Multiverse 1

by Chris Hechtl

  Usher held up his good hand. “Speaking to the choir, Doc. I know my limits,” he said. He was looking paler though.

  “What are we going to do about the professor?” doc demanded.

  “The who?”

  “Roy. The guy who makes the tools. He's a professor of engineering.”

  “Okay, what about him?” the gunny asked with a sigh. “Is he making trouble?”

  “No, that's the thing; he's busting his ass. He's doing a hell of a lot more than his fair share and yet, still getting dumped on. Mainly by the Roberts. He's tried to help the layabouts, and I think that backfired on him. People are looking down on him for it.”

  “Alpha and the omega, Doc,” Gunny said. She frowned. “There is always an outsider, a jester, someone to make people laugh. They get constantly picked on though.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn't deserve it. He's…Hell,” she said, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “Look at it from the long view. He is our resident tool maker, for everything from weapons to other jobs a smith can do. We need to keep him on task making tools and showing others how to make them. A village's tool maker was an important job in primitive cultures, which is pretty much what we've become here.”

  “True.”

  “He shouldn't be stuck on latrine duty or other menial crap. He's skilled labor. Very skilled. You know it yourself, Corporal. He busted his ass on the plane making tools like you asked, then went and dug a trench for a new latrine today after the Roberts nagged the ever loving shit out of him…AGAIN, and then to top it off you hauled the poor guy off to who knows where today!” the doc said, voice rising a bit. “Now he's over there busting his hands up making more tools and spears for you to lose in the bush tomorrow!” she said.

  “Easy, Doc,” the corporal said. He looked over to where the professor was working and then frowned thoughtfully.

  “Any idiot can use a shovel. Get one of the lazy layabout good for nothings to do it for heaven's sake! In the time it took for him to dig that damn trench, he could have made a dozen or more things! Things we need!”

  “She's right,” Gunny Usher said looking at the corporal.

  Max set his jaw and then nodded curtly. “I actually pulled him off the duty. But apparently others didn't get the message and obviously he didn't. I'll fix it.”

  “It's not just him though,” the gunny said. “Like you said, we need to take the long view now, doctor. Skills and education like his are hard to come by now.” The others nodded. “Eventually, we'll have the basic roles, from weavers, farmers, and soldiers to potters and cooks.”

  “Eventually. That is if we survive. Right now I'm not so sure.”

  “If we survive that long Doc. I mean to do so. Dinosaurs or no dinos,” Klinger vowed.

  “I think we will. Especially with our resident professor,” the doctor said slyly.

  Klinger snorted. The gunny smiled slightly. “Yes, I heard,” the gunny said. “The Howells, the skipper, professor…dinosaurs…what's next?”

  “We've got a bevy of girls who'd audition for Ginger or Mary Anne, take your pick,” the doc said, waving a hand and then laughed.

  “I thought you'd take on that role, Doc,” the gunny said.

  “Which one?” she asked with a smile.

  “Either or both?” he asked hopefully. She snorted and gently slapped his uninjured shoulder. She briefly remembered a psychological study in school about Ginger or Mary Anne before she put the thought out of her head.

  “Pass. I'm just glad we've got our resident professor. I saw him working on stuff. He's everywhere. Working out how to make pulleys for lifting, fulcrums for various things,” she shook her head. “Give him time, helpers, and materials and he'll really make this place halfway decent.”

  “You're really smitten by him,” Klinger said eying her. She waved it off.

  “I'm married remember? But, I admit, he is a genius,” the doctor said. “He's got an engineering bent for sure, MIT I think. But he's wide ranged, looking into everything from chemistry and medicine to architecture and computers. He's got a great attitude; he dives right in with dirty jobs. Something good to have here, but he also tends to step back and break a complex problem down and think out easier ways to handle it too. Stuff that just leaves others in a funk, he sees as a challenge. That's also good to have. I'm glad we've got him, even if others aren't.” She waved her hand to the Roberts group. “He's worth ten, hell a hundred of them. We'd be in worse shape without him.”

