Speaking of emotional connections, Nary and Theo were entering the part of a relationship where sexual temptations were becoming... well, tempting. The two sleeping bags started across the fire pit from each other. Two days later, the bags were next to each other. Kissing was now an accepted form of greeting – even if they had just exchanged the same greetings a moment before. Serious necking was on the horizon as was the likelihood of two sleeping bags being zippered into one. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your perspective, it was at this point that Theo received Winnie's message that she had begun the undercover operation and he should probably return to the compound. He was in charge after all. Theo wasn't particularly keen to return. It wasn't the kind of undercover work that he had been fantasizing about.
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Chapter 11
Jak was delayed in Scandinavia much longer than she had expected. She had expected to arrive at the base, report to Wilhelm, wait a few minutes for orders, and return to North America. But somewhere between reporting and returning, she lost a lot of time. Jak was certain that the long delay had something to do with Wilhelm's reaction to hearing about the blood on the Band-Aid. So while she was waiting for Wilhelm to formulate some orders, she decided to drop in on the prince and see what he had to say about that blood.
That was fairly straightforward too. She said Hej (Hello), undressed, laid there for a bit, successfully suppressed a yawn, dressed, and left. In that time interval, she did manage to confirm that Yes, if an analysis of Princess Freya's blood were seen by somebody who knew how to read the analysis, that would a bad thing.
"How bad?" she had asked.
According to Samuel, it would be extremely bad if they decided to copy what Samuel had done and learned how to do it faster. Jak had received the same disastrous vibration from Wilhelm. On the good side, Samuel had been making faster progress ever since he started collaborating with another geneticist who had more experience in the field than he had and was now living in the basement lab.
Jak thought about that word collaborating and wondered if the prince might be using a form of genetic slang to mean having sex with her. She peeked at the other geneticist on her way out. Not a chance. Not that Jak would have minded losing the prince's affections, such as they were. Ever since their first time in Seattle, Jak had enjoyed having sex with the prince like a dog enjoyed making pannakor (pancakes). In other words, enjoyment during sex with the prince was not an emotion she would ever savour. And before you judge Jak harshly for bedding a married man, remember that she had been ordered to give the prince enough fortitude to convince the queen to give him access to her eggs. Finding a way to give the prince fortitude was like teaching a minnow to make fisksoppa (fish soup). That wasn't going to happen either. It was more likely that the minnow would become part of the fish soup. Jak had come to the lab feeling hungry. You probably knew that already, didn't you?
# # # # # # # #
Tuesday May 21. After returning from Scandinavia, Jak made an intentional wrong turn at the front door of the Saskatchewan army's command center in Regina. Nobody had checked her credentials at the entrance to the base; nobody had checked her in at the entrance to the building; why shouldn't she deliberately make a wrong turn?
The hallway led to Brigadier-General Jock MacLatchie's office. A prominent sign pointed the way. How polite. She passed various offices on the way. All of the doors were closed and locked in the middle of a working day. Interesting.
Brigadier-General MacLatchie probably occupied the office at the end of the hallway. It had a little anteroom in front of it. The office itself was big, with large glass walls. It was apparently empty. But the office next to it wasn't. Jak paused at the door and looked in. A second lieutenant was sitting behind the desk. He was working on his computer; maps and other papers were strewn across the desk. He looked to be about 15. Perhaps 16 in a pinch. He was what the Canadians would label aboriginal – Scandinavia didn't have these people. The sign on the door announced that he was the Base Commander. That would mean he was second in command below the Brigadier-General. A second lieutenant who probably wasn't shaving yet was the second highest-ranking officer in this half of the Saskatchewan army!
Really?
Jak rapped on the wall and the base commander looked up. "I'm trying to find the recruiting officer," she said.
"Check at reception," the teenager advised. "It's at the other end of the hallway."
