Secrets of Liberty Mountain (Final)

I shrugged and looked over at the gals assembling along the second-floor railing opposite our position. We had become persons of interest, and the sisters were curious to see what the cat dragged in.

Entering the relative privacy of the bathroom was a relief. After a week alone with Seraina, I found the throng of curious onlookers to be slightly overwhelming, or as Darlene would quip, "Too much people."

"I'll race you to the showers," I said to Seraina while unbuckling my pants and kicking off my shoes. Whew! We stunk.

My grungy underwear likely qualified as hazardous waste. As I stripped, I checked out my reflection in the mirror over one of the restroom sinks. Crap! I looked like I'd fought a battle with a dirt monster and lost. My thinning hair was greasy and matted, my once white undershirt was a dingy shade of gray, and a week's worth of stubble did nothing to improve my appearance. I removed my socks, dropped my trousers and slid out of my jockey shorts before I added my shirt and T-shirt to the pile of dirty clothes at my feet.

"Should I wash them or burn 'em?" I pointed to the floor.

"Neither. We should bury them in the garden. We're always in need of fertilizer," the driver with rust-brown hair suggested with a laugh.

Seraina's daughter dashed across the room to the showers and turned on a dozen before she vanished behind clouds of billowing steam. A few moments later, a naked Starshine emerged from the fog.

"Come on!" she shouted with glee as she beckoned us to join her.

Our two rescue drivers exchanged glances, whispered a few words to each other, disrobed and entered the rising mist. A hot shower after a long bone-chilling day riding snowmobiles was too tempting an offer to pass up.

Many hands make light work, and Seraina and I took turns scrubbing the crud off each other's bodies while Darlene and StarShine helped the best they could. I can't begin to describe the delightful arousal and absolute pleasure of their delicate hands and hot soapy water washing away enough dirt and grime to start a small garden. Alas, despite the growth, there was no harvest. I might as well rejoice in the moment and pray for a late frost.

Ahhh! To be warm and clean once again. Heaven is real. Bath time over, there was a minor problem with clean clothes. I would be damned if I was going to be naked while being debriefed by Sheila and the Society.

Darlene was a mind reader. She made a quick exit and returned minutes later with my razor, a pair of cargo pants and a lumberjack-style red and black flannel shirt, fresh underwear and a change of socks.

I smiled. She had thoughtfully included a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes, Bic lighter, and a toothbrush. Seraina fared better than I had in the wardrobe department. A fresh change of clothing left by StarShine sat ready and waiting.

I brushed my teeth and examined my clean-shaven face in the mirror. My mouth and body felt clean for the first time in a week. Glancing at my wristwatch, I noted we still had twenty-five minutes to grab something to eat and drink before showtime. Our drivers were on each side of me as I followed Seraina, Darlene, and Starshine to the kitchen.

I soaked up the last of the venison stew with a slice of steaming homemade bread from my third serving and pushed the empty bowl to the middle of the table.

"That was absolutely fantastic. I had almost forgotten how wonderful real food tastes," I said, wiping my mouth with a white linen napkin. I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving as I lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Life was good except for the parts that sucked.

"Smoke fast, we don't want to be late," the driver with rust-colored hair advised.

Sheila waited for us at the door of the media and entertainment center located in the back corner of the ground floor. Obviously, the Society had spared no expense when they'd built the cabin and the indoor amphitheater. Arranged in a half-circle around an elevated stage at the bottom of the well were four tiers of comfortable movie-theater-style seating. Several huge ultra-high-definition flat-screen televisions dominated the back wall.

Judging by the Society of Sister's logo displayed on the primary screen, one of the women in the clan was an excellent artist and graphic designer. The pastel pink and red depiction of two nude women holding hands in front of a flower blossom rendered in the style of Georgia O'Keeffe floated in the center of the black display. Lush maroon-colored carpeting covered the floor, and indirect lighting fixtures on the walls and ceiling of the hall provided illumination.

The soft murmur of conversation from the three-dozen women in attendance descended into silence as Sheila led Alice and me down the aisle toward a white oak conference table at the center of the stage. Three leather bound executive office chairs faced the audience from behind the table. Microphones and nameplates sat in front of each seat. My assigned seating was to the left of Sheila's chair at the center. The presence of two video cameras did nothing to calm our nerves. We swapped nervous glances as we took our places on the stage.

