Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 94. Skoal's Underground

I write about things I love.  This chapter is included.  I love you all.  I still miss you, Daniel.  

Skoal’s Underground

Churchill was now getting Stepan’s and Vasil’s attention as they both petted him. Churchill was eating it up.

“How long has he been here?” I asked.

“Since the end of April,” Ed said.

“So, you’ve never had him in the house for weeks or months?” Peter said more as a statement than a question.

Ed nodded his head, “Oh yes, I have. Not here, but in Iceland, Northern Canada...they both had snow and ice,” he chuckled, “these mountains around us here just seem to hold those clouds over Makarovia. We’re working hard to finish the underground as soon as possible. Skoal will have have a Dog Park. For now, there is a path to take with your dog. It is sort of a grated metal covered trench. That works for urine, but you still scoop the poop.”

“And why didn’t you do that in Stryia?” I asked mockingly irritated.

“We weren’t asked to!” David said as he enjoyed our conversation. He shrugged, “To be honest, I never see dogs or cats here. We didn’t know you needed one.” He grinned. “Helen has a Siamese cat.”

I held my hand out toward the Generals, but looked at Peter, “See!? Pets are normal.”

Peter nodded with a chuckle, “Yes, I see that, but in the past, we were busy getting prepared for the winter so we wouldn’t starve to death or freeze to death. We didn’t take the time for anything else.”

I slipped an arm around Peter, “Surviving was more important. I know.” I looked at David, “The United States has been generous with us. There was the large townhouse at first and then the house in Boston. They are looking, too, aren’t they?”

David nodded, “Oh, you bet. We even have two agencies working together. The Central Intelligence Agency and the National Security Agency.”

My eyebrows rose when I heard that, “The CIA and NSA are working together.” I said to be sure I got that right. “Maybe it’s all television, but I didn’t think they liked each other. Why those two?”

“Because the CIA has the trained agents and the NSA has cutting edge technology,” David said simply.

Ed nodded, “The United Kingdom is helping, but the crime they were arrested for was committed by three British citizens and other countries against predominately Makarovians on American soil,” Ed said. “And the house in Boston is in question. Was it American soil? It isn’t officially an embassy, but used like one.”

“And,” David said reluctantly admitted, “No one country wants to be stuck with the check at the end of the meal. We hope the UK will take it and find out, the UK hopes we will.”

“There was a crime committed! What bill?” Peter asked. “We’re simply asking for Jon Fleming to question them.”

Ed nodded, “To give you names of people that you will want to find, get those people, build a legal case when arresting them.”

“And you’re talking about a very rich group of people,” David added. “They’re good at hiding and will be hard to find. There are a lot of places on Earth to hide. Travel expenses, extraction expenses...”

“It’s war!” I said in disbelief that they were worried about money. “Of course, they are expensive!”

“Makarovia will help with the expenses,” Peter said.

“And even with manpower!” I added. “I don’t know anyone more qualified to help than Yuri.”

“There are others just as qualified,” Peter said, “Such as Rolph and Mikell.”

“I’ve never known the United States or the United Kingdom to refuse anything because it’s too expensive,” I scowled. “You’re both doing what’s needed now! Collaborating! I’d like it if your two superpowers could do the same thing, collaborate!”

Peter’s eyes grew, “Wait a minute!” He pointed at the screen we’d watched but didn’t take his eyes off Ed. “You said he was the Budget Man. Right?”

“I did,” Ed confirmed, “and he is.”

I saw the corners of his mouth twitch, but remain where they were. His eyes took on the amusement he felt. “Did he hold back further investigating because it kept them stricter to the budget!?”

Ed didn’t really reply.

Peter nodded, “Yes, that makes sense.” He saw the look I gave him that asked how? “Carter and Baldwin are in custody. They aren’t going anywhere because of what they did. The attempts for us wasn’t done BY the Consortium but FOR the Consortium.” Peter shrugged, “He thought he had time.”