So here's some nearly useless information my readers may never need to know. Centuries ago, the U.S. army had adopted the practice of shaving the tails of untrained pack mules – the better for keeping an eye on the new "recruits" because they were inclined to act foolishly. Those untrained mules were referred to as shavetails. The expression had also been attached to lowly untrained second lieutenants for many, many years. The operative word here was untrained officer.
"Thanks," Jak replied.
"No problem," the shavetail muttered into the paper he was studying.
Jak ended up getting recruitment information from the receptionist – a civilian. She didn't bite on any of Jak's questions on how big the army was, or what kind of combat experience Jak might expect to receive if she joined up. When the receptionist asked her what kind of career she was thinking about, Jak said, "I'm a good pilot."
"We have some jumbo copters, but we have all the pilots we need."
"What do you need?"
"We could use some infantry," the civilian admitted.
Really? Not experienced officers?
Jak took some application papers and thanked the receptionist. Then she left the base and took up an observation position in a little coffee shop about a block away from the main gate. The general was at the base. She knew because she had seen his sissy little green beret in his office. It was late afternoon; she didn't figure she'd have to kill much time.
# # # # # # # #
Late afternoon that same day, Theo and Nary were killing time, waiting for nightfall. They were investigating the six ranches clustered around the Lake Oahe area in South Dakota. These ranches were #12 through to #17. Obviously from their numerical designations, they were the ranches that Save Haven had built most recently. If the Wilizy were going to find any new developments in how the ranches were organized, they would appear here. Nary and Theo hadn't found anything particularly different, but they hadn't been able to examine the security systems of the ranches. They were sniffing for weaponry instead.
Before they started on their sniff patrols, Theo had asked Nary: "Who has the best sense of smell? You in your human body, or Contrary?" Nary didn't have to think. Contrary had the best sniffer. So when nightfall came, Contrary would wander around the ranch while Theo hovered invisibly above. They had learned in last night's search that it wasn't safe to assume that the weaponry would be stored close to the Big Houses and bunkhouses. Ranch #12's owners had established caches of weapons outside the security perimeter where they'd be safe from the slaves. These caches were buried and thus not likely to be found by strangers – as if any stranger would wander through these desolate areas. Tonight, they found that both of Ranch #12's bunkhouses gave off a strong aroma of gun oil and the main house positively reeked. They also gave off scents of other types of weapons.
Having so many weapons at these newer ranches meant that Theo and Nary had to spend several nights searching, and I hasten to remind the reader that these ranches covered a lot of ground. Currently their daily schedule was to conduct a sniff patrol from 11 p.m. to first light, which was at about 5 a.m. They'd return to their camp and sleep to about noon. Contrary would hunt for about an hour while Theo cooked a meal for himself and for Nary when she returned. During the afternoon, they'd explore the area. Generally they'd stick close to the Missouri River because the land there was the most scenic. North Dakota was mostly rolling prairie land. The view was not all that interesting after you've seen miles and miles of it. Sometime during the afternoon, they'd be hot enough to w
elcome a skinny dip in the river. They'd chose two spots out of view from each other and then message each other when they were dressed again.
They were back in the camp now, feeling somewhat refreshed from the heat of the day. At least, Nary was. Theo was not.
"I don't know what it is, Nary. I'm completely exhausted this week. I have to force myself to get up when you wake up. I have no energy when I am awake. I just basically floated in the river this afternoon."
"Is the heat bothering you?"
"It shouldn't. We have this kind of heat back home. Besides, I'm still tired when the sun goes down. It's a good thing I'm in my sling when we go out on sniff patrol; I wouldn't be able to keep up with Contrary and she's only walking around."
"Contrary and I can manage the patrols by ourselves. Even inside of her, I'm aware enough of where we are to memorize the important spots."
"Yeah, but I would sleep 12 or 16 hours a day and that wouldn't be good. I have to force myself to be active."
