CHAPTER 7

Dawn broke clear, and Maureen was out of the tent before the first rays of the sun hit the structure. Don woke a lot later and a lot slower. In a way, he was glad she was not in the tent to see him attempt to get dressed. He was moving like a very stiff, old man.

She had left an MRE out for him. Oatmeal. Very mom-like he supposed, but he wasn't about to eat that mush. Instead, he rooted through the supplies until he found a pouch of sugary junk cereal. That was the ticket. Now, if he could find some caffeine, life would be good.

After he finished eating, he stepped outside, his eyes roaming the area. Thankfully, they weren't covered in nine feet of black crap. However, there was still enough of it around to be a nuisance. The black, diamond shards were also present.

He saw Mrs. Robinson over by the upside-down ATV so, he moved in that direction. As he drew closer, he could see the inside of the C-8 was fairly free of black dust and shards. He was surprised. "How is it clean inside?"

The engineer smiled. "I'm rather good with a tarp. First, I used it to drag you to the tent and then to cover this opening. It wasn't a perfect fit though, some stuff got inside."

"Yeah, but not like it could have," Don said as he examined the inside of the C-8. "Amazing."

"I too, am good at what I do, West."

"Lady," he said sincerely, "I never doubted that for a second."

She jumped out of the C-8, picked up a small, mangled box about the size of her palm and showed it to him. Don took the box and gingerly turned it over in his hand. Giving a low whistle, he asked, "Where did you find this?"

"That and the remains of others are up there, attached to the bottom of the C-8."

Don gave a low whistle, "Son of a bitch."

"You really need to adopt a more family friendly set of expressions if you are going to be bunking in the Robinson's Jupiter."

"Yeah, Sorry. But what the hell, someone tried to blew us up and by us I mean you because I'm too lovable. I need to see this for myself," he declared as he handed her the piece and headed for the ladder on the back of the ATV. The cool thing was the ladder worked even if the vehicle was upside down.

"Be careful. There are some of those black shards around. And don't put too much pressure on that leg. Or your right arm."

"Yes, Mom," he muttered softly under his breath. Had he glanced over his shoulder as he gingerly climbed upwards, he would have seen the half amused/half exasperated expression on her face.

Usually, he was a pretty agile guy, but his current injuries made him feel extremely clumsy as he gingerly made his way across the undercarriage of the C-8. He went midway, stopped and surveyed the bottom of the vehicle. Luckily, whoever had planted the small explosives had not known much about their power, or how a Chariot was constructed. A large portion of the bottom was covered by removable plates to protect the undercarriage. The would-be-bomber hadn't removed the plates, but rather placed the charges on top which dampened their destructive power considerably. The ones that did the most damage, and most likely caused the vehicle to roll over, were the two near the more exposed wheel wells. The dumb luck placement of those explosives had been highly effective in disabling the vehicle.

Given the plates only looked scorched, but not penetrated, he doubted anything in those sections had been damaged. He made his way over to one of the wheel wells where a bomb had gone off. This was a different story. Definitely damaged. He imagined the other one looked about the same so he didn't bother making his way over there. He was already sweating from this minor exertion. Making his way back over to the ladder, he stumble-slid down it to the ground, then leaned against the C-8 for a minute to catch his breath.

Maureen came around the back and stared at him, fully expecting him to report out. And here, he thought he had left the military years ago. However, her persistent stare made him uncomfortable and he began to speak.

"So, the charges mainly did damage to the wheel structures," he grunted as he pushed off the C-8 surface to face her.

"Agreed. That's what I thought too when I was up there. Can you fix them?"

"Unless we can roll this puppy over, it really doesn't matter. And getting this thing back on its wheels…" he slowly shook his head.

She looked at him as if he were daff. "I've already figured out how to do that."

"Of course, you have," he sarcastically intoned as he wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. "Ok, I'll bite. How?"

She walked away from him and he took that as a silent command to follow. Making her way around the C-8, she stopped by the front bumper. "With that," she declared pointing at the winch.

"But the C-8 is on its back. We want to flip it sideways."

"It's all about the angles, how the cable is run. It will end up on its tires when I'm done," she explained with confidence.

"Really?" He couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Giving him a 'really' look, she replied, "In theory." Walking towards the tent where she had left her computer, she called over her shoulder. "Do you want to see the calculations?"

"Not unless you want physical evidence, I didn't eat the oatmeal you left out for breakfast," he wise-cracked. He didn't dare tax his brain too much if he wanted the fruit loops to stay in his stomach. His head was aching and upsetting his belly.

Maureen stopped, turned, and took a good look at him in the morning light. He was very pale and unsteady on his feet. She needed him capable of working on the C-8 once it was righted. At the moment, he appeared ready to pass out again. What she had to do, with the cables and such, she could do on her own. "Look, I don't need your help. Why don't you take some more aspirin and rest for a few more hours?"

"Hours, huh. If you're sure you can do without me. I'm sure after a few hours of rest I'll be right as rain. Nothing like a few hours of sleep to erase the battering I've taken. Days, no, not days, but hours will put me right," he groused under his breath as he began shuffling towards the tent.

That's when it hit her; she had never even bothered to ask him how he felt, even though it was fairly deducible by simply looking at him. Still, it would have been common decency to inquire.

