Second Chances (89 page)

The group broke up as they formed travel plans. Mike was the first to leave bringing his northern neighbors with him.

“Don't be disappointed; on small things bigger things are built,” Ducky told Mitch, patting his arm in sympathy as they watched the planes and vehicles depart.

“Oh?”

“In other words, next time, dear,” Sandra said, kissing Mitch on the ear. They watched the last plane with Dunn on it depart. “Him I could do without next time though,” she said in a different tone.

Mitch sighed. “True.”

“It takes all kinds,” Ducky said, “and we have to deal with them. Or learn to deal with them whether we wish to or not,” he said as Maggie took him by the arm. “Are you ready my dear?” he asked, voice smoothing over in her presence.

“You know it,” she said, smiling.

“Then we're off to dinner, dancing and a movie,” Ducky said, taking off with his girlfriend and partner. Maggie grinned over her shoulder to Sandra but kept going, happily holding her partner's arm as he chatted about this or that.

“We need to do that,” Sandra said softly to Mitch.

“What, hold hands?”

“No. Well, yes. But when was the last time we had a date night?” she demanded.

“Um...it's been a while. We've been busy,” Mitch said lamely, indicating the distant aircraft fading on the horizon. “Then of course there is Tucker to consider,” he reminded her.

“Well, we can think of something,” Sandra said. “Right?” she demanded, poking him.

“Sure,” he said defensively, hands up. She smiled at him. He nodded. “Just as soon as we get a sitter for Tucker,” he said.

That brought her up short briefly. He smiled. “Fine,” Sandra said. “I'll have his older sister sit for him,” she said sweetly. “That should take the wind out of her dating sales for a night,” she said. Mitch snorted. She pursed her lips then nodded to herself as she went behind his back and put her arms around his neck. He bent over as she jumped, climbing on board for a piggy back ride. “Giddy up,” she ordered.

“I didn't think this was the ride you had in mind,” he said, but took off at a trot dutifully. She smiled, hugging him from behind as he carried her the long way back to base.

Chapter 42

Two weeks after their deal Paul arrived at Colonel Dunn's fortress with the seeds and other goods the southern communities had traded for. Klinger's group put out the word that they had named their community “Crash Town” until something more appropriate presented itself. Gunny Usher had sent Professor Hinkley and a small group to meet Paul with their initial deposit for the trade. No one had come from the tropical community; Colonel Dunn took charge of the seeds and equipment and warehoused it.

A no nonsense man named Carlos took charge of the seeds destined for Dunn's community. “We could have used these months ago,” he said, tipping his hat back to look at Paul.

Paul shrugged. “I just deliver; I don't choose when people order or pay for stuff,” he said.

“Gracias, senor,” Carlos said, nodding to the bags and containers of seeds.

“De nada.”

“Thanks from my people too,” the professor said, indicating the bags his people were loading on the battered pickup truck. “Can I hitch a ride back to base with you? I've heard a bit about it, and I'd like to see it. And I'd like to see Professor Long if possible. I haven't seen him in a long time.”

“You know Professor Long?” Paul asked, cocking his head to Hinkley. The other man nodded.

“We were engineering professors doing a few presentations at back-to-back conferences,” the professor said, smiling. “Do you think I can get a 3D printer?” he asked.

“It's possible,” Paul said, nodding. “It's not up to me though; you'll have to talk to the powers that be about that,” he said.

“Ah, gotcha,” the professor said. He waited expectantly until Paul nodded.

“Sure, you can tag along. If you wait for a flight, it could be a couple weeks. We'll be headed back there in the morning,” he said. He smiled politely to Carlos. “Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality, but I know my wife doesn't like it when I stick around the Latina women for too long,” he joked. Carlos snorted. The professor smiled politely, but his eyes cut to a few of the ladies.

The Tropics Village, also known as the Caribbean Village had a local rubber tree in their area. Some of the gear Paul dropped off was supposed to help them farm the sap and then process it for export. They also had polyp juice like Dunn, Crash Town and the Alaskan village. The juice was used mostly locally, but there was some hopes that with proper cultivation they could export some in a few years.

To Paul's surprise Dunn had ordered gear to make glass. Apparently the man had some sort of plan, though from the sound of it not all his people were on board. He looked over to where a striking Latin woman was chewing Dunn out. Dunn caught Paul looking and glared, then took the woman bodily around a corner and out of site.

“Any ideas why he wants this stuff?” Paul asked, indicating the small electric glass forge. He looked at Joe.

“No flipping clue,” Joe said, shaking his head. “I just know I got the short end of the stick and had to pay for it. Again,” he growled, indicating the heap of metal and mechanical parts he was parting with. Paul's crew were using the crane attached to one of the flatbeds to lift gear onto the bed. They were using bits of scrap wood to keep it from moving as they chained it down. “I don't know why you need that block; it's got a crack in it,” Joe said.

“Did you take the parts out?” Paul asked. Joe nodded warily. “That's fine, I'm not judging you or anything,” Paul said hastily. “I think it'll be melted down and reforged into another engine block.”

“You can do that?” Joe asked, blinking. Paul nodded. “Well!” he said, smiling. “I didn't know.”

“Sorry,” Paul said. “Anything you need? I know we're supposed to go through Dunn or his...wife?” He asked then shrugged. “But if you have a side deal, let me know,” he said.

“Can I get some of those solar panels?”

“Sure,” Paul said, making a note. “They are on the top ten of things people want so there might be a waiting list,” he warned.

“Top ten?”

“Water membrane filters, seeds, food, animals, medical supplies, stuff for better shelters, vehicle parts or materials, and then the solar panels or the wind turbines,” he said, pointing to the load destined for the Falklands and other communities. He then turned and indicated the ten home-built wind turbines Joe had cobbled together nearby. The blades looked crude, but they turned in the light breeze.