"You're energetic when we're kissing," Nary said, but that was mostly a FFF (a Feminine-Fabricated-Fantasy). In conversations between women who share this kind of information with each other, one might say to her friend – I had to give him a FFF. An FFF is a form of TLC (Tender Loving Care) but without any touching or hugging involved. The FFF essentially consists of massaging a male ego with words of unrestrained admiration; if that doesn't work, TLC is employed. If that fails, well, we all know what happens next. Some males will deliberately adopt a hangdog expression and persist in that act of fake sadness in the hopes of moving directly to stage 3. Guys – a little tip for you. That works once. Don't try it again.
Nary was not yet sophisticated enough in wily womanly ways to know what she was doing. She was just trying to make Theo feel better. She didn't realize that she was engaged in a genetically programmed response to a male looking sad. Men have genetically programmed responses to a girl friend appearing sad too. Their response is to hustle her off to bed. That'll make her feel better. I will restrain myself from commenting on how poorly men have been genetically programmed.
But the astute reader will realize that Nary's comment about Theo kissing energetically was indeed a fabrication. This is more accurately described as a lie. Truth be told, Theo wasn't as romantically energetic as he had been when they were camping in the north. It's true that they were now sleeping together in a double-zippered sleeping bag, but after a few minutes of kissing, Theo would fall asleep. This is not a reaction that is soothing to the feminine ego.
Nary started wondering if she had been kissing him wrong. Kissing had seemed so easy at first. Perhaps there were secrets yet to be unearthed. Nary was quite prepared to undertake some unearthing, but when Theo was asleep, he was a giant slab of sedimentary rock. Nary would need a solar-powered backhoe and a front-end loader to unearth any romantic inclinations that Theo might have hidden under that slab.
Back to the story...
Theo and Nary sat for a while – looking at the river.
"I don't know what to say, Theo. I know that Contrary tires easily when she isn't able to hunt, but you've been eating normally. Right?"
"Usual dried rations, plus energy bars. How are Contrary's energy levels? Is she handling the heat OK?"
"Sure. She's ready to hunt again right now. The little antelopes in this area are only enough for a single meal."
"Do you think that she'd mind if I took some cuts off her kill and cooked them? Perhaps I'm not eating enough. Or the dried food may be bad."
"You should stay well back after the kill until she settles down to gnaw. I'll ask her to leave you some good parts."
# # # # # # # #
Ten minutes before the military base's main building was set to close, Lucas heard slapping on the wall between his office and the general's. Thinking that this was the general's way of calling him, Lucas left his office and looked in on the general. "Did you want me, General?"
Jock looked up, the front section of Regina's Leader Post newspaper crumpled into a bludgeon in his hand. "Stupid bee stung me," Jock explained. "I have successfully re-engaged and defeated the enemy." At rare times, Jock could be whimsical. "Bees and I do not have a mutual admiration relationship," he admitted.
"Lots of them around," Lucas said and returned to his desk.
Ten minutes later, Jock did call Lucas into his office. "My allergy has kicked in, Lucas. I could use some help walking home."
Lucas offered to get a solar car and driver – the base did have a car pool for such situations. But Jock declined. "The walk will do me good; it'll push the poison out faster. I just don't want to fall on my face on the way home."
That indeed was a risk. Lucas offered his left arm, and the general leaned on it all the way home. He was unsteady and had to walk slowly. "Poison goes straight to my cerebellum. Balance is gone," he explained. At one point, he stopped, turned towards Lucas, put an arm on his shoulder, lifted up his right leg, and fiddled with his shoe. "Picked up a stone," he explained. Lucas was more concerned about getting the general home safely. He didn't even begin to wonder how a stone could have gotten inside the general's lace-up combat boots.
The general unlocked his front door and asked Lucas if he would crush some ice in a dishtowel and bring it out to him on the porch. He'd sit right here on the front step and rest. Lucas did as asked. The general put the cloth-draped ice to his face and leaned his head back against the porch post. "Anything interesting happen today?"