  Klinger snorted. “I don't know about that, Doc. Sure he's no slacker, and he's done a lot, but…”

  “He's figured things out that we couldn't. Give him some credit. And he's working on more. I can see the wheels spinning behind those brown eyes of his.”

  “You sure that's not the shit?” Klinger joked.

  She turned on him with a glower. “Yes, speaking of which, of all the jobs, and all the lazy layabouts, why stick him on that? We need him making stuff like I said!”

  Klinger nodded. “I know, I know,” he said, hands up in supplication. “I'm working on it. I wanted him to do it for the first day to get it behind him. To prove he can handle it. He did. But now others are dumping it on him, and yeah, that's not right. But I can't be everywhere at once. I was delegating instead of micromanaging. I obviously trusted the wrong people to do that.”

  “You mean you got snowed by their promises of how certain people are used to managing large groups and know how to anticipate problems,” Gunny sniffed.

  “Yes, Gunny.”

  “An officer. That's what you naturally looked for. Leadership. Well, obviously they didn't pan out, so we'll have to just step up.”

  “Yes, Gunny,” Klinger said in a professional voice.

  “Call a meeting. You need to take charge and let them know you mean it. Clear the air; get them on board. You laid out the initial plan, but just laying it out isn't enough. You need to break it down into manageable tasks their small minds can understand. And then keep their noses to the grindstone. You know the drill.”

  “Yes, Gunny,” Klinger said as doc put a hand on the sergeant and urged him silently to lay back and rest.

  “I'll handle it, Gunny,” Klinger said grimly. Doc showed him out.

  ~~~~~O~~~~~

  Klinger laid down the law with the group at the evening meeting by the light of the fires. “We don't have the luxury of feeding people if they can't work. Even the injured are doing something. Even if it is keeping watch, giving advice, tending to a fire, or braiding rope from grass,” Klinger said. He glared at the group. “No middle management, you get your orders direct from me. Anyone have a problem with that you see me or hit the bush. We all work. No exceptions. If you don't want to go into the bush, fine, we'll find camp chores for you to do. There is always something that needs to be done. Everyone will have a minimum of three tasks to do a day. It's not only your contribution, it will help the community, and hell, keep you busy and focused.”

  The group nodded or muttered assent. “Fine then. Enough moping around. Time to get busy people. Post chores and then we'll hit the rack. Tomorrow is another day. Good night, people,” Klinger said, stepping out of the firelight stiffly.

  Roy nodded, not sure if the speech would do any good as far as the white collar set but they'd have to wait and see. At least Klinger was tired of the crap. That was good. He took his two-hour turn on night guard duty and then went to bed.

  ~~~~~O~~~~~

  The next morning Harris and Simmons hunting party came back early ecstatic and ladened with gifts. They had found a larger rookery about three miles east of their camp and had killed several of the four winged avians. They brought the gutted carcasses along with bundles of eggs, tubers, and cattails back with them. Work parties were assigned to get the feathers out. It was hard work, and several people cut their hands. Cookie showed them how to steam the skin loose and then pluck the feathers out.

  Roy saved some of the feathers. He passed on a cleaned handful to the fishers to us
e as lures, but kept the rest for fletching on the makeshift arrows. Each time he made an arrow or other weapon he learned and improved it. It was a far stretch from perfect, but they were getting better.

  Cookie talked him into trying to get the sinks and cooking gear out of the aircraft. That took him the rest of the morning. When he broke for lunch, he found that the food the hunters had brought in was all gone, eaten up by the Roberts and others. Disgusted he took a drink of tepid water and then went back to work.

  Klinger arrived at the camp right after lunch. He had escorted Betty and Elsa's gather teams in. Tension erupted immediately when the corporal saw many of the uninjured people lazing about and not doing anything. “Get to work,” he bellowed, hands on his hips. “What do you people think this is a day spa? Is this what you do when I'm away? Well, bullshit. This crap stops now! Right the hell now!” he snarled, going over and kicking a girl's seat. “Up and at ‘em. Get to work. Peel the tubers, gather firewood, do what you are assigned to do,” he snarled.

