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CHAPTER 22

What tomorrow brought was rain. The camp had turned into a bog.

“The trees were stabilizing the soil,” Jewel said as he looked at the mass of mud in front of his container. The container itself seemed to be sinking. So much for stable soil.

“Figured that one out,” Jason said. “Is the sawmill still viable?”

“Yes?”

“Get the bots to work on an elevated walkway down to the beach,” Jason said. “Not elevated much, just up out of the bog. And bring the boat Alfred over here. I’m going to need a lift.”

He settled his hat firmly on his head and turned into jetpack man again for the short ride to the beach.

The crab pot came up loaded with an unfamiliar type of crab. It looked something like a Dungeness.

“New species?” Jason asked as the pot was dumped into a case. It was rapidly rebaited with offal and dumped back over the side.

“No,” Jewel said after a probe on one of the crabs by a drone. “Genetically identical to brown crab. Generally found in the North Sea and Baltic and all around the British Isles.”

“Edible?” Jason asked.

“Very,” Jewel said. “It’s considered one of the finest crabs in the world.”

“That sounds promising,” Jason said.

The traps brought in numerous species of seafood. The gill nets had caught a variety of species of fish, some known, some unknown. Varieties of sea bass and sea perch were most common and there were more species than had been known on Earth. There were also what were called porgies, a form of cod. One of the fish traps had caught two small fish, one of which turned out to be a juvenile haddock, the other a juvenile sturgeon.

All together there were two dozen species of edible fish including lingcod, stone fish, sea bass and sea perch, five species of crab, four edible, and a species of spiny lobster that had filled the trap presented for it.

Not a bad haul and the bay was as productive as it seemed. Every rock face was teeming with abalone. He probably should have called it Abalone Bay.

“The question is what to concentrate on,” Jason said. “What would be in season on Earth?”

“Most of these don’t have a precise season,” Jewel said. “Even for commercial fishing. And that would only hold on Earth. For the crab you could say the season is in the fall, but brown crabs are taken year-round in commercial territories except for their breeding season in early spring.

“The sea perch is year-round cultivated as are the sea bass. Those have already spawned, so good to go. Gill nets presented mid to upper water with larger openings will probably land large sea bass which is a known and liked type of fish. Placing nets along the rock faces will yield more sea perch, another known fish, and less of the stonefish which, while known and liked by some cultures, are unappealing visually as well as having poisonous roe.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, examining the unprepossessing fish. “Tasty from what I’ve heard. Is it just me or are we seeing a mix of Atlantic and Pacific fish and crustaceans?”

“It’s not just you,” Jewel said. “One sea perch species is a type normally found in the Mediterranean, as opposed to the Pacific forms. There are seven types of Pacific sea perch and two here. The two here are Mediterranean as noted and European Atlantic. But the spiny lobster is Pacific as is one of the crab species. The spiny lobster would be in season presently, by the way. It’s a mixed bag. Welcome to Bellerophon.”

“We’ll focus on brown crab and sea perch for now,” Jason said. “Rerig that way and let’s see if we can find the best areas for those. I’ll wait on the sea bass.”

“Your call,” Jewel said.

“Sort out any female crab,” Jason said. “Can that be done easily?”

“Very,” Jewel said. “If I assign a drone to sort.”

“Assign a drone,” Jason said.

“You going out with the boats?” Jewel asked.

“Let the bots handle it,” Jason said, looking at the rain. He’d worked in worse weather but he had other things to do once the basic plan was laid in. “They can handle it, right?”

“Yes,” Jewel said.

“Keep Herman and two Alfreds here,” Jason continued. “I’m going to keep working on the sawmill and woodworking techniques. We need a cover for the sawmill. And a better sawmill.”

“That . . . will take a lot of flexmet,” Jewel said. “We have it but it will cut into harvesting.”

“That’s the point,” Jason said, looking at the soaked sawmill. “Do we need flexmet?”

* * *

After a breakfast of abalone and wild potatoes Jason got to work. Or, rather, the drones and bots got to work as he supervised and figured out processes.

Buildings had once been made from wood cut from local trees and while iron and later steel nails were useful, they weren’t strictly necessary. And, again, while tar paper had been a major innovation for roofs, it wasn’t strictly necessary, either.

