by Td Barnes
“This is okay. This is human nature,” she continued. “It is a hormone thing the same with you, women. The difference is that men possess testosterone. Testosterone is a hormone. It is what puts hair on a man's chest. It is the force behind his sex drive. It gives them that strong, deep voice that we girls like to hear. However, there are some rules about you dudes doing your testosterone thing. Now, this is serious - I mean it. We are not attempting to eliminate your caveman desire to grab a female by her hair and drag her into your cave. We need your caveman mentality in this regard, but you must get the girl’s permission for you to grab her by the hair and drag her to your lair. You will honor your spouse or girlfriend. You will acknowledge her pregnancy. She is sacrificing herself for the good of the colony, and you should feel very, very proud of this. A pregnant woman belongs to the territory in a sense. Mess with her, and you are messing with all us. You will support her — make her your queen, your children, your prizes, your rewards for caring for your mate.”
Stacey allowed that to soak in a moment before continuing. “We are all human. We know there will be screwing around by male and female alike. It takes two to tango. The leadership realizes that this is beyond anyone’s control except for the participants. Screwing around is in our genes. It is a leftover from our days on the savannah, scrounging for survival, desperate to procreate before the lions devoured us all. It is unnatural not to want to mess around. Much like eating, we sometimes overdo it. However, you women willing to give a married man a little must recognize that by doing so you dishonor his mate. There are plenty of single guys more than pleased to put your hormones at ease.”
Stacey looked towards a group of adolescent females grouped together at the back of the room. “Ladies, we would hope that you wait until you are mid-teens or older to start having sex. We are fortunate here at the mountain that there is no chance of anyone contracting a venereal disease, so condoms are not in play. This means that you may become pregnant your very first experiment with sexual intercourse. Be aware of that fact and weight that possibility into your actions. It is your responsibility if you get pregnant. Even if the event is consensual, the responsibility is solely yours, not that of your partner. It is your fault if you get yourself knocked up. I repeat - it takes two to tangle. Do not even dare use the “he got me pregnant” excuse. You got yourself pregnant if you spread 'em. Excuse the pun when I say it sounds like the guys get a free ride. They too will have responsibilities. Colonel Bradley will address this and will set some rules. Colonel,” she said. She turned and surrendered the podium to him.
Bradley stepped up to the podium and thanked Stacey for her presentation. The crowd appeared to be in a much more somber mood after hearing her.
“Wow! That really lays things on the table. You will not hear any evading the issue tonight. This is because we care and want you to as well. You, young people, are our future. I like the way you refer to my wife as the first lady. She has always been my first lady. Using your title — like the first lady said, our female gender is going to must take a leading role in our future. It may have sounded like she placed the blame on our fairer sex when Stacey placed a ton of responsibility on your females. Take the word blame out of your dictionary and replace it with the word responsibility. The point is — if you fail to say no — you carry the responsibility for failing to do so. We will provide each of you the utmost respect and support for taking the burden that we are placing on you. You will still carry your load in the overall scheme of things and will certainly be recognized and allowed to continue in your chosen professions. It is simple. We are stepping back to the days of chivalry and masculine respect for our ladies. It is not a weakness for your gender to allow a male to open a door for you or lift something that you can very well do for yourself. Do it. Enjoy it. Call it protocol or whatever you want. Make them wait on you as they did a century ago. Make them work for it. Hell, make the guys strut for it as the animals do in the animal kingdom. I’m sure you have seen the birds of paradise courting ritual.” He grinned at three of the single guys grouped together. “Take note and make gentlemen out of these bums.”
“We have one more hidden advantage when it comes to rebuilding humanity,” Bradley said. "We have in one of the alcoves a full range of in vitro fertilization equipment. A sperm bank in Las Vegas made sure we received several of the small, round dishes typically used for the storing of fertilized eggs. They sent us powerful microscopes, robotic arms, and small probes for manipulating individual embryos. We have a supply of minuscule glass needles attached to the robotic arms to inject a single sperm into an egg. At least, this is what the doctors tell me,” he said with his quirky grin.
Bradley chuckled. “At first we did not know what we had. The Nevada School of Medicine’s Institute of Fertility sent us two identical canisters that some joker labeled Noah's' Ark No. 1 and the other Noah's' Ark No. 2. The one marked animal eggs, and sperm contains an attached list indicating that it contains one-hundred-eighty-three species of domestic and wild animals. These are waiting for a bisexual commingling in a test tube or insertion into the Fallopian tubes of a surrogate mother. The other contains human sperm and eggs. I understand that actually, we have more than one canister containing human sperm.” He held up both hands in a gesture of surrendering.
“I am not going to get into any debate about surrogate mothers. That is definitely above my pay grade.” This brought laughter from the audience. He continued, “These are thick, lead-lined metal containers about four-foot square and supercooled with liquid nitrogen. The side of the container is clearly marked. ‘Human eggs and sperm.’ There is a note attached to the container that explains the eggs and sperm are from a government sperm and egg donor grant program where donors are either male or female students with a minimum IQ of a hundred-forty. Now that is scary,” he said jokingly. “A civil rights lawyer would call it profiling. Maybe that is because the higher IQ level eliminates lawyers,” he also said jokingly.
