost piles.

He checked the iron deposit,
finding a good supply easily on hand. He took a truck load back with him to
feed to the factory. Right now all it could supply would be rebar until he
could find other metals for alloys.

He spent several days taking the
six hummers out with trailers, moving equipment, a mini skip loader, and
robots, while bringing back loads of raw ore. The smelters were going to go
through it fast though, He mused darkly. The slag would just have to be dumped.

A week later he encountered a
group of hunters under attack by a raptor pack while on his way back to the
iron deposit. The pack had them treed, circling the tree and leaping menacingly
at them from below. Mitch knew it was only a matter of time before someone fell
or a Raptor caught a dangling leg. A flash bang drove them off. “You ladies
need a lift?” he called up to the tree as he pulled up.

One by one five women made their
way down the tree. They dusted themselves off, warily looking around them. A
blond had her mouth open, and was wiggling her fingers in her ears. “Sorry
about that,” he called, loudly. He noted the red headed Doctor behind the
woman.

The red headed woman shook his
hand and introduced herself as they climbed in. Her name was Sandra O’Connell,
Doctor O’Connell, or Doc OCK to her so called friends. She gave the snickering
girls a dirty look. “Was that your drone?” she asked.

Mitch nodded. “Yes Ma’am, I put
it up to do some exploring.”

“Thanks for that, you saved our
bacon.”

“Well at least the deer, and most
likely your hide,” he teased. She snorted, lips puckering in a not quite smile.

“He probably sicked them on us,”
one of the women muttered darkly. “You’re from the government?” she asked
suspiciously.

Mitch turned to her. “No ma’am,
and no, I didn’t lead the Rexes to you. A bit of the other way around, they led
me to you,” he said. Doc nodded thoughtfully. “When I spotted the Rex pack I
noticed they were stalking something, which led me to you,” Mitch explained.
Some of the girls nodded, the doubters quieted.

“I am sorry about that last
visit,” Doc sighed. “We haven’t had it easy the past couple months.”

He nodded. “Oh, there are some
MRE’s, drinks, and some sandwiches in the cooler here if you ladies are
hungry,” he said. He patted the small fridge behind the rifle rack. Doc needed
no more urging, digging in. She sat back in the passenger seat to unwrap the
sandwich. One by one the other ladies pulled out a sandwich or MRE.

“So, what’s up Doc?” he asked
chuckled as she coughed with the sandwich. She gave him a glare.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said
with a grin.

She sighed. “Well, we were
planted down in that little spot and haven’t moved, it has been one problem
after another,” she said and patted her chest. She sighed in frustration and
took another bite.

Three of the other women help Doc
take turns sketching in their past four months. He found it interesting, and a
bit frustrating.

“We were doing okay, but some of
the guys were a bit aggressive,” Doc mumbled.

“Too aggressive?” He dodged
around a rock.

“Aggressive? You call raping Lisa
a little too aggressive?” the quiet woman in the back suddenly screeched, eyes
flashing.

“Damn, I didn’t know. Is she
okay?” Mitch asked, looking at the woman through the rear view mirror.

“She is none of your god damn
business,” the woman ground out.

He sighed. “I hope you punished
the guy.” He gave her a look. The girl nodded curtly, curling her lip.

“You could say that,” Doc said,
looking green, and then turned away.

He noted a small herd of wompi
deer being spooked out of the brush. “Hang on a sec, here,” he said. He pulled
up, and then pulled out the Barrett. Doc looked up concerned, but then hushed
the others as she watched him roll down his window and aim at the nearest deer.
“Quiet now, cover your ears,” he ordered. The bark of the rifle was sharp, the
bite of the bullet even more so. The deer went down in a shower of gore. “Not
much left for meat, but I don’t have a hunting rifle small enough not to do
that much damage,” he said. He sighted again and caught a buck as it leapt in
retreat.

Two of the women got out, and
rushed to the kills. He shrugged. “I guess you’re a bit hungry.”

He looked to Doc, who nodded.
“Yeah, we have been getting a lot of meat, and not much of a balanced diet.”

He sighed. “I was afraid of
that,” he said. She nodded, eyes troubled...

The women came back with the
carcasses; he had them toss them into the back of the truck. As they entered
the path to return to their home, a voice in the back asked “How come you still
have fuel?” He looked in the mirror. The little red headed girl was asking.

“My vehicles do not run on gas.”
he explained. He pointed to the partially covered solar panels on the roof with
his free hand. “I swapped all my vehicles to run on hybrid electric,” he said.
She nodded thoughtfully digesting that little tidbit.

The angry doubter snorted. “That
is just delaying the inevitable,” she said snidely.

He looked at her. “What do you
mean?”

“Once you’re out of gas your
truck won’t run very far,” she said, lifting her nose at him.

He shook his head. “Miss I don’t
use gas. This is an electric hybrid. It runs on electricity or hydrogen. I have
an electrolysis machine back at base that keeps all my vehicles topped off.”

“Where is your dog?” The little
freckled red head asked, changing the subject. He welcomed the change; he was
getting uncomfortable and annoyed with the doubter. He didn't care for
pessimists and skeptics.

“Max? Oh, I left him back at
base. He was getting to be a handful each time I stopped. He wanted to go off
chasing stuff.” He snorted.