Slowly, a woodworking shed arose from the mud of the fort. Timbers cut from oak heartwood made up the main structural posts, with the ceiling at twenty-two feet. They were drilled and pegged with softer outer oak. It was easier to lathe and would swell with moisture causing it to get tighter. An A-frame roof was constructed with Herman lifting the angle-cut and mortised timbers into place, then drones and flexmet aligning the pieces and temporarily securing them. Holes were drilled and lathed pegs hammered into place with rocks.

Planks were cut to cover the A-frame, smoothly and neatly fitted edge to edge by flexmet. Then wide strips of birch bark were laid down over the planks, their edges overlapping downward with birch and deciduous resins used as a glue. Last, shakes were cut, small, thin, planks of green fir wood that overlapped on the planks and pegged into place, secured and waterproofed with fir resins.

When it was complete, Jason slopped through the mud and walked around under the construction. Surprisingly, it was watertight. At least for now.

“This is good,” Jason said. “Next, let’s improve the sawmill. It needs an actual platen and we need to eliminate as much use of flexmet as possible by using wood. We also need a way to keep me out of the mud.”

The first problem to solve was the foundation. The original stump that they’d used as a platen had a foundation of its roots. For the new platen, they needed something better. Once the design and outline of the sawmill was agreed upon, the foundations were dug out by Herman and the Alfreds using their tractor beam. Then loads of sand were brought in to start. Over the layer of sand were laid additional layers of fine to course gravel then large, flat, basalt rocks secured from the north end of the island.

The next step was to build the base. Since Jason wanted to be able to cut the largest logs in the forest of primeval old growth, the mill had to be large and sturdy. Thick timbers were cut from red-oak heartwood and laid on the basalt rocks. From those more timbers were pegged and mortised to a framework for the platen until it was sturdy enough you could lay a battleship gun on it, three meters wide and fifteen meters long. The log acceptor/debarker was out in the rain again. They’d have to extend the shed at some point.

All the timbers had to be cut on the existing platen, so the mill built up around that. Along the way the bots cut six-by-six timbers and laid them down on the ground with one set on the ground and others over those. It raised the height of the flooring but it gave a solid and dry area for Jason to walk on.

A platen, the flat base where the trees were laid to be cut, was slowly constructed of thick timbers pegged and mortised. The stump that had been the original platen was incorporated into the foundation structure. It would eventually rot but the entire thing, despite all the work, was temporary. It was a design concept, rather than a long-term working mill.

Containers had had to be moved and the area was now much more open. Jason considered the risk worth it; they needed the room and the container fort was simply in the way. The surrounding abatis would keep off most threats and the drones were constantly patrolling.

* * *

It took two days of work to complete the entire thing. When they were done there was an uncovered log deck that led to the debarking platen. That connected to the cutting platen and there was a partially wood and partially flexmet plank-and-timber gathering system along with a separate wood storage/drying shed. It would take a bot to move the timbers and cut planks to the drying shed but it required at least an Alfred to convey all the power necessary.

They’d brought in various sized tree trunks, many taken from the original trees cut in the clearing, to construct the shed. But it was time for a major test.

A large oak tree adjacent to the clearing was trimmed, topped and cut. Then a massive section of the lower trunk, three meters across at its narrowest and ten meters long, was rolled across the clearing and up onto the log deck. It was too heavy for even a Herman to lift, and so irregular it refused to roll down to the debarking platen, so an Alfred thumped it into place.

The thing had to be trimmed of its major irregularities, massive gnarls, and thick ribs, until it was capable of rolling. At that point it got easier. Vibroflex easily sheared the rest of the irregularities off along with the bark until it was a smooth, albeit massive, cylinder.

The massive log was then pushed down the platen through the cutter by Herman using a pressor beam. Since one of the bots was going to be necessary to run the thing, Jason decided he might as well use its abilities. In addition, from its current position Herman could move the cut planks and timbers to the curing shed with its tractor beams.

With the first plank cut off, the log was pulled back and rolled onto the flat side. In minutes the massive log was formed into planks and timbers, computer designed based on its size and material to be the optimum use of the timber.