I looked at Ed, “Would he do that!? Did he do that?”

Ed looked away, but said, “It’s improper to speak badly about someone that isn’t here to defend the...”

“I don’t give a damn about that!” I interrupted as I shouted. I wasn’t mad at General Hammond, but this whole situation.

“I told you he can be an ass,” Ed said casually.

Mr. Wells’ place in my estimation was considerably lower now. I got on the phone and called Yuri and told him what we found out. I also informed him about what General Hammond had said about Arthur Wells. Yuri wasn’t surprised. He probably suspected and my telling him was just a confirmation of his suspicions.

I felt two paws on my leg at the knee. Looking down, I saw Churchill’s happy face looking up at me. The nub of a tail waggled.

“Winston Churchill!” Ed said calmly but in a parental fashion of scolding, “You know better than that.”

Churchill dropped to the floor, but his happiness and enthusiasm were still there.

“No jumping up on people,” Ed admonished doing the shake of his finger at Churchill.

Churchill understood he did something he wasn’t supposed to because he stopped doing it. The expression stayed the same on the seemingly smushed in face.

“Churchill is your dog. For what you discipline and how isn’t my business,” I said and lowered down to sit on the floor. “He’s a very happy and contented dog. That says a lot about you. He just wanted my attention, so I will come down to him.” Now Churchill was even happier to have someone down on his level. He was sniffing, licking, and coming into my lap. “I love dogs!” I pulled Churchill’s head to look at me. “You’re the first Bulldog I’ve gotten to know. However, and I’m sorry, but I’m a little beagle fan.” My confession didn’t bother Churchill one bit. The snorting sound as he breathed just got louder. “How old is he?”

“He just turned six last May.”

Churchill played an important role here. He kept things relaxed, reduced stress levels, eases depression, and pets will even help with your general health and quality of life. There is documentation everywhere about this. My problem had been that in the recent past I had little time at home and that would be unfair to the dog.

Churchill was a sturdy dog. Solid. I’ve petted a lot of dogs but their soft fur covered muscle, but when petting Churchill there was practically no give. Churchill’s muscles were dense and thick. If you’ve ever slapped a slab of raw meat, that’s what he was bred for. That firm muscle was what was under Churchill’s fur and skin, but he was still a dog. There was a noticeable difference between Churchill and other dogs. He was excited but wasn’t running in circles around me or barking. The one biggest characteristic was, he was calm. As I understood it, that was true across the entire breed. They were calm little tanks.

“Could we see your underground?” Peter asked.

“Absolutely,” David answered.

How can I be jealous of someone else’s underground? I was jealous when we got down there. It was understandable as the people that were making the underground lived just above us. Here, the tunnels were wide with thinner tunnels coming off the main one. There were street signs! Such as the one we approached. There were three spellings. The top spelling used the Cyrillic letters Первая авеню which not many but someone from this part of the world would be able to recognize; the English letters below them read Pershyy Prospket so people would learn to pronounce those words in Makarovian and then in English said “First Avenue” and it was all brightly lit. I was looking at a street underground. Those rows of townhouses were overhead. The tunnels from this tunnel were to the door down here to people’s homes. As of now, Skoal was bigger than Stryia. There was this drone as many conversations were happening down here mixing with Muzak like melodies you get in some elevators or offices.

“It’s an underground suburb!” I marveled. Now, just like in Stryia, there wasn’t a lot of traffic by people down here. The weather was nice out. “This great, but this will be going on for miles! How do people get to where they want to go?”

David chuckled, “We’re working on that. A people-mover is being considered…”

“A what?” Peter asked.

“You know,” David insisted. “Just like an escalator, but no steps. A sidewalk that moves.”

“They are used a lot at airports and popular venues,” I said. “You saw and used them twice. When we flew commercial to Asheville the first time we used them in Atlanta going from Concourse A to C.”