  She looked at him fearfully and then hunched over as she got past him, eyes down. Others swung into reluctant action.

  Roy looked up from the aircraft at the yells. He frowned, then nodded and smiled slightly. He turned and went back to work.

  The evening meal of stew was a guarded affair with the tension keeping everyone on edge. Resentment boiled from everyone, those who were working hard and from those caught slacking.

  When he was finished eating, Walter pulled out a shiny musical instrument. He played his harmonica, and as he did people stopped what they were doing to listen quietly.

  When he stopped doc stepped up to Roy and grabbed his right wrist, pulling it into the fire light to see it better. She tut tutted him in front of everyone and then loudly told him he needed to have the bandages changed. Then she dragged him off to the medical area.

  ~~~~~O~~~~~

  After doc was done with him, Roy and Klinger finally got a chance to talk quietly. Klinger was out and about; he was officially making the rounds to improve morale and mend fences. He wanted everyone on task and wanted to get to know everyone to know what they were capable of both physically and mentally to make certain they stayed on task. A few he found talked the talk, but reluctantly admitted under questioning that they hadn't been living up to helping out as much as they'd probably should. Shaming them wasn’t his aim, but if it got the job done…

  He was also looking for ideas. Ways to improve the camp. Roy gave him a list of recommendations, all thoughtfully written down on a piece of bark. Klinger took the list and glanced at it. He snorted. “Trust you to have your head on straight.”

  “Only way to go, to think it through. To plan ahead,” Roy said. He indicated the growing pile of tools he had made. “It's the only way to do it.”

  “True. Anything you need?”

  “More time, parts…And no more latrine duty,” Roy said wryly.

  “Well, you did your share and then some,” Klinger admitted.

  “You know, long term this isn't a viable situation,” Roy said thoughtfully. He turned to the corporal.

  “Oh? Second guessing my job?” Klinger asked mildly, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know I don't want it. Not in a heartbeat,” Roy said, hands up in supplication. “It's not defensible,” he said. “Here I mean. Not the way things are,” he waved a hand.

  “I thought it was,” the corporal said, indicating the high walls of stone around them. “Only the sea and that defile are the problem.” He pointed to the improvised gate they had in the defile, and the crude wall along the coast for the shore.

  Roy shook his head. “Yes but that aircraft is a barricade. Anything that comes along the beach has to divert around it. That means into our camp or into the sea. And you know how popular the water is,” he said, indicating the kids tossing rocks into the water.

  Klinger looked and then nodded thoughtfully.

  “We need a castle. Long term, some place with high walls. Those Raptors, the first ones, they jumped onto the aircraft. I'm saying twenty feet easy. That wall won't cut it,” Roy mused. He frowned and then looked at the corporal. “But you already knew that,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Dur, I forgot you are a Marine.”

  Klinger's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. Roy nodded slowly. “I thought so. A deterrent, but more mental than physical. And as much for our people as the animals it's designed to keep out. You need to watch it though; if an animal does get past, it will undermine the whole thing.”

  “You are pretty smart,” the corporal said.

  “I realize you are keeping people busy and keeping them on task. Smart. And yes, we do need it. I'm assuming in your hunting trips you're keeping an eye out for a more defensible location?” Roy asked.

  The corporal snorted but didn't say anything. Roy nodded. “Of course you are. High ground most likely, with cleared avenues of approaches so it is defensible. But access to water and wood, both are required. Stone nearby is a must; wood won't hold up for long.”

  “Moving stone is a bitch,” the corporal said.

  “Domestication and force multiplication,” the professor replied absently. “I might be able to whip up something. Sledges are too much work though, too inefficient. Wheels…” he frowned thoughtfully and then sighed. “They distribute the weight to just the contact points, but getting them going…and they need decent roads…” he sighed, shaking his head.

  “Don't get bogged down in the big picture, Professor. Break it down into smaller ones. Besides, we need to find a place first,” Klinger said.

  “True. But you are on the lookout?” Roy asked. Klinger nodded. “Good.”

  “Why didn't you put yourself forward as leader?” Klinger asked.

  “You are the best for the job. I'm not that good with people. Students are okay, especially one on one, but in a group this large?” Roy shook his head.

  “True.”

  “Besides, I'd rather get my hands dirty,” Roy said, hefting a tool he had been working on. A better wrench. The blisters were healing into calluses. He had found some biker gloves; they were helping to protect his hands.

  The corporal snorted and then patted him on the back. “Carry on then,” he said.