Jason ran his hand against the surface of one of the heartwood planks. The cut was so smooth there weren’t even splinters, the vibroflex cut at a nanometric level, and the wood was incredibly fine grained.

“Wood like this on Earth was rare and precious,” Jason said, sliding his hand up and down the wood and not for the first time having a pang of regret about the clearing of the forests. “It’s another thing we need to consider conserving.”

“At least this is going to be put to good work,” Jewel said.

“That it is,” Jason said, looking around the clearing. The rain had stopped but it was still muddy as hell and beginning to look like an industrial site rather than a test site. It was late afternoon and he considered whether to just knock off for the day or try something else. Decisions, decisions . . . 

“Okay, this is working well enough,” Jason said after a few moments’ thought. “Bring over an Alfred with twenty kilos of flexmet.”

“What are you thinking about now?” Jewel asked.

“Something better than a jetpack,” Jason said.

When the Alfred arrived, he pushed on it.

“Can it lay over on its side?” Jason asked.

The Alfred obediently turned horizontally.

Jason put the flexmet on it and formed it into a saddle then pushed down on the Alfred.

“Need it a little lower,” Jason said.

Once it was near the ground, he mounted the saddle. Then he formed two handlebar controls as well as wrapping his thighs in flexmet and putting in footrests and a backrest. With all that done he leaned back.

“You just invented a flying bike?” Jewel said.

“Feels more comfortable than a jetpack,” Jason said. “Okay, have the Alfred, on its own, lift up and over to the water’s edge then lower to this height. Slowly.”

After a few moments of glacial movement Jason sighed.

“Broad movements at four miles per hour, no more than half-G maneuvers,” Jason said.

When he was hovering over the strand, he considered the controls.

“Right handle works like a motorcycle,” Jason said, twisting the flexmet back and forth. “Rotate downward, increase speed; center, stop accelerating. Pushing forward on the column means down, pulling back means up. Lean side to side for turns . . . ”

Jason went through a foot pedal, counter turns, then considered the bike.

“How fast can this go?” Jason asked. Important consideration. “And how fast would it be able to accelerate?”

“With your mass onboard it can attain an acceleration of about fifty Gs for a short period before it runs out of power,” Jewel said. “You, of course, would be splattered with that sort of power but the main issue is aerodynamic drag. Take two of them and put them on an airframe like an SR-71 and they’ll have better capabilities. At the right heading, with a smooth, aerodynamic casing, it can enter orbit. But its batteries would be discharged.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “Important safety tip. Let’s limit its maneuvering to, say, three G? And maximum speed of . . . one hundred twenty miles per hour. I’m gonna need to lose the hat.”

After putting his trusty hat away, Jason took it easy on the first run. Alfred would, in fact, take off like a bat out of hell with a twitch of Jason’s right hand. That had to be dialed down a bit. But Jason eventually had a flying bike that had enough performance to be interesting without automatically killing him.

By which time it was time for dinner. He’d give the new bike a full tryout tomorrow.

Assuming the weather held.

* * *

The weather didn’t hold. The next day was foggy with scattered showers when he woke up.

“Damnit,” Jason said. He was itching to try his new bike. But there were other things to do as well.

He checked the inventory. The conexes that had been filled with flexmet were now filling up with lumber. He’d put a halt to the sawmill overnight since the constant bang of logs and boards was keeping him awake. Other conexes were filling with game meat, mushrooms, spring greens and mostly fish and crab. So that was under control.

“Time to use the lumber for something else,” Jason said.

He had one of the Alfreds dig post holes then set the sawmill to produce posts. Another rudimentary lathe and some flexmet sharpening turned out spiked poles in rapid fashion. By taking thin boards and weaving them in and out of the posts, it created a wooden fence. The best wood for the boards turned out to be beech or birch because it was more flexible. Sticking the poles through the gaps in the fence created a spiky barrier that should be a deterrent to even megagrizzlies.

“So,” Jewel said, thoughtfully. “It’s sort of an African kraal.”

“A term which derived from corral, an enclosure for stock, which derived from the term for a wagon circle in wagon trains, that probably derived from the Latin for wagon,” Jason said. “Fun with languages. Two Alfreds running boats. One collecting game. Herman running the sawmill. I’m not using the bike at the moment so have that Alfred work on the kraal in its spare time along with the game Alfred. Continue it around the camp with a gate on the water side. Can do?”