He paused as Stacey did to shift from the light part to the heavy part of the topic. “Complaints of hanky panky will in normal instances be dealt with by the mayor’s office and a representative of the company commander except in cases where they feel I need to intervene. Believe me; you do not want me to arbitrate your case. Gentlemen, if a female says no, she means no. No exceptions. Ladies, if someone is pressuring you unreasonably for sex, report it, and we will deal with it. I place emphasis on the word unreasonably. Forget about crying sexual harassment. Political correctness does not apply here. Flirting and checking one another out is not sexual harassment. It is human nature. However, we absolutely will not tolerate stalking or coercion. We do not have courts or jails here at the mountain, nor will we. We cannot spare personnel to perform prisoner guard duties; therefore, we will have no prisoners. Complaints of adultery will demand punitive punishment. Note that I said the word complaint. We are not going to have sex police or nosy citizens making it their job to tattle on your private lives. It takes an injured party complaint to make sex anyone’s business. This applies to either gender. For you civilians, the mayor henceforth has authority to assign the punishment she sees fit for minor crimes, which is now the level of adultery. The company CO will deal with you military personnel. I would expect this would include counseling by clergy and assignment in some of the dirty chores of the mountain. I understand the dirty chores — laundry, sanitation, and caring for the animals — are already penalty policy. Only where offenses rise to the level of endangering the security and wellbeing of colony members will I become involved. Believe me, you do not want that.”
Bradley paused to look over the colony. “We have not needed to establish specific penalties for serious crimes. We hoped for a long time that our stay would be short and the need for such rules avoided. We know now that this is not the case. Henceforth, a military tribunal will establish the penalty for serious crimes. We will immediately evict the individual from the mountain and the Jackass Flats Territory if the tribunal finds th
e guilty one threat to our colony or beyond redemption. That could be a death sentence at this stage, depending on the actions of the individual on the outside. Such a sentence will be eviction from the entire Jackass Flats Territory once we emerge from the mountain. Anyone evicted from and later captured in the territory will face death by firing squad. I repeat. We will not take prisoners.”
The speeches of Stacey and the colonel were obviously much more serious in nature than expected by those attending — no HOOAH calls during the speech of either.
“We have thrown some serious stuff at you today. Those of you who do not realize and appreciate what your leadership is doing to prepare you or your descendants for a new life outside the mountain will do so eventually. We came into this mountain a mixture of about every occupation, background, ethnicity, and personal interest and belief imaginable. Today, you wear military attire and think military. Though not intentional in your case, this is what we do in basic training for the military. We tear the recruits down and rebuild them in the ways of the military.”
Bradley pointed towards the mess hall where they could hear the younger children playing.
“We are here for one thing, and that is them. It is everyone’s responsibility to produce our replacements worthy and capable of rebuilding a kinder and responsible society than the one that brought us here. Training them in the way of the military is important for their survival; however, we must train them for much more. We must train them to be socially acceptable to humans. Their military training is to establish instinct and not a mission or vocation. That means that we must bring them up in a loving and responsible society. I do not have the answers on how, but to plant the first seed - I propose we introduce them to a life that is not military. Mind you — this is only a start. Henceforth, I want at least one formal occasion each month where we discard our military attire and dress like civilians. Our children must learn social skills, protocols, and the desire for a life where they will not need a military. They must not lose the heritage and culture of their ancestors. That is the quintessence of why we are here — the only reason we are here. That is our mission.”
“HOOAH!”
****
First Contact
T plus 18 months.
Four days earlier, the monitors at the mountain had displayed sunlight for the first time in slightly over a year and a half. It lasted only a few minutes with the significance of breaking through the constant haze at all.
fFor a few moments, security at 0219 hours the next morning reported that the night haze cleared enough that they saw the moon and stars. Again, it lasted only for a few minutes — long enough for them to note the absence of the Aurora lights.
The next day remained socked in, but the third day the sun shined through for over three hours, raising the outside temperature seven degrees. Each time the sun shined through; the radiation level dropped drastically. The lingering fallout clouds apparently accounted for the high radiation count.
The entire colony celebrated that night by enjoying a steak, and for the adults, a glass of wine from the class six commodities reserved all this time for the future.
Bradley arrived at the Command Center at his usual 0630 hours. He went through his regimented procedure of carrying his personal mug of coffee from the mess and reading through the morning briefing report. He spent a few minutes with the shift officer and security next where he eagerly peered at the monitor hoping to see a sunrise. The visibility appeared better this morning than usual.
Sarge raised his head and looked up at Bradley at the sound of a strange voice coming out of the radio room. Bradley did not hear it because of his wearing his headset while listening to a recording of Celine Dion’s My Heart Must Go On. Sarge stood up and looked towards the sound, to draw Bradley’s attention. Bradley followed his gaze and saw the radio operator excitedly talking to someone.
Bradley ripped off his headset and rushed into the radio room where he stopped and listened to the audio coming through on the HF radio. The transmission came through sporadic and unreadable.