Sheila took her seat and centered her legal pad on the table in front of her. She studied the blank pad for a moment before placing two black gel pens on the right side of the tablet. She carefully positioned the ballpoints so that they were perfectly parallel with each other and the pad of paper and repeated the process with two #2 yellow pencils on the other side of the pad before placing a hand-carved wood gavel on the notepad.

It was my guess Sheila was probably not a very lucky poker player; she had too many obvious tells and giveaways. When you can read a player's unconscious body language, it was like playing poker with the cards face up on the table. The need to precisely control personal space was indicative of someone toilet trained at gunpoint. It spoke volumes about Sheila's core personality traits.

As a leader, she wanted as much control as possible. Dictatorial and authoritarian leaders employed the law to govern their subjects. As a leader in a democratic environment, Sheila imposed her control on an intimate level. Democratic authoritarians used their personality to achieve the same ends.

Control might explain Sheila's attempt to seduce me. The act of sexual union was her leverage point. She had, by her own admission, slept with every member of the colony. Apparently it worked. After fifteen years, she was still in charge.

Interesting question: What if her seduction attempt was motivated by passion as much as by power? I was already under her control. What's the point?

Maybe her attempt was driven by a desire to keep me around under her rule rather than a result of my sparkling personality. I chuckled at the sudden insight and earned a sharp look from Sheila as she finished fussing with her pencils.

Sheila moved forward and did what every nervous public speaker does; she tapped the microphone with her finger and asked, "Is this thing on?"

A loud pop! from the hall's sound system answered in the affirmative.

"Before we commence with today's proceedings, I would like to express my gratitude to all who have assisted in the search and rescue of Hunter One and Alice and Dennis' homecoming." Sheila paused and looked around the auditorium. "I am especially appreciative of the skill and persistence of our drone pilots who never gave up, even when all hope seems lost. Thank you, one and all for a job well done."

Introductory remarks concluded, sustained applause filled the hall. People always loved it when their leader bestowed accolades upon them. After allowing the praise to run its course, Sheila rapped the gavel on the table.

"By the authority of the Society of Sisters, I hereby call this Board of Inquiry to order."

Chapter 24

The stern rap of Sheila's opening gavel muted but did not extinguish the murmuring voices of dozens of private conversations. The posture of the colony's leader appeared poised and relaxed as she held the gavel in the ready position with her elbow bent at a forty-five-degree angle for several long seconds as she waited for silence. Beneath Sheila's placid surface, I spotted a ripple of anxiety as she unconsciously polished the gavel's wood handle with her thumb.

I've called enough gatherings to order over my lifetime; the job of moderating a meeting was as thankless as it was important. Folks who don't know better think the chair is the ruler of the conclave. Not true. In a democratic assembly, the majority rule the gathering under the guidance of leadership and the organization's bylaws.

The meeting's power resided in its decisions and not in its deliberations. The chairperson's job is to help guide the gathering toward a consensus, or at least a majority vote to empower a course of action.

Over the next several seconds, all eyes turned toward Sheila as pools of conversation evaporated into silence and the assembly hall became as hushed as a sanctuary's congregation gathered in prayer.

I had to respect Sheila's skill as a parliamentarian. She relied far less on the weight of her gavel as she did on the authority of her personality to bring the meeting to order. At the moment of maximum silence, with a flourish, she dropped the hammer and slammed the gavel down on the sounding block. The resounding crack of wood on wood echoed throughout the hall.

"This meeting of the Society of Sisters is now in session." Sheila looked around the room, smiled, cleared her throat and spoke the ritual words used to open every formal gathering of the sisters. "All those wishing to be heard, rise and be recognized. Speak truthfully so that we may better know your mind. The purpose of today's meeting is twofold."

She paused and turned to face Alice. "First, as a Board of Inquiry, we will examine the circumstances involving the loss and recovery of Hunter One." Sheila pushed her chair back as she rose to her feet, leaned forward with her hands braced on the edge of the table.