“Can do,” Jewel said. “What are you going to do?”

“Worry like hell?” Jason said. “The weather’s bad so I’m going to take the day off to do business. Keep the firewood stocked.”

* * *

By afternoon, the skies and fog had cleared and the rain let up. Further, looking at the satellite images, it appeared that it might hold.

“Break out the bike,” Jason said. “And I’m going to have to rig up. I’m going to the other side of the bay.”

He considered his weapons. He was going to be well away from the camp without even a stasis container. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to be on the ground long. This was a recon. He decided to just take his old .30-06 Savage then realized he could probably load a couple more guns on the bike. He ended up taking the Safari .458 and a Winchester 12 gauge as well. After a bit of thought he took off his hat but secured it in a cocoon of flexmet that was part of the backrest.

With the bike festooned with weapons to the point even he considered it ludicrous, he mounted the saddle, got everything settled in and took to the skies.

First, he ran up the north coast of the island, slowly, considering the view. Most of it was rocky with the exception of the flat he was on. Frequent streams cascaded into the bay, adding to the nutrients in the bay and thus its richness. Most of the rocks were covered in abalone but there were sections of mussels as well. The two normally didn’t get along. Abalone would tend to chew up juvenile mussels and both existed at the tide line.

Having checked out the island, he braved the winds of the passage to head over to the northern hills. They were much higher and steeper than the island but there were a few flats down at waterline. The rugged hills, some rising to a few thousand feet, were covered in trees that thrived in the watery environment.

With enhancement on the goggles, he spotted big red deer drinking in the streams as well as bear and a group of wild hogs bedded down. All of the woods were alive with game.

At the north end of the bay the western hills dropped off sharply into a large, flat area. The region was filled with small, shallow embayments, most of them high and dry with the ebb tide. Noting that there was a bear moving along not far away, Jason dropped down to check things out at ground level.

The bottom of the lagoon had appeared to be covered in rocks but the “rocks” turned out to be oysters lying on a sand bottom. Thousands. Millions of them.

“That’s a lot of oysters,” Jason said. “Another harvestable species. What type?”

“Looks like standard Pacific oysters based on the shell shape and size,” Jewel said.

A sea otter darted out of the ocean and into the pile, retrieving an oyster. As it did, the bear headed its way at a lope. The otter made it back into the ocean barely ahead of the bruin.

“So, the sea otters eat the oysters and the bear eats the sea otters,” Jason said musingly. The encounter had brought the bear, a medium-sized male, closer so he lifted the bike higher into the air.

“We’d have to have a lease for this area to harvest them,” Jewel said.

“Get a drone to extract some and test them,” Jason said. “Unlikely to be hazardous but doesn’t hurt to check. We can do that, legally, right?”

“Yes,” Jewel said.

“Onward and upwards,” Jason said.

* * *

He crossed the small river that entered the bay on the north and saw a bear digging in the black mud on the other side. It was practically covered in mud but didn’t seem to mind as it lifted something into its maw.

Jason dropped down to ground level, giving the bear a wide berth, and checked the surface of the mud. There were quarter-sized holes in the mud, everywhere, some with mounds of sand and mud around them.

He extruded some flexmet downward into the mud and fumbled around a bit until he had a wide sieve then retracted with some difficulty.

The bear’s prey was revealed as a razor clam, a popular food species all over the North Pacific.

“These will fetch a pretty penny,” Jason said, considering the expanse of black mud. “Oysters to the west, razor clams to the east.”

He lifted the bike up into the air lest the bear get any ideas and considered the distance to the oyster beds.

“Can we pick a midpoint and get both within a one-kilometer lease?” Jason asked.

“We can’t get the full bed on both sides of the river with a one-kilometer lease,” Jewel said. “But a two-kilometer lease will only cost two hundred credits. And that will cover it. Easily.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “Register the lease. And we’re going to need more equipment on the next shipment to exploit. Another Herman and two more Alfreds.”

“Tim will need to approve that,” Jewel pointed out.