“I believe it is coming from close by, sir. We are still experiencing atmospheric interference, but at least we know someone is out there.”
The two of them listened for another ten minutes, but nothing came through except the sound of magnetic interference.
“I have a meeting at the south portal, Bradley informed the radio operator. Keep trying. I’ll check back with you when I return.”
Bradley and Sarge walked to the rad-safe alcove where Dr. Hubbard and Jack O’Donnell with the former Desert Research Institute awaited his arrival.
“Let’s walk, gentlemen,” Bradley suggested after their exchange of greetings. “I have good news. A moment ago, we made radio contact with someone. There is still considerable magnetic interference on the radio frequencies, so that is all I can tell you. However, it certainly supports our belief that things are improving outside. The heavenly lights appear to be gone, so now if we can only get rid of that damn fog or whatever it is. That is what is keeping our radiation level high.”
The alcoves hummed along with the way with the activity of members of the colony teaching, receiving training, training themselves, exercising, or socializing. Color-coded chemical light strips identified alcove living habitats of sleeping occupants from those of another shift. The occupants of the mountain’s adaption to schedules, habits, and activities effectively sustained their lifestyles and desires like deep space travelers. Everyone felt healthy with high levels of morale.
They arrived at the animal menagerie park where even the animals appeared to sense it being spring season outside the mountain. Goats romped with the children always present at what they called the petting zoo. Pigs rushed to the edge of their pen hoping for a handout. Even the cows appeared happy to see the visitors. The close confines of the tunnel increased the deafening sounds of geese, ducks, and chickens happily feeding and playing with one another and the children. The smell made one appreciate having an exhaust pipe directly overhead.
The noise and smell did not bother the farmers gathered to meet with Bradley and his consultants on radiation and the effects of radiation on animals and crops. They welcomed Bradley and the other two and proudly showed off the animals. Bradley always enjoyed visiting the animals and livestock — reminding him of his childhood on the ranch in the Texas Panhandle.
Bradley noticed one of the most beautiful stallions at the mountain being lead towards him wearing a saddle. The handler walked the horse up to where the ranchers, farmers, and Bradley were standing. “Colonel, we know that you are a former rancher and a vivid equestrian. We are honored to present you with your personal mount.”
The surprise of this event caught Bradley breathless. Emotionally stricken, he could not say anything, so he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. The horse snorted and responded to Bradley’s foot movement telling the horse to walk.
Bradley rode him for a few feet and returned him. He dismounted and handed the reins to the handler. “All I can say, gentlemen, is to make room for my office here at the south portal.” The others thought he joked —not having an idea how much this gesture meant to him. Having inherited the naming of his ranch animals from his mother, he asked. “Does he have a name?”
Bradley suggested that with the courtesies and inspections concluded that they move up the tunnel a bit to escape the noise and smell. He told the farmers there about the radio contact. This boosted their excitement even more over with it being spring of the year. The farmers sensed like the animals their leaving the mountain sooner than previously expected. One of them started the dialog,
“I realize our previously having this conversation, and we understand the recent signs of spring are temporary. Some of our people are asking when they can start farming. Even if we can plant only one stalk of something, it will set a high water mark for us to cherish and look forward to repeating.”
Dr. Hubbard responded first.
&n
bsp; “We share your eagerness to break soil. The fallout has been visible since the nuclear attacks, especially on polished or smooth surfaces, but you have seen where we have accurately detected the radiation from its active elements only by individual instruments. We feel the hazard has decreased with the passage of time due to decay and decreases in the intensity of the radiation. Frankly, we have no way of predicting a breakout date. It depends on the return regularity of weather-carrying fallout.”
"At least water for the livestock will not be a factor here in the desert,” O’Donnell interjected. “We pump the water from the ground, so it is pure of radiation.”
“We have another advantage with our livestock not having exposure to radiation,” one of the farmers commented to further the argument.
“That’s true,” O’Donnell replied.” Our milk should be safe to use since it is from adequately sheltered cows protected from the radioactive isotopes of the fallout. Crops are my primary concern. We have water, but will this desert soil sustain life? I hate to believe that we might commute to the Amargosa Valley to farm while needing the sanctuary of the mountain for safety and security.”
“Colonel, I liked your thoughts of greenhouses that you suggested at Beatty the second day after the EMP attack. The question is whether they will sustain our population until we can do better,” another of the farmers commented.
“That may be our only solution for the short term. We should be able to expand to grounds that are more fertile while our colony grows. We have only enough feed for our livestock to last us a couple more years,” Bradley replied.
Bradley saw no purpose for going into these details covered numerous times in the past year other than for raising the morale of the farmers feeling spring fever. He recalled the meeting with the meteorologist and radiation expert nearly a year and a half earlier concerning fallout storms forcing man and beast to take refuge at the mountain for centuries to come. “Gentlemen,” he said. “I suggest you focus on greenhouse planting for now. I realize that you want to feel dirt under your fingernails again, but I fear it is much too soon. I understand that it really sticks in your craw, but I believe we will be organic farmers for many more years.”