"Call me when you need something from me. That is if you think I can help. Otherwise I'll be out of the way, in here," he declared as he flipped the tent open. "Healing. Completely. In a few hours." The tent flap closed behind him and though it didn't operate like a real door, somehow, she felt like it had been slammed shut in her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered under her breath as she turned away to get to work. She hadn't meant to be so uncaring. But the worry of being away from her family weighed so heavily on her mind, it seemed to engage her entire conscious, leaving little time for any other matters, like manners or common decency. However, with determination, she shook off her guilt and began her work. There were things that had to be done.

It took her the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon to set up everything properly, according to her plan. She doubled checked figures, made a couple of tweaks and then stood back to examine her handiwork.

"You missed lunch," a voice behind her called out, startling her. Don limped to her side to present his offering. "P&J. Figured you wouldn't want to waste time eating and it was the quickest thing I could find."

As she took the package from him, her stomach let out a pitiful moan, which made her realize she had lost track of time. It wasn't unusual when she was engrossed in a project for her to forget about things, like eating.

"Thanks," she said as she tore opened the wrapper. After taking a bite, she presented a peace offering of her own. "How are you feeling?"

Caught off-guard by her inquiry, Don gave her a surprised glance, before quickly adverting his gaze. "Ready to go, Boss."

She watched silently as he stood there, most of the weight on his left leg, trying to open the sandwich bag with his right hand, which was obviously giving him issues. Finally, resorting to his teeth to rip the top off, he accomplished his goal, removed the sandwich and took a small bite.

"Is your hand OK? Are you going to be able to use it to fix the Chariot when its back on its wheels?" She realized that her inquiry, once again, came out rather cold and self-centered.

He gingerly swallowed the tiny mouthful of sandwich, wondering how his stomach was going to react. "Somehow I get the feeling you are more concerned about my ability to fix the vehicle then my actual health," he lightly joshed her, even though he knew it was the truth.

"It's just that…" she started to say before he cut her off.

"Look. You are anxious to get back to your family. I get it. I'm just a means to that end. Though, in case it hasn't dawned on you, I, too, want to get back to the Jupiter. And Debbie."

She began to speak, but he ignored her strolling away from her to examine what she'd done with the winch and cables. "If this contraption of yours works and gets the C-8 back on her feet, have no fear, I'll get her running again," he said confidently. "Even one handed, I'm the best damn mechanic you'll ever meet." Looking back over his shoulder at her, he gave her one of his big grins. "The best."

She snorted at him before taking another bite of her sandwich. After swallowing, she declared, "You're rather cocky, you know."

Tilting his head sideways he replied, "Cocky. I dunna about that. Confident? Hell, yes. I'm very good at what I do. Are You ready to get this thing on the road?"

"I am," she answered in a muffled tone as she shoved the last of her sandwich in her mouth.

With the remote for the winch in hand, Maureen walked what she considered a safe distance from the C-8. Don, half a sandwich still in his left hand, followed after her, coming to a stop by her side. He heard her stomach growl again and he held out the half-eaten sandwich to her. "Wanna bite? You sound like you are still kinda of hungry."

She glanced at the half-eaten sandwich, then up at him. "Really?"

With a shrug he said, "Well, you wolfed down that first P&J so quickly you might need to do a finger count-check." He grinned. "And I heard your stomach grumble just now."

She remained unamused by his sass.

"I could go get another, unspoiled sandwich for you, if you want to wait as I hobble back to the tent." Her traitorous stomach let out another growl. "Or you could finish mine. I'm done and I've had my shots." He held it out to her once more.

"No…Thank you," she added as an afterthought.

"Your loss," he said glibly as he dropped his hand back to his side. "Ok, nutty professor. Start your contraption up."

She pressed the button on the remote and the winch sluggishly began to rotate at a slow rpm, tightening the braided cable. Gradually, the cables she had strung around, the trees and various portions of the C-8 began to tighten. Once all the slack was gone, she upped the rpms to increase the pressure. As the cable tightened further, it began emitting a humming noise that reverberated through the air. Inch by inch, the C-8 started to roll off its back and on to its side.

"Geez, lady it's working!" Don exclaimed in surprise as he watched the series of interconnecting cables do its job.

"You had doubts?" she flippantly asked as she watched her creation work as she envisioned. It was thrilling to bring something from a thought into a working product.

"Hmmm," he said distractedly as he watched the Chariot reach the balance point from rising upward to coming downward, tires headed for the ground.

The winch on the front was working hard as it was not designed to operate in the manner which it had been rigged. Normally, it was used for pulling in a straight-line-forward manner, not the strange web-weaving Maureen had had to use to get the angles right to raise and tip the ATV.

She knew something was bothering the mechanic. "The winch can handle the load, right?"

"The winch, it's powerful enough," he slowly replied as he cocked his head to the side, obviously listening to something. "How much of the cable did you use?"

"Nearly all of it to get it rigged right. Is that an issue?" she asked with concern wondering if she should have consulted him since he did know a lot about the ATV.

"No, not really. I mean it's best to leave a layer on the barrel, but not necessary," he told her as he watched the Chariot start to descend towards the grass. The tension on the cable grew even tighter and he could see it vibrating under its load.

"I did, leave some on the roller."

"Then there should be no issue…" He hesitated, listening as the humming noise that had been low and steady, abruptly rise in pitch. Suddenly, Don let loose with a creative string of curses as he threw his body into hers, knocking her to the ground. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hand ended up being smashed into her face as they tumbled sideways towards the grass.