Peter remembered nodding, “Oh, yes! I remember that! And if you walk while on it, it almost seems as if you’re running!”

I grinned and leaned toward David and Ed, “He hardly left his room and has only been in a few airports.”

They knew. I’d be safe saying everyone in the world knew that visited the Ivanov’s Family page. Peter had not been happy about the subject in his history. I really had a tough time getting him to release a photo of his face when he had the horrible acne. Even I hated to see it. Not because it hurt me, but it hurt Peter and that hurt me. It was a really dark time for Peter. A decade and a half-length of time that began when teenagers reached that point in life to become adults and dealing changes in their body and compulsions and drives you can’t run from and can’t stop. But you know no one here gave him problems about being homosexual. You can take that one mental stressor away about that. The picture wasn’t touched up or changed and it showed how bad it was even on his arms, legs, back, and chest, taken at the dermatology clinic in Boston. Only I had been allowed to see the ones on his ass. His acne was a rare, but treatable form of what many get as teenagers. Remember, there were not a lot of zits or blackheads. It was subcutaneous cystic acne all across his face in little red splotches, which were sometimes very painful under his skin but didn’t really look like what you think is acne. It looked like a bad, bad case of measles. Yes, it was pretty horrible and not an easy disease. He was put on medication both by pills, soap, and topical ointments control the oil and bacteria to and it finally went away. He’d never go back to that, but his self-esteem got severely abused and was still very sensitive.

I got him to put a new picture of himself up beside it. The medical school had taken some very brightly lit areas on his face, arms, and chest to show clearly how bad it was. Part of the reason was to clearly show other students at the school what this acne looked like. Even the attending physician and professor said they had never encountered acne this severe. That was praised up and down and even heralded as a miracle just as if he had been cured of Leprosy in the Bible. I was determined not to let Peter go back there. We included the name and real number on the webpage. It was a place of learning. Men and women learned how to be a dermatologist. The medical school was being bombarded with calls to find out if they could be the next miracle. Peter’s before and after pictures said volumes! Better than the ones you see on television. Peter had gone around practically saying, “Unclean! Unclean!” No one asked him to do that.

I was impressed underground and about Churchill. Churchill walked on a leash that Ed had attached to the collar but held loosely. He heeled! No pulling or dragging him to keep up. No one told him to. His speed was based on Ed’s pace. He also walked over a wide metal plate on the floor that looked like a cheese grater with a lot of holes, but none were big enough for a girl in those really high heels...stilettos, I think. Didn’t accidentally go in and ruin her day, week. Whatever. There was also the light sound of water going down a drain. The slight rise and fall of the floor, which was hardly noticeable, made sense. It flushed away dog urine! Down here there were more dogs and I knew more was up above ground.

Back to Winston Churchill. He was well trained.

As we got a few streets over, it was more densely trafficked by people. Everybody knew who we were. It was a no-salute zone down here. I mean everybody knew Churchill, men, women, and children all knew Winston Churchill...by name! We, the humans, were acknowledged with polite “Gentlemen, General, and Your Highness.” However, the dog got the hearty and enthusiastic, “Churchill!” Everybody knew and loved Churchill. He was the base mascot! Was he elected or voted in as one? Hell, no! He just was!

I chuckled, “At least these people have their priorities straight.”

Again, I was impressed! He remained where he was and remained calm. His shoulder next Ed’s leg. Churchill was still very happy where he was. He was by his daddy, who he loved!

There were signs post overhead with arrows pointing the Base Exchange and Commissary. Businesses had small signs up. A billboard was too big and a small sign could be missed.