  ~~~~~O~~~~~

  The next morning dawned bright and early. Doc and the corporal intervened when Shawn started handing out the usual chore lists to the can-do crowd. Most were camp chores that he and others had been assigned.

  “I seem to recall you getting some of these chores,” Klinger said, “and others. If you want to lead, you have to lead by example, Mister Roberts,” he said looking at the other man. “So, you do what you are supposed to do. I'm in charge, remember? I'll tell people what they need to do,” he said.

  “What about him?” Shawn demanded, indicating the professor.

  “He's on sick leave. He needs time to get those hands healed,” the doc said. “He's busted them up with blisters and cuts doing his work as well as other people's work,” she said, looking at Shawn and then his wife and assistant.

  The corporal looked over the group. The lazy people were smirking. “Now see, they are lazy. Many of them need the exercise,” she said pointedly. “I'm here all day, I've seen what little they have been doing. They have been too busy ordering people around and sitting on their asses getting fat while people did the hard jobs.”

  “Doc, you made your point,” Klinger said quietly. A few of the people started trying to slink away. Klinger turned and they froze in their tracks. He frowned and then selected several of the lazy people to dig the latrine and bring sand to it. “There are four of you, so you should do four times the work the professor here has been doing the past couple of days. I'll make sure to check,” he warned.

  “And if you don't do it, no supper,” the cook warned.

  “She's right,” he told them. “If you don't like it, feel free to leave. But while you're here, you are going to work. Those that don't work as much as the others don't eat. It's that simple. Binary so
lution set. Pray on your own damn time when the work is done folks. After dinner, I don't care. Not now.” He shot a glare at Roberts. Roberts scowled blackly at him. “You've dragged that out long enough,” Klinger warned.

  “You can't dictate how I perform my religion,” Roberts said.

  “I thought I just did,” Klinger said mildly. “What are you going to do about it? Arrange a sit-in?” he asked and then laughed. Roberts glared at him but said nothing. His wife hung on his arm.

  Klinger turned to the others and selected the usual group and a few others for hunting and gathering parties. “The fishers know what they are doing, or at least I hope so by now. Catch something soon, or I'll pull the project and put you on something more productive,” he warned the skipper. The skipper nodded. They'd caught a few odd looking fish and an eel, but they were small, mostly bone and organs, little meat.

  “Scavengers, see Quinn over there,” he indicated the welder. “Or Walt, one of our resident chemists,” he said, indicating the old man with the harmonica. “Cookie, keep the others on something, scrubbing trays, dishes, clothes, bringing water in, whatever. Figure it out. I'll be back to check by noon,” he said.

  “Just a minute,” the doctor said. She and her medics checked over everyone's hands and feet. Those with cuts or blisters were treated. They bandaged those up the best they could and then told them to be careful.

  “One more thing,” the corporal said. He selected several for guard duty, and put them on post. “Simmons here will also be watching. So get to work everyone,” he warned as he left.

  ~~~~~O~~~~~

  Doc caught up with Roy and insisted on checking over his hands. “I cleared it with Klinger; you are on rest duty for the day. That means taking it easy.”

  “You don't work, you don't eat, Doc. I don't want anyone accusing me of getting what I don't deserve. Or getting anyone in trouble for playing favorites,” he said quietly.

  She looked at him with a frown then sighed.

  “And I can't sit on you twenty-four-seven to make you. Fine. Fine then. But take it easy,” she said, brandishing her finger under his nose. He nodded dutifully.