“Show him the oyster bed videos,” Jason said. “Tim’s addicted to oysters on the half shell. He’ll bite. We need some nomenclature,” Jason said, lifting the bike up high enough to get a full view of the bay. “The main river coming in from the east: the Ferrell River.”

“I’ll tell Tom,” Jewel said.

“This river, call it Oyster River,” Jason said. “The northerly cape call Cape Osbourne, the south Cape Despair. The north hills call the Osbourne Hills and the south hills the Doom Hills.”

“Reasons?” Jewel asked.

“The north hills are named after Ozzy,” Jason said, shrugging. “I think I’ll name a bunch of stuff after rock band members. Speaking of which, Olzon Island.”

“After Anette Olzon, formerly of Nightwish?” Jewel asked.

“You know my playlist,” Jason said.

“Cape Despair, Doom Hills?” Jewel asked.

“Based on the wind and currents, if we ever have real ships plying this bay as a port, that will be a hated cape,” Jason said. “The winds will drive any ship that loses power onto the rocks. At which point the crew will be in the hills.”

“And gone to their doom,” Jewel said. “Okay. Ominous.”

“The captains and crew will therefore be cautious,” Jason said.

“You need to land on each to name it,” Jewel pointed out.

“Literally put my foot on the ground?” Jason said.

“Yes. What about the east hill?” Jewel asked.

“Well, keep those names for now,” Jason said, setting off along the coast. “And that’s what I’m about to check out.”

There were more oyster and clam beds along the coast north of the hill along with numerous colonies of Steller’s sea lions, elephant seals and harbor seals which were frequently harassed by the bears. From his height he could also spot numerous sharks in the waters, mostly what appeared to be great whites. They were obviously hunting the seals and sea lions and he reminded himself that not only was the water cold, it was deadly.

The northeast side of the bay was also cut by small streams, most of them meandering down from distant hills. Near the east hill the mainland became intertidal fens with fewer trees and more fen grasses. More clams and oysters.

“Do I need to land to name all of these?” Jason asked.

“Briefly,” Jewel said. “I’ll cover you with drones.”

As he proceeded along the bay, he landed briefly at each stream mouth and inlet and named it.

“Springsteen Creek . . . Jan Creek . . . Dean Creek . . . Buddy Holly Branch . . . Chuck Berry Pond . . . Bring up my playlist and list every member of every band on it . . . ”

“I’d inform most of these people of the honor of having an undistinguished creek named after them,” Jewel said. “But they’re mostly dead or not on the station.”

“Not many conservatives in rock and roll?” Jason said.

“Not as such, apparently,” Jewel said.

“Pity Meatloaf already passed,” Jason said.

He reached the hill, which was tree covered and undistinguished except for being the only promontory on the east side of the bay.

“Call it . . . Springfield Hill,” Jason said with a shrug. “It’s unremarkable. Counts for the singer and every city and town of that name I’ve visited.”

“Ouch,” Jewel said.

“Onward,” Jason said, heading to the Ferrell River.

The ground south of the hill was a wet mix of swamp and forest that wouldn’t be out of place in Louisiana with the exception of a lack of cypress. More tidal fens stretched to the east as far as the eye could see.

And it was packed, again, with waterfowl. There were numerous waterfowl all around the bay but the delta was special. As Jason passed overhead the shadow of his bike would trigger a mass takeoff and the air became filled with squawking ducks, geese, swans, coots and every other type of avian that made the water its home. At one point he had to stop as the flocks filled the air around him.

“This is a classic situation for a bird strike,” Jason said as a goose wing hit him in the head. “This is insane!”

He reached back, pulled out his shotgun and started blasting. In five shots he’d dropped two geese and three ducks.

He followed the falling birds and picked them up with flexmet after searching about a bit to find the last duck. One was only injured and he used the flexmet to wring its neck.

“No stasis case but they’ll probably keep for a while,” Jason said, reloading the shotgun.

“The flex can clean them as you fly,” Jewel said. “They’ll keep longer cleaned.”

“Make it so,” Jason said. “How’s the charge?”

“Fifty-two percent,” Jewel said. “You’re not heavy.”

“We’ll head back,” Jason said. His stomach was grumbling. “I don’t want to get too far from base with a low charge. Walking back would be a pain. And it’s getting dark.”


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