Their tunnels had a look and style that said “west” to me. Makarovia and her villages and towns developed BEFORE rapid transit. The configuration of housing was limited. Marketplaces and places to get things needed were limited. A man who worked at the palace needed to live nearby. The birth of the train was good, but late getting to Makarovia. He might be a servant or a soldier. Miners need to live close to the mines. Not anymore and not in Skoal. A woman walking with two children, the oldest a girl about twelve and a boy about eight. She was walking next to a teenage male that wore a name badge who was pushing a very large...cart? In the South, we called them buggies. Wagon in the North. It was bigger than a shopping cart. They were going home. The woman and children lived nearby and the supplies would keep coming even with the snow and ice. The function was more important than beauty. The tunnels in Stryia were prettier. There seemed to be more tunnels in Skoal. They had to. There were a lot more people here. It was comfortable down here and the air circulated with fans and vents that kept the air moving. These tunnels weren’t anywhere near finished, but neither were the tunnels in Stryia. There was a loud clang and then the sound of a hydraulic drill or something.

We were being led somewhere. We ended up coming to a thick curtain-like cloth that hung. Whatever the noise was, it came from behind it. Ed bowed slightly and motioned us through ahead of him.

It happens. Not very often, but it does happen. I was speechless. A train! Not one of the older ones with the smokestack I played with as a child; it looked alien. Yes, as in from another world, alien. It had a rounded frontend where I knew had the engine. It was vibrantly red. Women and some gay men know the differences. Fire engine red wasn’t right. It was bright red! Maybe just a tad bit darker. At the moment there was only the engine/control room and one passenger car. It looked sleek. There were men and women moving around the train and inside. It was on some tracks that didn’t go anywhere or come from anywhere. The tracks above ground were used.

My mouth dropped open as I stared. Finally, I looked at Ed, but a coherent question wasn’t coming out. “Wha...how…”

David was nodding with grand smile on his face, “Yeah, she’s was a beaut, ain’t she?” He asked the question and didn’t need an answer. It was a rhetorical question. “Our plan is to have this first portion done by Thanksgiving.” David chuckled, “Your Thanksgiving and ours.”

“We want the transport from Stryia and Skoal to be up and running.” Ed smiled. “It is all-electric and she is capable of great velocities of one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour. That makes a commute between the two cities about five to ten minutes long.”

I hate the metric system. About one hundred kilometers or fifty miles in that short time!?

Now, I had a problem. Was the uranium bringing in that amount of money? Was I wrong to worry about this? I didn’t know how much the uranium was bringing in. This was just the beginning. In my research, it went from eight dollars to thirty dollars a pound! Depending on the grade of the uranium that increased its value. We were told the ore here was a very high grade and there were tons of it. Tons! See the S? I don’t mean a couple, but many tons stretching for many miles. Other than accidents such as the one in the USSR and Japan. There were no big disasters. Chernobyl had a meltdown. Chernobyl was in Ukraine as part of the USSR and not far away. One hundred miles away maybe. That was in 1986. Could it happen here? Sure. Will it? We will do whatever it takes to prevent that. Demand was increasing because it is environmentally friendly and reduced their carbon footprint. One pound of ore could generate power equivalent to three million pounds of coal. That’s a big difference! I didn’t even have to do the math to understand that!

I understood Olek and what he was doing. He wanted all these changes done yesterday. It was exciting. But the new plane and this train, I knew were very expensive. The train was being assembled down here.

“She’s a Rolls-Royce,” David bounced happily once.

Any fly in the air would think I was open for business with my mouth constantly as I gaped.

“That’s not exactly a CAR!” Peter pointed out.

“No, but they make damned fine engines,” I said without taking my eyes off this train. I turned to the Generals. “I know they make engines for planes for thrust. I had no idea they made for railroads.” I looked back at the train, “And electric!?”

Ed chuckled, “Yes, they had to.” He shrugged, “There was talk that they might have to layoff some employees They teamed up with General Electric and had success building the 787…” He looked at Peter, “That’s a plane if you didn’t know.” Then back to his original topic. “Success told them to try this! But it is more accurate to say GE/Rolls-Royce.”

David shook his head, “And reduce the impact? No, I couldn’t. You saw it!”