"The second agenda item is more, err, delicate. Against our will, we have a man living with us. What are we going to do with him?" Sheila scanned the faces of the assembled sisters. "This isn't a rhetorical question. We've got a problem, and he's sitting right there," Sheila turned and pointed her finger at me. "What are we going to do about this man?" Sheila asked as the rising chatter of the sisters became a din of noise as the implications of her question became apparent.

Great! She had just dumped the question of my future into the collective laps of the Sisterhood. Sheila looked into my face, and we made eye contact. To compensate for my hearing loss, I had become fairly proficient at lip reading. I was certain she mouthed the words, "Don't you worry," as she looked at me. Either that or she had just whispered, "You're fucked."

"This tribunal will render its decision on Mr. Richards' future status after we have concluded the Board of Inquiry. As always, Rita's Rules of Order will govern the conduct of our meeting. We have a sacred covenant to respect each other and keep each other safe. We are our sister's keepers. Are there any questions before we proceed?"

I licked my dry lips as the circular muscles of my sphincter clamped shut while my testicles crawled into my body and my bladder shrunk two sizes. An "Oh shit!" feeling came over me, and I suddenly needed a bathroom break. My future had become the prize in a high stakes chess game with unknown pieces and uncertain rules.

I pushed my chair back, climbed to my feet, and faced Sheila and asked, "Excuse me. May I ask a question?"

My sudden movement took Sheila by surprise. She took a half-step backward. "Of course, what do you want to know?"

I glanced around at the roomful of fully dressed women and turned to Sheila. "Can I use the restroom before we get started?"

The rising tide of tension crested and broke as waves of laughter washed over the room.

"We'll take a short recess to allow Mr. Richards to attend to his needs. While I escort him to the toilet, we will stand in recess," Sheila declared as she tapped the gavel. "We'll reconvene in five minutes."

As Sheila led me out of the multimedia center, the woman with the rust red hair appeared at our side.

"Just a friendly escort," she laughed and raced to catch up with us.

From the bulge on her hip, it was my guess our new friend was carrying a weapon. Sheila glanced at our new companion and looked at me, a fleeting grimace crossed her face. I didn't want to read too much into a glance, but I had the feeling she didn't want company.

"Wait here and keep an eye on things," Sheila said to our chaperone as she led me to a restroom a few doors down the corridor.

"Be quick and listen," Sheila hissed as she pushed me through the doorway. "No time to talk. Stay calm, stay cool. Just be yourself. Everything will be fine. Trust me."

Sheila's "trust me" remark did little to ease my growing sense of anxiety, and her suggestion to be myself made me laugh. I had long since given up trying to figure out who I was. Instead, I decided to be normal by ignoring nine out of the ten voices in my head.

"Need any help in there?" our escort asked as she stuck her head through the doorway and looked around.

"No. I'm good," I answered as I started to fiddle with the zipper on my pants.

The woman with rust red hair walked over to me. "I'll wait here, hustle it up," she said as she leaned against the frame of the open stall.

I turned my back to her, unzipped, and started to piss.

"Since we're getting to know each other, please tell me your name so I can call you something else besides, 'Hey You,'" I said over my shoulder.

"Sure, everyone calls me Rusty."

Rusty escorted Sheila and me back to the meeting room, and if she had followed me any closer, we could have shared the same underwear. I checked my watch and let out a low whistle of appreciation; the leader's sense of time was stopwatch perfect. She beat her five-minute deadline with fifteen seconds to spare.

We took our seats at the table, and as Sheila reached for her gavel, one of the women from the kitchen crew hurried forward and, using her hand as a shield, whispered something in Sheila's ear. Sheila nodded a couple of times before saying, "Okay, good. Thank you," as she banged down the gavel.

"Recess is over, and we are back in session ... sort of. We'll pause for another five minutes for a coffee and beverage break so graciously provided by Marjorie with the help of Starshine and Darlene. Thank you, sisters." Sheila stood and placed her hands on Alice's and my shoulders. "Both of you need to grab something. This is going to be a long haul."

We watched as she followed her own advice and joined a small group of sisters milling around the coffee cart parked by the room's entrance. I had to smile; she'd tried to wait her turn but wherever she stood became the front of the line. Rank has its privileges.