"I've asked William to create a sensor that can pinpoint the location of the transmitter that creates the electronic security fence. We know where it's kept in Ranch #4, but we won't always know where it's hidden in other ranches."
"Good idea. Yours?"
"Yeah, actually it was. If William's sensor can locate it, I bet he could rig something that can destroy it too. We won't have to use lightning strikes. No point of giving them warning before we attack."
"Smart. Lightning becomes the back up. Any visitors to the base today?" [Narrator: For suspicious-minded readers, I can confirm that Brigadier-General MacLatchie had a good idea what the answer would be to that question.]
"One. Somebody wanted information on joining up. I sent her to Connie."
"Her?"
"Yah. Blonde, good looking."
"OK, I'm feeling better, Lucas. I'm going to survive. I hate bees."
"See you tomorrow, General."
Jock stayed where he was. The ice bag against his face was helping what indeed had been a bee sting. It was also helping to hide the fact that he didn't have his eyes closed and had a narrow line of sight into the street in front of his house and the good looking blonde who was approaching. Experienced soldiers develop a keen sense of awareness when somebody is behind them and staring at their back.
Yup. Military background. Who are you? Where did you come from? And why are you in Regina of all places?
Jak had some questions too. Do you need help getting home drunk every evening? How do you get away with sitting drunk on your front stoop for everyone to see? Wherever did the Saskatchewan army find that gawd-awful green colour for their berets?
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Chapter 12
As agreed, Jak and the Beanstalk met in the middle of an empty football field just outside downtown Regina on Saturday, May 25. Beanstalk's first words were, "Do we have new orders?"
"Some," Jak replied. "Our absolute top priority is to rescue Princess Freya. We are allowed maximum latitude in how we find her and secure her. To assist us, we will have a full platoon of elite special-ops soldiers stationed wherever we want them. I've worked with this platoon before. They too will have discretion to use maximum force if necessary. The captain of that force will take directions from me."
"Forty of our very best men? Led by a captain, not a lieutenant? Isn't that a somewhat excessive reaction?"
"Yup."
"Did Wilhelm tell you why?"
"I already knew."
"Yeah. I can't say more. All you need to know is retrieving Princess Freya is now a national priority. Did you recover all the Band-Aids?"
"Yes. Princess Freya appears to have been accident-prone."
# # # # # # # #
Of course, the briefing meeting was much longer than that short exchange. Jak also told Bean about her scouting trip to the Saskatchewan army base.
Bean had the same incredulous reaction as Jak had experienced. "The general is a drunk, the second in command is a shavetail, the base is virtually empty, and all they admit to needing is infantry? That's ridiculous! Are you going to dig deeper?"
"Nah. We are no longer interested in whatever negligible threat General MacLatchie and his army might pose to Safe Haven."
"Do we tell Fred that he's paranoid?"
"No. I'll reinforce that we'll fully support Safe Haven if they ever need our military help. I won't tell him that we have elite forces close by."
"Define close by."
"That decision will be up to you, Bean. Princess Freya was last seen in northern Montana. I've spent a couple of days looking around the area. Montana borders on eastern British Columbia, Alberta, and Saskatchewan. I want you to pick a remote spot to hide the platoon so that they can reach any of those locations quickly. If necessary, they should also be able to reach the slave ranches quickly in case the princess is spotted near one of them. After you have the platoon settled in, I want you to start searching for do-gooders who could have rescued the princess at Fort Peck Lake."
"Search parameters?"
"Not an individual. A group. An organization of some kind. They were able to get a copter to a remote area quickly. They may have some military background – at least enough to know how to disable a copter and delay a search party. Information has a way of reaching them. They may be the group that was catching Fred's kidnappers, in which case they almost certainly have the ability to cover a lot of ground quickly. High speed copters perhaps. Try looking for where they could have purchased them. A do-gooder group this big, and with this kind of ability, will have some public face. They can't be entirely invisible."
Bite Me! Page 8