 “Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“I am Cassie by the way, Cassie O’Donnell,” she said introducing herself.

He looked at her, and then at
Doc. “I thought I saw a family resemblance. Younger sister?”

Doc snorted. “No, the little
hellion is my daughter,” she said. She watched the path.

He nodded. “Good to know.”

They pulled up to the gate and
piled out. The ladies got the deer, holding them up to the gathering crowd. The
mistress and brunette came quickly. Trying to hustle in leather probably chafed
Mitch thought in amusement and then snorted. The brunette was trying to walk
dignified, head high, chest out, like she was on parade. The fast pace of her
counterpart spoiled it however.

He found they were still doing
poorly. The kids were doing bad, he handed out a couple MRE’s and then decided
it was time to leave when the dominatrix swelled up angrily as she got closer.
The brunette caught up, almost out of breath. Not enough for her to keep from
ranting he noted sadly.

A religious woman with her, a new
priestess he noted. Seeing the priestess made his heart sink, she had sunken
cheeks of hunger, but her eyes burned with the eyes of a fanatic. Great, a
zealot to get everyone to toe the line.

“Just dropping your folks off,
they seemed to need a hand,” Mitch said, waving an airy hand. Cassie and the
Doc nodded, murmuring thanks to him.

One of the guards got a whispered
briefing from one of the other huntresses, and then turned. “Thanks for the
meat umm... Mitch?” He nodded. It seemed like getting anything out of some of
these women was like pulling teeth.

“No problem, I thought you could
use it,” he replied. Doc nodded but her eyes said to get out of dodge. He
pulled out an MRE case and dropped it at Doc’s feet. “Hope this helps too.” He
gave her a look. She nodded.

The ranting from the priestess
was picking up steam, more than he can ignore. He turned to her, temper
flaring. “Miss, I don’t know you, can you tell me what your problem with me is?
Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot.” He cocked his head, watching her and the
mistress. The crowd around them quieted.

“Go about your business. Nothing
for you to see here,” the mistress called to the crowd, tossing her head back
to the village but never taking her smoldering eyes off of him. When the crowd
dispersed she glared at the lingering Doctor. “I thought I told you to stay in
the village?” she demanded. She was angry, hands on her hips.

“I took a hunting party out,” Doc
shrugged, clearly defiant.

“You know the laws; you are not
to leave the village without permission!” The fanatic ranted, hands on her
hips, jutting out her chin.

Doc gave her a dirty look. “Oh
put a sock in it Diane. I was trying to get food.”

The fanatic’s nostrils flared,
eyes bulging. “You...”

The mistress cut her off with a flick
of her wrist. “You may go now Doctor.” Doc reluctantly gave Mitch a look, and
then picked up the case. “You will leave that at my hut for distribution.” The
mistress called over her shoulder. Doc’s shoulders stiffened.

He cocked his head at the two women.
“Ladies.” He opened the driver side door.

“We do not need your kind here!”
the fanatic snarled, strutting up to him.

“And what kind is that miss um...
Diane is it?” he asked. He realized it was more fun to be polite and watch her
rant. Being polite just made her look more and more stupid to him and to others
secretly watching and listening.

She glared. “Men,” she snarled.
She spat on his chest. He gave her a long look, coldly staring into her eyes as
his hand rested on the butt of his pistol. It took her a moment for her to
react to the implied threat, he felt cold amusement as her eyes widened in
sudden fear and then she warily stepped back. He sighed. “No problem then,” he
said simply. He got into the truck, and pulled off.

Seven weeks later and spring was
now in full bloom. It was taking a bit longer than he had thought it would, he
wasn’t sure if the planet had a longer solar rotation then Earth’s did. It was
heating up though; already it was eighty out on average. For all he knew it
could already be summer. He hoped not, he still had a lot to do.

Reluctantly he culled the first
rabbit and broiler generation, keeping three of the bucks and all the does, but
the remaining bucks were one by one stunned with a stick. At first he was
nauseated by the idea, let alone cutting them open and removing the offal. It
was one thing to kill an animal while out hunting, quite another to kill
something he had raised literally from birth.

After the third he decided to try
the dead rabbit as is with one of the cheetah. Fur, offal, and all. After all,
in the wild they have to deal with it when they make a kill he reasons.

He tossed it into the pen through
the food chute as the cheetah paced back and forth. They needed their own run
he reminded himself wearily. The cheetah chirruped questioningly, and then
started to play with the dead rabbit. After it sank its teeth into it then it
was all business, growling and tearing into it. He watched for a moment, and
then shrugged. “To each his own,” he said and followed words with action,
tossing each cheetah a dead buck.

He decided to wait on culling the
other nine bucks, keeping them in a separate hutches until he needed them.
Feeding one per cheetah every other day should help a little. The three he
dressed out he skinned, tossed the skin in the composter, and then cut the meat
up and cooled it. The offal had been fed to the cheetah. The book directions
were pretty good, explaining step by step how to take care of everything, from
birth to slaughter. He blessed the foresight of getting it, and taking the
survival class that required him to slaughter his own meat. It was still gross
though.

The first generation of broilers
were doing great; he had kept a quarter of the roosters. The remainder had been
slaughtered. Removing the feathers had been tricky and messy, but necessary.
His larder was slowly filling up.