Seraina's hand squeezed mine as we approached the gathering of thirsty sisters. I returned her grip with a squeeze of my own. She gave me a half-smile as I whispered, "Don't worry."

"Coffee, tea, or me?" Darlene said with a naughty wink and a giggle as she handed me a steaming cup of coffee prepared just the way I liked it. Cream with more sugar than seemed reasonable. What I didn't drink, I poured on my pancakes in the morning.

A couple of women waiting their turn watched our public display of affection with a look of annoyed curiosity. One of them pointed at us and whispered something to her partner, and they laughed as they walked away. I couldn't tell if they were laughing with us or at us. For all I knew, they could have been laughing at the price of sheep shit in Seattle.

"This is for you, Mom." Starshine gave Alice a kiss as she handed her a fresh cup of java.

I also noticed Starshine and Darlene were striking up a considerable amount of conversation with their coffee customers. I knew Darlene well enough to appreciate her marketing skills. I had a hunch they were lobbying on our behalf with the apparent support or at least acquiesce of the Society's leader.

The coffee-wagon opening gambit must have been Darlene's brainchild. It was the oldest political trick in the book: give something free to the voters before they vote, and maybe they'll think well of you when they fill out the ballot. Folks are reluctant to bite the hand that feeds them.

I felt a tugging at my sleeve and turned around.

"Time to get started everyone, coffee break is over," Sheila instructed as she guided us back to our seats.

As the three of us took our places, Sheila tapped her gavel, checked her notes, and leaned into the microphone. "We'll start the Hearing of Inquiry at the end and work our way back to the beginning. The images we are about to view will put the subsequent testimony into context."

Sheila swiveled in her chair as the huge ultra-high definition television screen came to life with a vivid crystal clear view of a snow-covered mountain slope as the drone skimmed over the trees and followed the contours of the land.

Suddenly, the forested slope gave way to a dizzying view of the valley below as the drone cleared the crest of the ridge. The images were clear and sharp enough; they produced a stomach-dropping sense of vertigo as a drone soared into the open air space above the snow-covered valley.

At the upper left corner of the frame, a smudge of dark smoke drifted across the blue sky. The drone's camera searched left for the source of the smoke and centered on an island of blazing Evergreens in an ocean of white and two tiny figures trudging away from the inferno through the snow.

Chapter 25

As the drone's camera pointed directly down, Alice and I stared straight up, whooping for joy, our mouths as wide open as baby sparrows awaiting a fresh worm. Our hungry-bird-faces filled the screen as Sheila reviewed her notes while she paused the video.

"Oomph!" I let out an involuntary snort of laughter; we looked fucking ridiculous.

Alice tried to stifle giggles as the audience got the joke. Titters and chuckles filled the hall.

Sheila had a puzzled expression on her face as she looked up from her notes and glanced around for the source of sudden amusement. I pointed to the television screen over her head, and she turned, glanced up, and burst into laughter.

"Sorry," she chuckled as she pointed her controller at the screen and advanced the video several seconds to a modestly more flattering and less humiliating image of Alice and me.

Like a school kid trying to attract the teacher's attention, I raised my hand and waved it to and fro.

"Yes, Mr. Richards, your question?" she said.

I had permission to speak. "Those pictures are amazing, err, no, not those," I said as I waved at the hungry sparrow image on the screen. "The other ones. We were what? Fifteen-miles out? I didn't think a drone had the necessary range for extended operation in the mountains."

"Normally, they don't. Too much interference for FM line of sight communications, and we don't want to rely on satellite communications. When the shit hits the fan, they'll be useless. Either they'll be knocked out, or the government will shut 'em down. We solved the problem by running our drones in pairs. One does a ground-level contour search while the twin ghosts along at high altitude and acts as a radio relay."

I let out a low whistle. The drone operation was much more sophisticated than it appeared at first glance. There was some heavy-duty brain power at work.

"It's fortunate we spotted you when we did. It was the last mission. We had no trace, no visual, radio, or thermal signature. You had vanished," Sheila said as she clicked the video to life.

A ground-level view taken by the search party replaced the aerial images from the drone as the rescue party's camera followed the snow-trail to the entrance of our mine shaft. The camera paid particular attention to downed saplings and the resulting snow shield.