Joe looked at them and then nodded. “Making them is a pain in the ass. It's not the alternator; I've got them. It's the damn blade. Getting it balanced and light enough,” he shook his head.

“We make ours from carbon fiber or fiberglass,” Paul replied.

“Ah.”

There was a long moment of silence before Joe turned. “I'll trade you another engine block. I need the tires and stuff.” Paul nodded. “Can you do fluids? I'm low. I need everything from oil to grease,” Joe said. “That SOB doesn't think of shit like that,” Joe said making a face as he jerked a scared thumb.

“The chemical works is churning out synthetic oil, grease, hydraulic fluid, brake fluid,” Paul said, “and transmission fluid. You name it; I think we can make it,” he said.

“Cool. I need some of the basics to keep the engines running here,” Joe said. After a moment he shifted uncomfortably. “What do you want for it?”

“Um...I'm not sure,” Paul said. “I know you need stuff here.”

“Can you recycle other stuff? I've got some shredded tires. The tires mind you, not the rims,” Joe said. Paul nodded. “A what, load of tires for what, a barrel of each of the fluids?”

“Sure,” Paul said, logging the trade. “Shake?” he asked, holding his hand out.

Joe looked at it then took it and shook it, putting his other hand on top. “You are all right; no matter what that racist A-hole says,” he said.

“The colonel?”

“He's not a real colonel,” Joe replied as they broke the handshake. He saw Ciara coming over to them with storm clouds in her expression. “And that's my cue to leave,” he said as Paul turned to see the approaching woman.

“Gee, thanks,” Paul muttered as he settled himself to face the angry woman.

------*------

While the conference had been going on, Jamal, Axel and their scouting crew had mapped the western coastline and contacted the two communities there. One was on a narrow peninsula much like Baja Mexico. Their village was near the tip of the peninsula, 540 kilometers due west from the northern trading post in the mountain valley.

Axel figured out how to rig a drop pod for the long range drone. Jamal dropped the pod and then circled the drop point as the people came out and checked it over. They pulled out a radio and solar panel.

Someone with some tech skills hooked up the device and then chattered at the aircraft. Jamal reported that the people there spoke a mix of Portuguese and Spanish with a bit of South American tribal Indian mixed in for good measure. He was bewildered when it came to talking to anyone. “I seriously don't have a clue. I'm not a linguist,” the young man said when he radioed in his report.

“We'll figure it out,” Jolie said. “We'll see if we have anyone who can do it. Or I'll see if the computer can translate,” she said. “Good work.”

“It was Axel's idea. Not that I'm sure it's worth it,” he said. He signed off after a pause.

------*------

Two days after Jamal's report Tsakhia radioed in that Elbegdorj and Narantuyaa, two of his best scouts and hunters, had headed west after resupplying from the Savannah trade post, crossed the river, and then traveled to the western coast. They had lost a hunter due to a croc but managed to arrive in the village without further loss of life. They reported back that the community was made up of people from India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. “We have talked much,” the Hun said with a smile in his voice.

“Good to know,” Jolie said. “How'd they get that far though?”

“They used the fuel and materials in the trading post of course,” the Hun said with a shrug in his voice. “They are trapped though. It turned out they had just enough fuel to get to the village but not back.”

“They what?” Axel said, getting into the conversation.

“Trapped?” Jolie asked, concerned.

“It is hopefully temporary.”

“I'm more worried about where they got those supplies. Did they realize
we
needed them to get
home
?” Axel demanded.

“Does that mean we're stuck here too?” Jamal asked in the background.

“Yes! Son of a bitch!” Axel snarled. His cursing went downhill from there until Jamal flipped the transmitter off.

“I don't see what the problem is. Just send more fuel,” Tsakhia said.

“I'd wondered what all the chatter was about,” Jamal said, taking over from Axel so the mechanic could cool off. “We've been hearing it, but it was in your own language.”

“Neither Elbegdorj or Narantuyaa speak English,” Tsakhia said. “The fuel...”

“Is a problem,” Jolie said, checking the schedule. “Paul's still coming up from the south; he won't be back to base for another week. Maybe ten days if he runs into another series of thunderstorms,” she warned. “Laurence is running gear to the two mountain villages north of us. That means we're stuck. And no, we can't fly in the fuel; that won't work.”

“The planes aren't big enough,” Jamal said with a nod in his voice. “I know.”

“So, they are trapped? I thought you could help,” Tsakhia said, sounding peeved.

“You should have talked to us, let us know,” Jolie said, sounding exasperated. “Let us plan to help you. Just dropping it in our lap isn't smart,” she said.

Tsakhia was quiet for a moment then he started sounding off in his native language. From the sound of it, the rant wasn't pleasant. Jolie shook her head. “I'll see what I can do from my end. But for now, have them sit tight where they are. We'll get Paul out to you with more fuel in a couple of weeks. Hopefully,” she said. She made a face as she signed off. She didn't like the idea of bringing such news to Mitch.

------*------

Mitch shook his head when he heard the news. “Are they stupid or what? What possessed them to just jump out into the abyss like that? Don't they know prior planning...” He tapered off, realizing the angst wasn't productive. From the look of Jolie's expression, he was preaching to the choir anyway.

“They just assumed we'd cover them. They got excited, seeing our people out there trail blazing. I'm not sure if their zeal was well intended or not. No idea,” the radio operator said, then she exhaled noisily. “It doesn't matter.”

“Did you intercept some of the chatter the Hun's were doing? Run it through the translator?”

“Some. Not a whole hell of a lot made sense. Now it does. At time, no I hadn't bothered. It wasn't a priority. Now...”

“Looking back you regret not catching on sooner?”

“Something like that,” she finally said after a long moment of reflection.